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Smoke fills his senses.
The Retainer twists to the side as a kunai flies past him, polearm slipping from his hands, and he has to tighten his hold. Blood makes his grasp slick, and he has to continuously adjust his grip to avoid dropping his weapon. Sweat makes golden locks stick to his skin uncomfortably, chest heaving at the exertion. His limbs scream at the pain, the cuts and injuries he’s gained from this ambush makes his nerves alight both with pain and sick adrenaline
“Chief Retainer of the Yashiro Commission. The right hand man of the Commissioner himself — A child of Mondstadt, who found a place to call home in the Land of Eternity.” His enemy drones out, and Thoma only grits his teeth.
“To think there would be a traitor amongst the Elite of the Yashiro Commissioner. A leak in information, a misplacement in positions. I wondered how long it would take for us to capture the Sun in our grasp.” Shadows prowl around the Retainer, making his heart drop to his stomach.
He’s surrounded.
“Turns out, a little threat, bribery — a promise for a long and comfortable life would be the cause of the downfall of the Kamisato Head’s Retainer.”
Thoma shows no fear despite the possible execution he might face. Though , he muses, there would be a chance he would be spared for a week or two because of the amount of information he held, not just about the Kamisato Clan, but also for the political battles and secrets he had on Inazuma’s higher circle.
That was enough time.
He would be able to find Thoma, by then.
He just had to hold on, until the Sea found the Sun.
The Retainer only narrowed emeralds in return, and steeled himself. It was not a question whether he will prioritize his safety over the clan’s. Thoma has always been loyal to the Kamisato’s and that won’t change.
Thoma also knew that when he goes missing, it wouldn’t be the Kamisato’s his kidnappers and future killers would be worrying about.
It would be the Eleventh Harbinger, the Vanguard of her Imperial Majesty.
Tartaglia is never someone who would be surprised often. As a warrior, a soldier who was brought before the God of his homeland, he has learned to expect the unexpected. After all, Harbinger’s are the mightiest of their Nation. Eleven people who were blessed by the power of their God.
And yet—
He is surprised when the Yashiro Commissioner comes to see him, all alone, with nothing but his sword and vision. His shoulders are tense despite how much he tries to appear unaffected, there is trouble brewing in periwinkle eyes. Ayato offers him a tight lipped smile, requesting if he could speak with him alone. Normally, this would be considered an act of disrespect. A Harbinger, no matter how ugly the reputation of the Fatui is, are one of the eleven pillars of Snezhnaya,
The moment Ayato utters: "It's about Thoma, Sir Tartaglia.", The Eleventh is already motioning for the Commissioner to follow him. The eyes of his subordinates bore onto the Kamisato Head, knowing fully well that their commanding officer didn't really like the Yashiro Commissioner.
It is when they are finally seated, that Ayato reveals his reason.
"I'm sure you know of Thoma's other duties as my Chief Retainer." He starts, arms crossed, white sleeves dangling from his arms. Childe almost bristled at the way Ayato called Thoma his Chief Retainer. "I'm well aware of the dangerous missions you send him to, Commissioner." Childe replies, leaning back and crossing his legs - ankle resting above his thigh. Maybe it's disrespectful - but with the way things are right now, Ayato is the one requesting help.
Foreboding fills him.
The Commissioner doesn't respond to the obvious taunt. His eyes are on the table before them, seemingly pondering over his words. When he gathers what he wishes to say, he speaks:
"A few days ago, I sent Thoma to a mission. It was a relatively harmless mission, with the objective to bring me information regarding a group stationed in Yashiori Island. There were no infiltration, assassination or seduction needed. He just had to meet an informant of the Shuumatsuban, collect the information, and return. It was supposed to be four days max."
Ayato lifts his head. His eyes meet the all-encompassing blue of Childe's eyes.
"He hasn't returned, and it is likely his mission was compromised."
All of a sudden, everything turns to static at Ayato's words.
"I've sent other members of the Shuumatsuban to track where he is, and other agents to gather information on what happened. He was due to return four days ago, yet he hasn't been in contact with us. Normally, I would write him off as killed in action–"
Tartaglia's presence weighs on the Commissioner, the promise of a miserable future if he does what he was told, hanging over him in blood red.
"However … Thoma is a precious loved one, not just to me, but to my sister as well." Ayato chooses his own words carefully, unafraid – as he speaks only the truth. "Before I conduct a search, I would like to request for your help, Sir Tartaglia. I know how much you care for my Retainer. I was hoping you could give us aid regarding this matter. Naturally, if you wish to decline and step out from this offer, then we will no longer bother you."
