Chapter Text
The magnificent palace of Snezhnaya stands tall in the early morning light, its imposing shadow casting a dark flicker over the snow-covered landscape. With walls constructed, intricately carved granite blocks and delicate ice crystals that shimmer in the sun, this majestic building exudes a sense of grandeur and power. The palace's towers ascend high into the sky, their pointed tips piercing the clouds and casting their shadow across the frozen landscape. The sight of this gleaming edifice is a testament to the might and splendor of Snezhnaya, and serves as a reminder to all who enter of the wealth and power of the land and its rulers.
As the Fatui agents make their way into the palace, the sound of their footsteps echoes through the halls, their heavy boots striking the marble floors. They move with a sense of purpose, masked faces as they attend to their duties. The palace's corridors are filled with detailed carvings and sculptures that depict the greatness and power of Snezhnaya and its Tsaritsa. The elaborate and intricately designed sculptures showcase the skill and craftsmanship of Snezhnaya’s artisans, and serve as a testament to the rich cultural heritage.
They march into the palace carrying an unconscious person between them. The scene is both intimidating and intriguing as they make their way through the ornate corridors. The person is unconscious and unmoving, their body limp in the grip of the agents. The agents walk with purpose, their movements determined as they carry the unconscious person. Inside the palace, the agents are met with a sense of power. The walls seem to tower over them, the intricate carvings and sculptures adding to the feeling of importance that emanates from within.
As they move through the luxurious halls, their footsteps echo off the polished marble floors, the sound carrying the weight of the wealth and prestige that the palace represents. Despite their imposing presence, the agents are careful not to drop the unconscious person they carry. Instead, they hold them with a delicate balance, their movements precise and calculated. It's clear that they are well-trained in performing their tasks with efficiency and competency. The agents' arrival in the palace catches the attention of the servants and staff, the activity around them increasing as they make their way towards their destination.
Dottore's lab is a buzzing hive of activity, the sights and sounds of machines and equipment constantly whirring and humming in the background. Despite the chaos that surrounds him, Dottore moves with a purpose, his pen swiftly recording his observations and notes on the massive metallic table. His focus never strays from his work, no matter how loud the machines around him may sound. Around him, vials and beakers of unknown substances, equipment and machinery all working with a single-minded focus on advancing science. In this lab, the impossible becomes possible, and Dottore is the driving force behind it all.
The dark, grimy room was filled with the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps as Dottore watched the Fatui agents drag you into the lab. His cold eyes remained unwavering as they laid your prone body unceremoniously onto the metallic table, the blood and wounds glistening in the artificial light. Dottore's tone was sharp and exact as he spoke, his lips forming a hard line. "You have damaged the goods. Place it on the table. The wounds will require further treatment before experimentation." The Fatui agents did as he commanded, arranging your limp body into a neat position.
Dottore's every move was deliberate and controlled as he stepped closer to you, bending over it to examine the wounds with a critical eye. He was a doctor, a master of his craft. "You require further treatment. " He says in that precise, chilling tone of his, "Leave us." Dottore commands the Fatui agents. They bow quickly and as they close the door behind them, the silence of the lab is deafening. The only sounds are the hum of the machine and the steady drip of red blood onto the metallic table.
Dottore gathers antiseptics and medical thread, setting to work cleaning and stitching the wounds. It is of the utmost importance this subject survives, there are so many possibilities. The potential knowledge to be gained is endless. Another invaluable piece in his eternal quest for progress. The unnamed stranger is at the mercy of a man who will stop at nothing to push the boundaries of science, to unlock the secrets of the body and the mind. For Dottore, this is an experiment, a necessary step in his quest for knowledge, a subject on which to test his theories and hypotheses.
Dottore's cold crimson eyes behind the mask examine your unconscious face as he tends to your wounds. Though you are nameless to him, an object to further his research goals, he notes your slightly furrowed brows and twitch of your eyelids as he stitches your head wound. Even in the depths of unconsciousness, the body reacts. He works meticulously and efficiently, stitching the gashes and applying antiseptic. His work may seem unfeeling to an outside observer but there is a scientific precision to his movements, an interest in restoring this subject to good health and function. Perfection in his experiments requires perfection in his materials.
