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Snezhnaya’s chilling arctic winds cut through flesh, cut through bone, cut through your very soul - and demands that you survive —
Or perish.
The world is white - white from the sheer snowfall, with just a calligraphic smattering of trees - dark tendrils against the frosty landscape. All is silent -
Until chains of purple black rip through the clearing - shattering the illusion of tranquility - a single roaring flame, scarlet hair and vermillion eyes ablaze and defiant in the land of ice -
(Diluc came to Snezhnaya for answers, for revenge, to fight -
The Fatui Harbinger with hydro blades in his hands, and a crimson mask over his face - that does almost nothing to hide the sheer glee and arrogance in his tone - finds him two weeks in.)
Two of Diluc’s Delusion-fuelled chains (literal and perhaps, metaphorical - ) catch the Harbinger by his arm, and while the latter snaps his head just quick enough to the side - to avoid another chain piercing through his skull - it’s close enough for Diluc to take the chance to -
“Burn.”
The chain nearest to the Harbinger’s face detonates in dark violet flames, the other two keeping the enemy in place. It’s definitely not enough to kill him, but -
The mask cracks - chunks and fragments falling off - crimson and gold mingling with the blood that’s dripping off the side of the Fatuus’s face now -
(And the smooth planes of his features, suggests he’s perhaps Diluc’s age, but even through the obvious injury, he’s - )
Smiling.
(And Diluc has to forcibly hold himself steady, school his expression into an unflinching stare, keeping his grip on the Harbinger tight - these types always seemed to get under his skin way too easily - )
The brief silence as they hold each other’s stares breeds an unease, that crackles in the cold, cold air -
“This is getting a little dangerous,” the Harbinger waves a hand vaguely towards the sky, perhaps towards the blood that’s still flowing, dyeing the tips of copper hair magenta, past a single navy eye, the edges of a sharp smirk never reaching it, a lilted voice that belies the honed blade underneath, “Sun’s setting and all, so I’ll only ask this once -
“Yield.”
(Diluc wants to punch him through his sickening teeth - )
“Never - “
The Harbinger lets out something between a scoff and a laugh - it’s a shame yet such a delight that this one won’t come along so easily - and Diluc only manages to catch a glimpse of how the other’s expression shifts, through the broken parts of his mask - deadly, lethal, and serious - before he’s being shoved back - a black glove wrapped around the upper half of Diluc’s face, slamming him backwards into the snow-covered ground -
The last thing Diluc sees is an almost maniacal grin, that doesn’t at all match the single eye that is as dead as the perpetual winter surrounding them -
“It’s been fun, Red - “
- before he’s shocked with an immense amount of electro energy and -
It all goes dark.
Diluc thinks he’s dreaming - dreaming when he should never be, because -
He’s pretty sure you can’t dream while you’re in, maybe, perhaps, something like hell -
But he wakes - is awake - in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere - wakes when he has no business still being amongst the living - unless -
“You’re a tough little shit, aren’t you - “
That same voice. Different tone now (irritated, disgruntled - confusion and disbelief masquerading as anger and spite) but -
The Harbinger.
Diluc forces down the questions, forces down the doubt. Forces down the pain and the blood (literally; he’d immediately tasted it in his mouth, stinging iron, the moment he’d awoken) - forces it all down, except -
“Why didn’t you finish me off - “ (he seethes, seethes through gritted teeth, as if they were familiar with each other, as if there were expectations to be fulfilled -
Anger, deserved or not, was at the very least reliable.)
The Harbinger’s demeanour has been tilted on its axis, the taunts and laughs left buried in the snow, aggravation practically rolling off him in waves now -
“I can’t - “
Diluc scoffs, makes an attempt to be disdainful, even through a choked cough that follows, “Got soft?”
“I said - “ the Fatuus immediately rises from where he’d been seated, some distance away from the small bed Diluc was lying in, pries his fingers into the collar of his uniform and the scarf around his neck, almost completely rips them aside - the cold fury in blue eyes like the blizzard now raging outside the tiny cabin -
No -
(And Diluc thinks he’s close to heaving - )
As Noctua - his constellation - stares back at him, almost mockingly, from where it rests on the Harbinger’s skin, just above the other’s heart -
(An inconsequential, fleeting, utterly and jarringly ironic thought - a memory - of when he’d been younger, when everything had just been better - and he’d asked Kaeya -
Do you think there are narwhals in Snezhnaya - his own hand over where Diluc knew the constellation of a single-horned whale rested beneath his clothes, a signifier of his fated counterpart - his soulmate - )
Fate must enjoy setting up Diluc’s life like some sort of satirical comedy, when the Harbinger repeats -
“I can’t.”