It's a wise decision. Involving yourself in the tangled mess of betrayal and deceit that is Inazuma's politics is not something many are willing to do. Doing so will possibly incriminate yourself. The Fatui's position in Inazuma is already unwelcome, and if he does involve himself, then there's a chance it will worsen even further and displease Her Majesty.
But he thinks of Thoma. Sun blessed, kind and ever so gentle to those who don't deserve it. Thoma, who welcomes him home with open arms and a smile that could make even the strongest melt. Thoma, who calls for him so affectionately despite his title as the Tsaritsa's Vanguard. Thoma, who shed tears for him when he once came home hurt from the Doctor's experiments.
Not agreeing to this search would be a sin to the person he loves.
( Besides, saying 'no' was never an option. The moment Ayato mentioned Thoma had gone missing, Tartaglia was fully prepared to send out squadrons of his men to find his Wife.
He and Thoma might have gotten married because of a Wedding Booth in the festival – But Tartaglia takes oath's and vows seriously.
In sickness, and in death. )
"I never liked it whenever Thoma was sent out on missions." He's calm, he's collected – but the danger that lurks beneath the abyss of his eyes is unmistakable. Languid, as if the Eleventh was unbothered at the prospect of Thoma's death.
It is only a farce masterfully crafted by Tartaglia.
"It's dangerous. His loyalty to you, to the Clan, that is. Everytime he sets out for another mission, I pray to my God that he will come home safe to my arms. That he will not be harmed as he does his duties far too much and far too well for a Commissioner who cannot even see the suffering his Retainer bears in silence."
Tartaglia smiles mirthlessly. A predator lying in wait. A killer whale, the predator of the Sea's, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He leans close, the burning oath of slaughter pressing deep into the heart of the Yashiro Commissioner.
"So you best pray to your God that I find Thoma alive, Kamisato Ayato. Or not even your Deity will be able to stop me once I decide to lay waste to this land."
There's an itch to the back of his throat.
Black spots dance in his vision as he flutters his eyes open. There's water slowly dripping on one side of the room he's confined in, the uncomfortable feeling of chains and metal cuffs digging into sun-kissed skin distracting him for a moment from surveying his surroundings. His injuries have been treated minimally, the blood drying, leaving behind an itch. Thoma coughs, throat scratchy and parched. His head hurts as if he was slammed by a Mitachurl's shield, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to relieve the tension in his head. A few minutes pass before he opens his eyes once more, finally taking in his cell.
It's like most cells - dirty, the scent of blood filling his senses. There are other captives in other cells, but they've all kept to themselves. Most likely, they're used to this group dragging in new prisoners. Thoma tries to move his arms, only wincing quietly in return when his limbs scream in protest. It seems he hasn't recovered that much yet.
"You're finally awake."
Thoma doesn't let his emotions control him often. He's a logical person when it's needed – so he doesn't let his feelings of anger and betrayal flick over his face once he looks at the person standing outside the cell.
Kiyoshi. A member of the Shuumatsuban who betrayed the Yashiro Commissioner. The person who sold him out in exchange for a comfortable life. The fact that he and Kiyoshi went on missions together makes the betrayal even more bittersweet. Just how much of Kiyoshi did the Shuumatsuban warp, for him to become someone who betrayed his Master?
"Kiyoshi. Fancy seeing you here." Thoma responds softly, internally wincing at how his voice sounded. The previous member of the Shuumatsuban only looks at him with nothing on his face but resignation. "I didn't want to sell you out, Thoma." He murmurs. "But I've had enough of this life Ayato has forced upon me." His words make Thoma bristle, but he remains quiet. Nothing good will come out of provoking his kidnapper and possibly, future killer.
( Ah, but he knows not one of them will be left alive once the person who he is wed to finds them. No mercy will be given to those who laid a hand on the wife of the Eleventh Harbinger. )
"You chose this. He gave you a choice – to serve under him as a Retainer or to live amongst the shadows as a member of the Shuumatsuban. You chose to become an assassin. Waka had no hand in forcing you. You and I both know all too well that Lord Ayato does not force roles on anyone." His tone is only quiet, as if he was not wrathful of the betrayal that has happened.
Yet, the anger in his eyes is still there.
"You're just satisfying your guilt of selling me out. Knowing I treated you with respect and kindness, that I was the one who dressed your wounds and was the one who taught you how to defend and to kill." Thoma smiles, a sad tilt to his lips.