Once the wounds have been tended to, Dottore steps back, observing his work. you lie still and quiet on the operating table, the rising and falling of your chest the only sign of life. Dottore feels a twinge of... something, an unfamiliar emotion at the sight. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the thrill of the unknown, the potential for discovery this new subject represents. He turns away, gathering his tools. Dottore has many questions, hypotheses to test. This subject will provide the answers, in time. For now, the subject will sleep, recover, and regain their strength. And then, progress.
You begin to stir. Your half-lidded eyes fluttered open, seeking something to focus on, and they came to rest on the unfamiliar surroundings. Your vision was still blurry from the head wound, and your groan of pain echoed in the quiet laboratory. Dottore turns at the slightest hint of your movements and faint stirrings, his cold, crimson eyes examining your body as it moves with a mixture of interest and detachment as he noted your ice-blue eyes, so full of life and mystery.
His mind raced with curiosity, a hint of recognition dancing on the tip of his tongue as his gaze fell upon the strange markings on your skin, and something felt strangely familiar about them, even though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. His concentration was momentarily broken by the sound of your pained groans, but Dottore’s curiosity is only further piqued. He has seen many strange things in his line of work, but these markings seem to hold a special significance, a link to something.
He approaches and commands the confused and pained subject with coldness, his voice conveying disinterest, as if he were speaking to a laboratory rat rather than a fellow human. "Be still, you are injured and require rest." His voice is devoid of warmth or concern, a fact that is evident to both you and Dottore. As you attempt to sit up ignoring his request, Dottore firmly holds you in place, his hand firm and uncompromising “There will be time for questions later. For now, sleep."
He then proceeds to inject a mild sedative into the vein in your arm, his hand confident and practiced, as he administers the drug with the ease of someone who has done it before. "When you awaken, we shall begin." He says matter-of-factly, as if your participation in his experiment were a given, rather a subject for debate. The drug takes swift effect, dulling the pain and cloudiness as your consciousness fades once more. Dottore watches as your ice-blue eyes dim and close, your body relaxing back onto the table with a soft thud. So many questions already, so much potential locked within this stranger.
“Zandik.”
Dottore sits up, alert, his eyes widening behind his mask as you call out, your voice weak, but full of recognition. His suspicion and curiosity warred within him, the puzzle of this stranger too irresistible to ignore. But before he could question you further, the sedative took full effect, dragging you back into unconsciousness. Dottore studies the now still form, pondering this strange new development. Someone who knew him, captured like prey, and yet still capable of uttering his true name.
A puzzle. One Dottore intended to solve.
"Zandik." He said his name aloud, testing how it felt on his tongue. You stirred slightly at the sound but did not wake. Dottore can't help but wonder how this stranger could possibly know him, how they could utter his name with such familiarity.
Dottore, his fingers tapping ever so impatiently against the cover of his notebook, takes meticulous notes on his new subject. This one has already proven to be uniquely fascinating, and he is determined to uncover every secret you hold, to probe every mystery until nothing remains hidden. Whatever familiarity existed between them would soon be exposed under his meticulous interrogation.
However, for now, he makes a few notes before his next destination. He understands that progress waits for no one, not even the wounded. The questions he already has are merely the tip of the iceberg, he knows, when it comes to his research. There will be time for answers soon enough. For now, the subject must rest and recover. He waits for the day when they shall begin their work in earnest. Dottore’s infinite patience and dedication to progress will see this through.
As he left his laboratory, his pace was slow and deliberate. As if every movement was calculated and precise. With measured strides, he navigated the halls with ease, his footsteps echoing against the polished marble floor. Dottore was met with the hushed whispers of servants and guards. They all stopped in their tracks upon seeing him, his mere presence commanded their attention. They bowed down as he walked through the hall. He was a man on a mission, his objective clear and uncompromising. He moved with purpose and authority, his gaze fixed ahead as he made his way to his next destination: The Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally arrived at the imposing entrance to the Queen’s palace, the grand doors standing before him like a reminder of the significance of this meeting. With a deep breath, he pushed through them. Upon entering the grand hall, his gaze drifted upward to take in the sheer grandeur of the space, taking note of every detail that came into view.