"And you're blaming Waka for your own mistake."
He shows no reaction when his previous comrade slams a hand against the wall, his smile dropping into a neutral facade. Kiyoshi grits his teeth, eyes narrowed - and it's so remniscent of the way the Tenryou Commission guards look at him. A bug underneath their foot – a lucky outlander who deserved no place amongst the Kamisato. It's almost painful, how a treasured comrade of his turned his back on him.
"He's awake? You should have reported it to us, Kiyoshi."
The same voice – the one that spoke whilst he was surrounded, overpowered and defenseless, rings in the dimly lit hallway. Thoma narrows his eyes, pursing his lips. He stands next to the former member of the Shuumatsuban, peering at Thoma through the cells. "You look better like this." He comments, nonchalant. "It was a bit difficult to finally catch you, but hard work really does pay off."
The dim light adjusts, bathing Thoma in a false sense of security. His captor offers a polite smile.
"It's finally nice to put a face on you, Mr. Chief Retainer," A tilt of his head, his smile growing.
"The lone person who can control the economy and high society of Inazuma. Let's have a wonderful chat together, yes?"
Thoma clutches his arm, where he can feel blooming bruises. Those people were certainly not gentle when they handled his unconscious form. Thoma says nothing but a glare, emeralds dark in its anger.
Just a few days, he reminds himself as he was tugged harshly, the chains clinking on the ground.
Just a few days, and the wrath of a Harbinger will become his salvation.
Mobilizing the entire squadron of Fatui underneath his command to find Thoma was not what the Commissioner expected Tartaglia to do.
He knows that the Eleventh treasures his Retainer. It's evident, with the guards that follow Thoma whenever he's out of the Estate, the way Tartaglia is always waiting outside the Estate for him, bringing him home to their shared house. Thoma cannot see it, but Ayato can. How Tartaglia looks at Thoma – the sheer love and affection in those abyssal blues. The Vanguard of the Tsaritsa looks at Thoma like he hung up the stars and the moon, like he is the Sun who brings forth nothing but warmth and light to those around him.
In a way, Ayato can understand.
That's how he looks at Thoma. That's how everyone, who sees and knows Thoma's worth, looks at him.
"Won't your God get angry for this?" Ayato murmurs when he arrives besides Tartaglia, watching with sharp eyes as the Fatui Agents all spread out under the command of their Harbinger. The ginger only spared a glance at the Commissioner, lips falling into a smile that spoke of his true feelings. "Her Majesty is benevolent. She will not get mad at me for doing this – She is the God of Love, after all." Tartaglia responded calmly, the gloves he wears on his hands creaking as he clenches and unclenches his fists. Ayato hums in return.
There's a moment of peace – before Tartaglia speaks.
"Be honest with me, Yashiro Commissioner. What do you think of Thoma?
Azure eyes slid to meet abyssal blues – ever so calm despite the danger the man besides him holds. Ayato takes a moment to think, collecting his feelings and thoughts. What does he feel for the Retainer that stood by his side ever since they were but mere children? For the person who, despite the troubles and dangers they will face, stood firm in his decision to stay loyal to them?
"He is one of my precious people."
Ayato starts, gaze staring into the rolling plains of Yashiori Island. The traveler quelled the problem in this thunder stricken island of Inazuma a few months back, so now there was nothing but peace and the eerie silence.
"I'm sure Thoma has told you, but the Kamisato Clan went through difficult times when we were only children. With both my Parents gone, I had to step up as the head of the Clan. A dangerous feat for me, considering I was only a young teen. A fledgeling, if you will." A chuckle. He's confused why he is baring his heart, his thoughts to the Eleventh, but the person whom Thoma loves and adores deserves nothing but his honesty.
Perhaps it is also his way of closure. Knowing that those who he yearns for will never be his.
"Thoma was already with us a few months back. After learning of what will occur, I sought him out. Gave him a pouch of Mora, told him to flee and return to the Nation of Freedom. I told him that the Kamisato Clan has lost its prestige and wealth. We were nothing. He could go back home."
Tartaglia chuckles. "He didn't listen, did he?" There's affection in his voice, a clear indication of how much the Eleventh treasured the missing blond. Ayato shakes his head, a fond smile twisting on his lips. "He didn't." Ayato agrees. "Thoma was quiet, and then he told me that he wasn't going to abandon the clan. Even had the gall to tell me that I was stupid for thinking he was there just for the prestige." The memory is clear to him. The sound of Thoma's voice breaking as he swore his loyalty to the Yashiro Commissioner, the brightness of emerald eyes – the lush meadows of Mondstadt reflecting the moons of Inazuma.
"He told me he got his vision that night." Tartaglia states, and it makes Ayato nod. "That's right. The Gods recognized Thoma's loyalty and blessed him with a vision that night."
There is silence again as they move toward the island, only the sound of their footsteps against grass and soil.
"We will conduct the search here. I've told my men to send out a flare only known to Snezhnayan soldiers once they find his location." Tartaglia moves with absolute sureness and silence. "Your men, on the other hand, can continue tracking Thoma’s last known location. Will that be agreeable, Commissioner?" Ayato is quiet for a moment, thinking it through.
"I can lend some of my … more trusted men to you. Naturally they will be hesitant to follow you as you are not their Commanding Officer, but mention Thoma and my name, and they will listen. They can lead the search, as I'm sure the presence of Fatui soldiers, pardon if this offends you Sir Tartaglia, can cause unease." Tartaglia snorts, waving a hand. "None taken. I know the standing of Fatui in this land."
The two exchange glances.
"Then, I will see you." Ayato inclines his head. "Remember the flare I showed you earlier. If you see that, then that means we've found him." Tartaglia reminds the older. Ayato nodded and with great hesitance, turned around to walk towards his men.
"Commissioner."
He stops walking, a sign that he's listening.
"There will be slaughter once I find them. It is inevitable and it is only fitting for those who thought they could get away with harming him."
For some reason, Ayato cannot bring himself to look back, in fear of what monster he will see.
"No one will get out of that location alive. The moment I see a single scratch on my beloved, it will be the cruel embrace of death that they will feel."
A wheeze rattles his lungs as he's thrown in the cell, fresh injuries screaming in pain at the impact. The chains rattle noisily, clinking against the harsh ground. There's a click of a tongue, before Thoma barely had the energy to muster a groan once a foot lands on his stomach.
"He's too tight-lipped about the secrets of Inazuma. I'm beginning to tire of him, and understand why the Yashiro Rascal keeps him around." One of his captors complains, turning his back on Thoma, exiting the cell. He and his companion exchanged a few more words – but with the way Thoma is right now, he can't even begin to strain his ears to hear their conversation. Thankfully, he has enough clarity to take stock of his situation.
It's been five days since he was captured. Two more days before they eventually give up on trying to get his information and decide on killing him instead. His old injuries have reopened, bleeding through the flimsy bandages they provided him with. New ones litter sun-kissed skin, bruises blooming in the canvas of his skin. His headache has not lessened in the days he was sent here, and the urge to throw up has been constant. His vision is beginning to have dark spots and the loss of blood is getting to him. He's sure that if he looked in the mirror, he'd be akin to a corpse.
Not to mention that his Pyro vision is nowhere to be found, and the side effects of having his vision away from him is beginning to take a toll on his already weakened body. Along with it, he's also starting to feel the effects of a fever. Perhaps one of his injuries have been infected – not an unlikely thought, considering how dirty the place was and the limited supply of medicine he's given. Enough to keep him alive, but few enough to make him suffer.
All in all, Thoma is pretty sure he's about to die.
A cough escapes him, and Thoma's eyesight darkens. The coolness of the ground is actually beginning to be a comfort for the blond Retainer. It serves as a reminder that he's still alive, no matter how close he is to death.
He lies in the cell, eyes hazy. For a moment, he actually thinks he's about to die. Everything that leads to this moment replays to him in quick succession. From the moment he swore his loyalty to the Kamisato Clan and earned his Vision, to his meeting to the Traveler, to throwing his weapon at Inazuma's God. From meeting the Eleventh, to their rose tinted moments.
Everything seems so far away now.
The world around him is hazy, turning to static. Is this what dying feels like? Thoma thinks to himself, breath faint.
As someone who has sworn himself to the Kamisato Clan, he thought he was fully prepared for the inevitable death he will face. May it be taking a blade for his Master's, or being killed in action. Death doesn't scare him – he's nailed this particular thought down not just in him, but in those Shuumatsuban members he's trained as well.
And yet.
The fear gnawing away at his heart is unmistakable. It's clear that for some reason, his ideals have all been thwarted. He's scared, he fears death – that he once danced with. Thoma is a servant of the prestigious Kamisato Clan, he will die before his Masters. He thought he could die in peace, knowing he's fallen in service for the Clan that took him in when he was but a young boy just trying to find a long gone Father.