The throne room of the Tsaritsa's palace was a vast and frigid space, with walls of gleaming ice and a ceiling that seemed to stretch up into the inky black void of space. It was dimly illuminated, the only light coming from the faint, flickering glow of the dozens of icicles that protruded from the walls and ceiling. In the center of the room, on a raised dais of ice carved into the shape of a vast, snowy throne, sat the seat of the Cryo Archon, the Tsaritsa. The throne itself was a magnificent structure, made of a pale, crystal-clear ice that seemed to glow with an inner light. The dragon’s head and wings, along with its body, were all intricately carved into the throne, the details so fine and intricate that they seemed almost lifelike. The room was bitterly cold, the air heavy and dense as if frozen solid. It was as if the very atmosphere threatened to steal the breath from one's lungs, leaving only the sensation of freezing cold on one's skin. Despite the beauty of the room, it was clear that this was a place where the Tsaritsa's power was absolute, a place where her control reached even into the very fabric of the world itself.
As he approached the throne of the Tsaritsa, his demeanor suddenly shifted. The once confident and self-assured man became more calculating and reserved. His steps slowed, his gaze growing somber. He knew what he was about to say would be of tremendous importance and he did not wish to take it lightly.
The Tsaritsa's appearance seemed to match her cold and aloof demeanor. Her elegant dress was of a pure white hue, the fine fabric clinging to her slender frame. Her long, silvery hair shimmered like frozen ice, framing her pale face. Her piercing, ice-blue eyes were cold and unsmiling as they regarded Dottore with a look of unswerving, uncompromising determination. His thoughts wandered to your ice-blue eyes for a brief moment, before he quickly refocused. Despite her apparent aloofness, there was no missing the sharp, shrewd intellect that lurked behind her glacial stare, watching and analyzing every detail with sharp precision.
Dottore bowed before the Tsaritsa, the mask on his face a stark contrast to the pure white marble of the palace floor. He spoke without emotion, addressing the Tsaritsa with formality and respect. "Your Highness, I have made significant progress in my experiments,” He began. “I believe that I am on the verge of making a major breakthrough."
The Tsaritsa remained silent for a moment, her slender fingers toying with the gem atop her staff as she listened to Dottore's words. "A breakthrough?" She raised an eyebrow, her pale eyes locking with those of the Doctor. "And what is the nature of this "breakthrough," exactly?" A faint expression of displeasure flashed across Tsaritsa's cool, unfeeling features, quickly replaced by her usual neutral expression as she waited for Dottore’s answer.
Dottore cleared his throat, his voice remaining calm and steady as he responded to the Tsarista’s question "It's a long story, Your Highness, but in essence, I have created a special prototype that far surpasses any of my previous subjects.
"Indeed? Pray tell me more about this "prototype" of yours, Dottore." The Tsaritsa leaned forward slightly, interest glinting in her eyes as she watched him. Her piercing eyes locked with his, and he knew that he had her full attention.
"It will be difficult to fully convey the details in mere words, but let it suffice to say that it is an experiment that has far exceeded my expectations." His voice remained steady, even though he wanted to beam with pride "The prototype has exceptional capabilities. It possesses strength and speed that surpass even the capabilities of an Archon. But the most remarkable aspect of this prototype is its intelligence. It can learn and adapt quickly and efficiently. If we can harness its potential, I am confident that it will prove to be an invaluable weapon in our fight to bring Teyvat under the Tsarista and the Fatui’s control. It will usher in an era of power and domination for all who support our cause.”
"An Archon, you say?" She raised an eyebrow, her face unreadable "This is certainly a bold claim." He remained composed, though he could feel the weight of her scrutiny upon him. "I assure you, Your Highness, my claims are not exaggerated. The capabilities of this prototype are truly remarkable, and I believe that with further experimentation it will prove to be an asset of unimaginable value to the Fatui."
The Tsaritsa remained silent, her face as inscrutable as ever. Her piercing icy-blue eyes studied him, weighing his words with uncompromising scrutiny. "Do you mean to say this prototype could become an archon itself?"