And yet.
Fingers caressed his face. He can feel callouses on the pads of his fingertips, tracing the slope of his nose, the curves of his lips, the crinkle of his eyes. Sunlight seeps through wispy curtains, bathing both of them in a serene, celestial light. Childe has always said that Thoma is pretty – ethereal in his kindness and purity.
But, Thoma thinks otherwise.
He's always thought that Childe was the ethereal one between them. No matter the situation – whether it is him bathed in blood, bloodlust wrapping around him in his deadly glory, or him against white sheets with a foreign gentleness in his actions – Thoma has always deemed Childe to be the sort of beauty that will always shine no matter what.
A cough breaks him out of his trance, and he realizes that blood spills from his lips. Thoma’s eyes flutter, lids struggling to stay open. By now, he has lost all feeling in all of his limbs. He’s become numb — which isn’t a good sign. The pain that has ebbed away at his sanity has faded into the background, and while this might seem like a good thing, the Retainer knows it isn’t.
His time is ticking.
Everyone under Tartaglia’s command knew Thoma.
At first, he was just a rumor. A mere shadow, a made up tale to fill the gossips regarding the Eleventh. “He fancies him.” A cicin mage giggles to a Fatui Agent. “I’ve seen how much Lord Tartaglia brightens up whenever there is a letter from Inazuma.” A Hydrogunner stated, the scent of firewater filling the air. “I’ve seen this person … Tsaritsa, I can understand why our Lord is smitten.” An anemo boxer stated wistfully. “Oh? Why is that?” “His hair was of the sun, his eyes remind me of the meadows of Mondstadt. And his smile. Even after knowing I work under Lord Tartaglia, he still smiled at me so sweetly, so kindly.”
Soon, the rumors regarding the person their Lord fancied spread through the ranks of the Fatui, and it was only a matter of time until everyone knew who was the person that caught the Eleventh’s heart.
The Chief Retainer of the Noble clan of Kamisato’s, Thoma. An outlander amongst the children of Eternity and Thunder, effortlessly charming with sun blessed smiles and a heart too big.
With the news that the Chief Retainer had gone missing, the squadron under his command, stationed in Inazuma, were fully prepared for a disagreeable Tartaglia.
They underestimated his wrath.
Tartaglia demanded their utmost efficiency. He did not excuse mistakes and laziness in a time like this. “Thoma has gone missing and it is likely that they are making him suffer.” He states in a low voice, his unnerving presence falling upon them like a weighted blanket. “Find him at all costs .”
The ground rumbles in Tartaglia’s wrath, fissures of the earth threatening to burst forth with the power that thrums in his veins. Violence rears its ugly head, as the group moves quickly even through the harsh rain. Their Commanding Officer, the feared Vanguard of her Imperial Majesty, could barely contain the wrath he wishes to unleash. It took them five days to find where Thoma was being held captive. While this allotted time wasn’t so long, Thoma had already gone missing four days beforehand.
He had been away from his safe embrace for nine days.
Ajax doesn’t want to think about his condition.
All he could do is fervently pray to his patron God that Thoma will still be alive.
No, Tartaglia decides as he comes to a stop before the location where Thoma is being hidden. Bloodlust reigns its sinful head once more, tongue peeking from abyssal lips as Tartaglia’s vision comes to life. Thoma has to be alive.
If he isn’t …
Well, this wouldn’t be the first mass slaughter the Eleventh will commit.
Tartaglia’s name brings fear into the battlefield for a reason.
It was a one sided massacre, full of screams and pleads for mercy that was cruelly cut off by his blades. The Vanguard advances with no hesitation, blood tinting his hydro vision, the foul scent of death looming over him. Death has become his best friend, with how his blades arch into a seemingly scythe, cutting off the lives of those who dare to touch what is his. No mercy is granted for those that decided to harm the Chief Retainer of the Kamisato Clan.
“You should have targeted someone else.” His voice echoes in the cavern, the only sounds besides his own words are the footsteps of his men and the hysterical screaming from his enemies. Puddles of blood soaks his boots, but he’s made sure to avoid getting it on his clothes. He’d rather not dirty his beloved the moment they reunite.
The Commissioner arrives five minutes after the Fatuus stormed the stronghold, falling silent at the sight. Blood in every place he could see, the faces of those who harmed his Retainer pinched into one of eternal agony. No mercy, for they deserve a painful death, the slow encompassing feeling of your end falling upon you.
A one sided massacre.
A warning, for both his enemies and Ayato.
See what I can do , it seemingly speaks. I can and I will slaughter hordes of men if I have to. I will kill Gods and start wars for him, it states with finality. Look at the fates of those who laid a hand on him.
Watch how your Retainer dictates my life, Yashiro Commissioner. See, Hear, and Believe the control he has over me.
The Sea has always followed the Sun.
He lifts his hydro blades high into the air, the harsh arch and curves of the blood red weapon coming down on another. A scream rings through the air, followed by frantic sobbing's and pleads for mercy. The ginger is unfazed, wiping away the blood that splattered on his cheek, azure eyes scanning the sight before him. It purrs in a satisfied manner at the bloodshed he promised and did deliver, whispers of a bloodbath filling his senses. Tartaglia clenches his blood soaked fists, finding it hard to control his abyssal urges the more he does not receive any good news. One, Two, Three. In and out. In and out—
“My Lord, we found him!”
Those five words grounds him to reality.
“Where?” He demands, callously kicking away the still sobbing man. He will die in three minutes, and Tartaglia could careless for a painless death. He brought Thoma in this filthy place, he deserved a cruel death.
His men led him to where they found Thoma — down the winding halls, filled with cells and prisoners. He quietly instructs Nikolai to release the other prisoners, before stopping before a cell. There are members of the Shuumatsuban that arrived before him, as well as the Commissioner who gives him a brief nod. Tartaglia clenches and unclenches his fist, the blood on his hands making leather slippery. “Where is he?” He demands, stepping close, his men parting for him. Anger and regret is evident in the eyes of the Commissioner, as his eyes slid to the inside of the cell.
He finds his answer soon enough.
All of a sudden, all of his worries are replaced by dreadful anxiety at what he sees.
Thoma has always been bright. He’s always been full of life no matter the situation. He’s always attracted and garnered attention wherever he went due to his cheerful and upbeat personality, carefully and intricately woven with his kindness and gentleness.
And yet.
Thoma lays on the floor, eyes fluttering in a futile attempt to stay awake. Blood seeps into old and worn bandages, fresh injuries bleeding into dirty clothes. Bruises mar sun kissed skin, skin pale and lacking it’s usual flush, a testament of how dire the Retainer’s condition is. First aid kits, medical supplies and even numerous medicines litter the cell, brought by the medic as per his order.
He thought that the moment he saw Thoma, he would be rushing to his side, cradling his bleeding and broken body, whispering words of assurance and love. Yet, there is unmistakable fear that roots the ginger from where he stands. What if Thoma hates him, blames him for taking too long to find him? What if Thoma pushes him away, recoiling from his touch and his own being, vengeful and angry that Tartaglia failed to protect him?
Because if that is how Thoma felt, then he would be broken beyond repair. If Thoma demanded he cut his own heart from his chest cavity so he would be forgiven, then Tartaglia would do it with a smile on his face. If Thoma screams and hits him, demanding he kneel and ask for forgiveness like he is not a Harbinger, then the Vanguard will.
And yet.
The moment those hazy, emerald eyes focus on him, Tartaglia freezes.
Bloodied fingers tremble with effort as Thoma lifts his arm, hand outstretched — yearning for his presence, his touch.
“Ajax … ?”
The Sea has always followed the Sun — this time is no different.
The moment he hears his name fall from his lips, full of raw longing and fear, yearning for the presence of a bloodstained warrior, Ajax does not hesitate. If Thoma called for him despite failing the blond, then Ajax will destroy any who stood in his way of reuniting with the Sun.
“I’m here.” His voice is steady despite the emotions brimming within him, unshed tears filling his eyes. Thoma is still out of it, drifting from consciousness to his dreamland free from pain, but he recognizes him.
Even in death’s door, with no strength, Thoma calls for him. Still reaching out for him despite his weakness, an instinct so deeply engraved in the sun blessed child of Barbatos.
He still trusts Ajax.
( He doesn't know how to feel about it. )
Ajax lifts Thoma up carefully with the aid of his medic, cradling him close to his chest. Like this, the blond feels so small. He’s curled up against Ajax, face peaceful despite his injuries and the blood that coats him. Ajax would pry Thoma off of him if he was the one covered in blood — always thinking that Thoma was too pure, too clean to even touch a sinner like him.
But this is different.