For a moment, Dottore felt a twinge of panic. He was not used to being questioned so intensely, and he knew that he must choose his words carefully. Tsaritsa's eyes narrowed slightly, and he could see a flicker of displeasure on her face. Her eyes locked with him intensely, a hint of suspicion gleaming in them. "I assure you, Your Highness, that this prototype will be completely under the Fatui's control.” He said, his voice firm but respectful. "We will use all of our resources and expertise to ensure that it remains loyal to the Fatui and follows our orders without question. It has been designed and trained specifically for that purpose, and I can guarantee that it will not become a threat to the Fatui or yourself."
The Tsaritsa considered Dottore's words for a moment, her cold eyes seemingly analyzing every inch of his face, probing into his very soul. The brief silence in the room was oppressive, making him feel uneasy. Eventually, the Tsaritsa stood up slowly, rising to her full height and looking down at Dottore with an air of authority and command "We will discuss this further at a later time. For now, you are dismissed, Harbinger." She said, her voice carrying the same coldness as before.
Dottore bowed his head respectfully, his face still showing no emotion or expression. The disappointment was clear in his mind, as he turned and walked briskly through the palace halls and corridors. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed an opportunity, that he had not convinced The Tsaritsa to trust him and his creation.
As Dottore hurried along the hall, he noticed a familiar figure in the corner of his eye. The familiar figure was hard to miss, with his sharp and clever features. He turned to look and saw Pantalone walking toward him, a sly smile on his face. Dottore’s jaw clamped shut, and he quickened his pace, heading to his office in a haste without acknowledging Pantalone. But the man was quick, and he closed the distance within moments, stepping in front of Dottore and blocking his path. Pantalone leaned close to the Dottore’s face, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I heard the whole conversation, Dottore." Pantalone's voice was cold and calculating. "I know what you're up to, and I must say... I'm impressed."
Dottore tensed, his jaw clenching even tighter as his patience began to run out "What...what do you want, Pantalone?" He demanded, forcing himself to keep his tone even despite his rising blood pressure. Pantalone leaned in even closer, his eyes glittering and calculating behind his glasses. "Let's cut to the chase, Dottore. I'm willing to fund your research”
Dottore paused for a second, trying to read Pantalone's expression. Finally, he sighed and said, "I know there's a price to pay, Pantalone. But I will gladly pay it if it means making my research a reality. Now, tell me what you want in return for your funding."
As Dottore finished speaking, he raised his eyebrows at Pantalone, awaiting his answer. Silence fell between the two men. After a moment of silence, Pantalone spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I need one of your subjects, " he said, his eyes piercing behind his glasses.
Dottore raised his eyebrows in surprise behind his mask, his mind quickly processing the request. He studied Pantalone’s unreadable expression, trying to glean some clue about what he needed the subject for. "Subjects are highly valuable and hard to come by," he said, his voice firm. "What do you need them for?"
Pantalone paused before replying, his mind calculating his response. "That is none of your concern," he said, his voice still low. "All you need to know is that I am willing to pay a high price for one of your special subjects. What do you say?"
Dottore hesitated, his mind racing. He was curious as to why Pantalone would be interested in his subjects but he was also intrigued by the prospect of funding his research. He took another breath and replied, " Very well. I will supply you with one of my subjects in exchange for your funding”
He paused for a moment before adding “But it will be on my terms and for a limited time only." Pantalone's lips curled into a smile, revealing his glinting teeth. "Excellent," he said, his voice still low "We have a deal."
He nodded at the banker and turned to leave, his mind racing with thoughts of the agreement he had just made with Pantalone. He could almost envision the endless possibilities that the banker's funding would open up for his research, and he was eager to get started. But for now, he had other matters to attend to, his thoughts turning to the subject that was brought to him for a moment, and then back to the deal. He would have the opportunity to discuss the details of their deal with Pantalone at their next meeting.
"I have other matters to attend to," he called over his shoulder, his voice firm and resolute. Pantalone gave a slight wave of his hand in acknowledgment, and the two men went their separate ways.