The blood that stains his clothes are not his enemies, but his beloved. The one who weakly calls for him in death’s door are not those who he slaughtered, but the Sun who he yearns for.
He pushes past his men with ease, coming to a stop before Ayato. The commissioner is quiet, contemplative yet regretful — the moonshine in his eyes dark, eclipsing his true feelings.
“… Tell Thoma that he will be relieved from his duties as a member of the Shuumatsuban until further notice.” Ayato speaks quietly, white sleeves billowing as he turns around sharply. “He will disagree once he learns of it, but I will deal with that once the time comes. Please … do protect and keep him safe.” Blood soaks pure white, camellia tinting red.
“You may leave, Sir Tartaglia. We will clean this place up and leave no survivors.”
Ajax pauses, azure eyes flicking to the slumbering blond in his arms. Blood streaks Thoma’s cheeks, staining his purity with pain he should not bear. There are injuries scattered all over Thoma’s body, and it is a sin. To touch the Sun, to harm him and contain him in a dreary cell, depriving him of worship and love.
“Leave the leader alive. I will not give mercy.” Tartaglia states, eyes not leaving Thoma’s face. There is a chuckle from the Yashiro Commissioner, but it rings empty and hollow. “My Lord, you must focus on making sure Thoma recovers. He will need your support and your guidance to overcome this.” Ayato pauses.
“I was already planning to do what you have requeted. To harm a member of the Kamisato’s, and our beloved Retainer as well … Mercy should not be given. Only a cruel death is deserving of trash.” Malice intertwines with the Kamisato Head’s words. “By the time I am done with him, he will wish there was a hell for him to escape to.” Sincerity, honesty — an unflinching oath of the Moon that will never claim the Sun.
The Sea only watches as the Moon disappears.
Thoma wakes to comfort.
Unlike before, he is well rested, comfortable and at peace, knowing his last sight was the face of his supposed spouse. The room faintly smells of detergent, and Thoma cannot help but smile slightly.
Ajax knew Thoma hated the smell of antiseptic.
There is a lingering fear that resounds within him, the desperate urge to see if he is truly safe from hands that brought nothing but pain and misery. His body ache with phantom scars, but Thoma pushes it down to focus on where he is. The sheets are clean and freshly washed, the wall before the bed is strangely familiar, and the interior of the room—
Thoma notices the body warmth curled upon him protectively, the arm wrapped around his now healed waist with fervor. Thoma turns around with much difficulty, facing the person who embraces him so tightly, as if he was afraid Thoma will disappear any moment.
The blond can’t help the relieved smile slip across his face at the sight of Ajax. Worry bleeds into his heart when he notices the faint bags under his eyes, making Thoma wonder if this was his first time sleeping in the week he was taken. Fingertips brush against the skin of his cheeks, mapping out the freckles that dot the Snezhnayan’s face, noticing, with a soft look on his face, that it could very well be a constellation on his face.
His lashes flutter, and Thoma stills.
The biting cold of Snezhnaya’s winter meets the gentle meadows of Mondstadt.
Ajax takes a moment to look at Thoma.
For once, he is not unconscious, bloody and pale. For once, he lies before the Harbinger, whole and alive . There is a soft smile on Thoma’s face, a familiar yet comforting sight that never makes him fail to feel complete.
Like home.
“You’re awake.” Ajax breathes out, and all of the never ending anxiety and fear he’s felt all throughout the week comes crashing down on him. Ajax pulls Thoma into a gentle hug, mindful of the phantom pain he might feel. He takes in his scent, how Thoma’s body fits his like they were puzzle pieces that completed each other. The dip of his back, the curve of his spine — how Thoma is the perfect height for forehead kisses, how his waist seemingly fits his hands.
Finally , the Sea thinks as he embraces the Sun.
He’s home.
Warm and gentle hands trail up to his arms, back — as if taking Ajax into memory, before Thoma embraces him back. If the spot on his shoulder turns wet, he doesn’t comment on it. He lets Thoma cry whilst hiding his own tears, the burden he’s carried that he might be too late finally shattering into pieces. He doesn’t know how long they spent embracing together like it will be their last, but Ajax has to reluctantly pull away from the embrace of the one he loves.
Thoma is beautiful.
The blond blinks through his tears, yet the smile doesn’t fall from his still tired face. It will be a long time before that fatigue leaves the Retainer, but it’s okay. Ajax will wait. He’s not patient, but if it’s for Thoma, then he will be the most patient person there is. Ajax props himself up, calloused hands cupping Thoma’s face gently, What would his enemies think if they see this side of the Eleventh? So gentle, so fragile in his love and sincerity for the child of Barbatos.
“I’m sorry.” He breaks the silence with a sorrowful apology, azure eyes falling shut. He can still remember that day with clarity, the damning realization that Thoma might be going through something horrific as time ticks by. The anxiety, the pain — the self hatred that burns through abyss tainted veins as he raced against time, destroying anything and anyone in his way to rescue the one person who welcomed him home with sunny smiles and gentle arms.
A hand cups his face, thumb brushing his cheek affectionately. He opens his eyes, strangely moist, to see Thoma smile up at him from where he lay on the bed. His blond hair is spread out underneath him like a halo of gold, depicting Thoma as if he is an angel from above.
He certainly looks and acts like one.
“No apologies needed, Ajax.” Thoma’s eyes crinkle. His voice is raspy from misuse, but still holds the same warmth as before. His name sounds wonderful falling from his lips, the syllables sounding like a perfectly strung melody. “I was too late— I came too late. You were harmed because I couldn’t find you fast enough.” If his voice breaks, no one speaks of it. Thoma looks at him, past the mask of the Eleventh, through his facade as Childe, and into the bitter and broken self of his that is called Ajax.
Then, he smiles.
“I wasn’t afraid.”
His breath hitches,
“Even as they cut into my skin, even when they tied me and hit me, doing any means to extract information from me, I wasn’t afraid. Even as my blood stained the ground and my injuries festered, I did not fear. Do you know why, Ajax?”
Thoma’s thumb is affectionate, emerald eyes still so gentle — baring himself, his true feelings and sincerity to the man who caught his heart and loved it so gently despite how foreign it is.
“Because I knew you’d find me. I knew you would tear through the whole Inazuma if it meant finding me. I knew that any day, you would waltz in and rescue me.” Thoma leans forward, and Ajax almost panics because he should be resting—
It ends up with Thoma on his lap, golden hair slipping onto delicate shoulders.
“You were my only light, Ajax.” He whispers, wholly true and sincere. “The one thing that kept me going through it all. I thought: Don’t fear. Don’t be afraid. The Harbinger whom you have sworn yourself to will surely find you.” Thoma’s eyes crinkle, and Ajax’s hold on Thoma’s waist tightens, even for a brief moment.
“And I was right. You came — You were there, and you took my broken self in your arms, cradling me as if I was the most precious thing to you.”
Because you are, Ajax wants to say.
He says it, and Thoma’s eyes crinkles further in his smile.
I know, he responds with the same sincerity Ajax holds.
“You came for me and rescued me. And you — in your bloodlust and abyssal powers, held me as I bled.” Thoma leans their foreheads together, eyes slipping shut, his smile gentle and kind.
Ajax never wants this moment to end.
“So thank you, my Knight.” Thoma whispers so lovingly that he can feel the bitter and broken self within him start to heal.
“You saved me, and you found me.”
Ajax shuts his own eyes, breathes in that makes Thoma, Thoma, and for the first time in almost a decade, lets himself rest. In these white sheets, with the love of his life that whispers all of his titles with nothing but purity and sincerity, he feels at home.
“I will always find you.” He murmurs, and it is nothing but the truth. He stakes it on the oath he took to Her Majesty, and Thoma cannot help the laughter that spills from his lips. Thoma cups his face once more, and he smiles. Ajax thinks he is beautiful like this. Free from his burdens, his loyalty to the Clan that may as well serve as his downfall, eternally grateful for the family that took him in.
Ajax might as well be the world’s biggest hypocrite, but Thoma has always had that effect on him. To conquer the world was his dream, to serve Her Majesty until his last breath was his wish — but in moments like this, Ajax thinks growing old with the Sun in his grasp might be a better ending for the Vanguard of the Tsaritsa. Ajax breathes in, and as their lips graze together in a silent oath, he knows deep down what he truly wants.
Thoma smiles like he knows. Perhaps he does.
Ajax cannot find it in himself to doubt the blond or to question him. For him, all that mattered was Thoma was in his arms, safe and completely alive — heart beating against his, emeralds shining in its beauty.
Tartaglia is Her Majesty’s weapon. Childe is a persona of the weapon he’s become, and Ajax is wholly, truly, Thoma’s.
The Sea has always yearned for the Sun.
The Sun has always yearned back — it was only a matter of time, until they were entangled with one another, their fate rewritten through a rose tinted future they both dream and wish for.