As Dottore made his way to his office and lab, he took a few moments to compose himself and regain his focus. After shutting the door behind him, he took several deep breaths, attempting to clear his head of the noise of the day’s events. He walked over to the lab and was greeted by you, laying on the metallic table, seemingly awake. You were taking in the surroundings of the lab, your eyes darting around and checking the various equipment and scientific instruments.
"You are awake," Dottore states firmly, his tone neutral but probing, his eyes scanning every inch of your body for any clue to your identity. Your eyes meet Dottore’s, your mysterious ice-blue eyes that look so oddly familiar. Recognition flashes across your features briefly, but you remain silent.
“ You spoke my name before," Dottore pressed further, his voice soft and curious, a hint of hope in his tone. "How is that?" He asked, curiosity and the faintest trace of eagerness creeping into his voice.
You take a moment before responding, with a long pause as you consider your words carefully. When you do speak, your voice is soft and trembles just slightly. "You do not remember me," you say with a hint of sadness and longing in your tone.
Dottore's gaze hardens at your words. " Then remind me ," he demands, his niceties gone entirely. "Who are you?" Dottore’s eyes search your face, looking for any signs of deception. But he can only sense truth in the words - and another mystery awaiting to be uncovered. The faintest of smiles tugs at the edges of Dottore’s lips beneath his mask as he considers the new information. " Remind me, " he repeats. " And we shall see where this may lead us... "
As Dottore presses you for answers, your face conveys a myriad of emotions. He picks up on your hesitation to respond, noting the visible sadness, regret, and many other emotions etched into your face. He observes how your gaze shifts elsewhere, as your mind struggles to process the questions being posed to you. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, but you stop them with an immense willpower, determined to remain composed. The heart monitor quickly speeds up. Dottore notes your rapidly increasing heart rate, a symptom of your internal turmoil, and yet you maintain your calm exterior, showing little outward display of your inner turmoil.
After a few moments of tense silence, you gesture for Dottore to reach out his hand to you. He hesitates, a momentary flash of uncertainty crossing his face as he considers the significance of this gesture. Eventually, he reaches out and takes your hand in his. As soon as you touch, a sudden burst of energy ripples through his body, and he is gripped by vivid flashbacks, flooded with images, memories not his own. Fragments of a shared past with you, memories long buried. Pain and suffering, but also...love. A past affection he had forgotten, until now.
He is transported back in time. The sights, sounds, and even smells of their past fill his senses, and he feels like he is back in the midst of your shared experiences. The emotional intensity of the flashback and memories is overwhelming, and Dottore struggles to breathe as he experiences the full depth of the emotions that he shared with you.
Dottore stood alone amidst the carnage, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. The bodies of the fallen lay scattered around him, the screams of agony and terror echoing through the air. The landscape was a desolate wasteland, with burned and blackened earth stretching as far as the eye could see. Thick columns of smoke and ash rose into the air, obscuring his vision and choking the air with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and burnt debris. But even through the haze, he could see the bodies, scattered across the ground like broken dolls.
Amidst the utter destruction, he found himself holding you in his arms, your body limp and lifeless, but the fragmented memories of your death were too blurred and distorted for him to understand what had happened. Tears streamed down his face as he looked down at you, the sight of you still form breaking his heart and filled him with a deep crushing sense of guilt. He had known you for so long, but now you lay in his arms, your life extinguished like a flickering candle. He cried out in anguish and confusion, his voice rising up to the heavens in a desperate plea.
But his pleas went unanswered, and he was left alone to wrestle with your passing. He was nothing but a witness to the atrocities that had been inflicted upon you. His anger and sorrow burned within him, but he was powerless to change the course of events. He felt a furious sense of injustice as he screamed out at the murderer who had taken your life. But the murderer was long gone, their heart cold and devoid of all compassion, leaving nothing but a trail of blood behind them.
The crackling of the flames surrounding him served as a constant reminder of the devastation that had taken place. He was alone in the midst of the rubble, facing the enormity of the loss as the smoke and flames consumed the place.
Dottore’s voice is laced with emotion, a fragile and broken tone that speaks to the weight of memory pressing down on him. There is a catch in his throat and he is barely able to muster the strength to speak. "You.." He takes deep, halting breaths, struggling to find the words to express what he is feeling. Finally, he manages to choke out a few words, a tinge of humanity in his cold voice. “I remember…. the fall of Khaenri’ah .”. This statement is more than a phrase, but a reminder of what both you and him have been through.
Your eyes meet his, filled with longing but also hope. Dottore's mask hides his expression, but his crimson eyes convey new understanding, a hint that he no longer sees you as a nameless test subject for experimentation but as someone from his hidden past. "I did not know you survived." he says. An unspoken apology.
Your hand squeezes his weakly. "Nor I, you." voice trembling.
"We have both changed." Dottore states simply, yet in this moment of remembering, perhaps something new can grow. This statement hangs in the air, suggesting that what has happened cannot be undone, but there may still be room for growth and change. Dottore does not release your hand, lost in thought. Memories swirl within him, stirred up by this unexpected meeting. So much has happened since those distant days, so much pain and isolation. He has become hardened, focused solely on his research. But perhaps…
Dottore straightens as the door burst open, releasing your hand. Pierro and a couple of Fatui agents enter. A flash of irritation crosses his features behind the mask - he does not take kindly to interruptions. "What is it?" Dottore says with a hint of annoyance to Pierro.
“The subject.” Pierro says flatly.
Pierro gestures to the Fatui agents, signaling them to take action. The agents rush in, their movements quick and rough as they grab you and wrench you off of the table. A sound of pain escapes your lips, your eyes pleading with Dottore. Something dark and protective stirs within Dottore at the sight, a long dormant possessiveness awakened by their shared past. His hands ball into fists at his sides, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s a threat lurking beneath the surface. "Unhand her. At once."
Pierro is caught off guard by the sudden shift in Dottore’s demeanor. Pierro sighs. "Dottore, there has been a misunderstanding. This subject was never meant for you, they - "
Dottore cuts him off. "I care not for your words." His eyes, cold and fierce, lock with Pierro's. "This one. Is. Mine." His voice rings out in the lab, cutting through the chaos. His words are delivered with an effortless authority, yet there's a threat lurking just beneath the surface that makes the agents pause for a moment.
Pierro meets the Dottore’s cold, calculating gaze and slowly nods his head. "You heard the Doctor. Unhand her." The Fatui agents immediately release you and step away, a faint look of fear crossing their faces as they do so. Pierro explains in a firm tone “ The purpose of this subject lies elsewhere ” he continues, trying to diffuse the tension “ This is the Tsarista’s orders .”
Dottore's eyes narrow behind his mask. " The Tsaritsa's orders are not in question. " he says coolly. " However, this one is now under my purview. I will decide when the relevant knowledge has been obtained. "
Pierro sighs, not wanting to escalate the matter. " Il Dottore, please see reason. This subject holds significance beyond your experiments. "
Dottore's voice hardens. " Their significance to me is precisely why I claim them as mine." He stares down Pierro, unwilling to back down. " I will not relinquish this subject. "
A tense silence falls. Finally, Pierro nods his head slightly. " Very well. This matter is between you and the Tsaritsa. I ask only that you proceed with utmost caution. " He turns to leave, then pauses and says in a low and threatening voice. " Tread carefully, ll Dottore. Even you are not above her laws. "
Dottore says nothing, but his gaze follows Pierro as he exits, the two Fatui agents falling into step behind him. When they are gone, he turns to you, still laid upon the table. His eyes, normally so cold, convey an unexpected intensity.
" You heard him. I claim you. " His voice is quiet but resolute. " For reasons beyond anything he could understand. But reasons that bind us nonetheless. " He offers a hand, a sign of trust. " Come. There is much for us to rediscover. "
When you take his hand, you can’t help but be struck by the intensity of the moment. Dottore’s hand, normally so cold and distant, suddenly feels warm and comforting. You gaze up at him, hope and wariness in equal measure, as he helps you stand. His arm is steady, providing much needed support as you take your first tentative steps. For the first time in memory, he feels the stirrings of something akin to compassion. These strange emotions are not unwelcome, but they are certainly unexpected.