Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ororon stood, the numbness of injustice prickling at his limbs as the cool air whipped around him. Every breath was like a stab to the chest, every movement sluggish and out of his control.

He knew not of what he would do, of where he would go, but he could not stay.

Every moment in these lands was a reminder. A reminder of time long past, nights long ended, and moments of truly being seen.

He feels his nails dig into the palms of his flesh, a sway to his body as he breathed in to gather strength.

He closed his eyes, willing away the vision in front of him. Hoping that all he had seen was no longer. Praying that this was nothing more than a bad dream, a twisted vision given to him so that he may take heed of what there was to lose.

Yet when he opened his eyes he was met with the staggering realization that nothing would change.

He felt hopeless, unmoored. And as he stared upon the love of his life, sat upon a throne undead forever, he knew that this would forever be seared into his mind, into his soul.

“If I had known…If I had known this is what you were planning I would have never retrieved you! I would have never brought you here!” He trembles as the words leap forth from his mouth, as the tears that he had held back thus far threatened to overflow.

“How could you do this…How could you leave me alone?” And those words were set on a whispered whine, unendingly broken and shattered.

They were supposed to have more time. They were supposed to spend more evenings under the stars, more days illuminated by the sun. He was supposed to show Captaino the wonders of Natlan and in return Capitano would show him the wonders of Snezhnaya. Of snowy mountain tops and icy rivers.

And yet this is what he was shown. A throne surrounded by ice and sorrow, forever himself alone even as he found peace and his own end like death.

He trembles to move forward, to touch. He yearns to do so, yet he cannot get his feet to shuffle forward. So he stands there, peering into a mask in which he had become so intimately familiar with.

It is with one shuddering breath that he turns away, fist clenched by his sides as he swiftly retreats.

He was capable of many things, but this was not one of them. This was like ripping out his heart, tossing it on the cold ground, letting the ice leach into the veins as it slowly became encased with unthawing frigidity.

This was like a death of its own kind, the chipping away of an already damaged soul.

And he did not know if he would survive it.

“Why don't you just take a moment and talk to us?” Ifa attempts to reason as he watches Ororon shove another handful of items for his refrigerator into the trash.

“There's nothing to talk about.”

“I'm sure that there's plenty that we could discuss! We're here to listen to you, to understand what you're going through.” Mualani reaches out tentativly as if to take Ororon’s hand, yet he is swift to pull away out of her reach.

“I've made up my mind.”

“But... But we'll miss you.” Kachina ears flatten on the top of her head as she glances at the lone bag by the door.

“I'm sure the feeling will fade.”

“Ororon!” Ifa scolds, brows furrowed as he tried to understand what was happening.

For weeks they had been trying to track down Ororon and figure out what was going on with him. Initially they thought he was saddened by the loss of a new friend. They had given him time to mourn and thought he would soon enough be back to his regular self. But then his deliveries ceased to return, his presence no longer seen around the tribes, and even his garden had begun to look withered.

They had sought him out at all of his usual hangout places, asking around and trying to figure out where the man had gone.

When all of their traditional means of tracking down Ororon had failed, they decided to go to Citlali. The woman was already annoyed because she herself had been trying to figure out where that grandson of hers went.

She railed for hours as they attempted to track him down, finding even that to be unsuccessful.

It wasn't until they had come across a group of Fatui soldiers that they figured there was nothing else they had to lose so they decided to ask them.

It didn't take long for Aether to track down Rotchev, the Fatui soldier who had stood next to Ororon at the ceremony of unveiling the monument for those who had fallen.

The group didn't want to seem threatening when they had approached the camp, but they were concerned and they needed answers.

“Can we help you?” Rotchev questions as he watches their approach, hand twitching as he resisted the urge to cross his arms.

“We're trying to track down Ororon. He hasn't been seen since that day at the ceremony and we're starting to get worried.” Ifa explained.

Rotchev frowns. “You haven't seen him? He's been at the camp every night… And he's supposed to be back at his place right now.”

He searches their expressions, understanding eventually donning across his features. He takes a step back, his expression icing over quickly.

“What just happened?” Paimon whispers as she looks at the suddenly closed off man.

“I don't know, but I don't like it.” Kinich narrowed his eyes, ready to defend if anything was to happen.

“I'm sorry, but I cannot offer you any further information without you speaking to him first. He is back at his place, you should go there now.” Rotchev’s voice is firm, steady.

It was not his place to say.

“I am not changing my mind. I am not staying. I have already rehomed my aphids, and passed on seeds to some of the kids who have been interested in agriculture.” Ororon didn't look at any of them, simply continuing his task of clearing out anything that could rot while he was gone.

“You can't just up and leave!” Ifa tries arguing, frustration obvious in his voice. “You're a hero of Natlan!”

“The war is over, we are at peace. If the land is in need of more heroes, then it shall seek them out itself.”

His words are sharp, very much unlike the usual kind and apologetic Ororon they are used to.

“When.. when will you be back?” Mualani figures that if they can't stop him, they could at least try and get more information out of him.

He pauses his movements, closing his eyes for a long moment. “I do not know.”

“So you're leaving. You won't tell us where to, for how long, or when you'll be back?” Kinich couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“Sounds about right.” He forces the words out, exhaustion overtaking him as he pushes them all towards the door.

With a bag of garbage slung over his shoulder and his travel case in one hand, he closes the door behind them all making sure it was secured and locked.

Before he can even turn back to the group he hears a very familiar voice ring out.

“And where exactly do you think you're going? I told you if you were to run off again I'd break both your legs!”

The sigh Ororon let out was loud. Loud enough that even Citlali took a step back in surprise.

He turns around, shoulder stiff and eyes glaring at the group. He knew he shouldn't be mad at them, knew that they just had his best interest at heart. But he was hurting, hurting more than he had for the nearly 22 years before today. Not rven when he was mourning the loss of his usefulness due to a field sacrifice did he feel this churning of hate and anger.

“I'm not a child.” He zeroes in on Citlali, “I shall go as I please and I will return when I please.”

“Just you wait a minute. Since when do you think that you can just-”

Ororon, doesn't even let her finish. He passes the bag of trash to Ifa, requesting that he take it to the nearest facility before turning away from a group.

“Please…please don't go.” Kachina can't help the small sniffle that escapes as she speaks.

Ororon can feel his chest crack, can feel the building of a sob. “I can't. I can't stay.”

And with those words he left, bag clutched tightly in his arms as he walked off,beginning his journey.

Chapter Text

Ororon crossed his arms as he stared out over the expanse of water, his ears pressed down atop his head as he tried to breathe in the frosty air and force himself to relax.

It had not taken him very long to reach the camp that had been designated as the meeting spot, Rotchev’s usually still expression marred with concern.

There was much he wanted to say, questions he had to ask, but abstained from doing so. He could tell by the tense curl of Ororon's shoulders that the man did not need anyone questioning him.

The air in the camp was obviously electrified, none of them used to seeing the usually smiling man so dour and extinguished. With their Captain, Ororon had been a beacon within the ranks. He had bounded in without concern, rattling off instructions to them when he passed over basketfuls of vegetables.

At first they were all skeptical, concerned of this intruder who was attempting to make himself at home. But soon enough they all learned that his intentions truly were pure, the admiration of The Captain obvious to all who watched the two of them interact.

He had to become a staple within their little encampment and all those across the lands of Natlan. Though the majority of their time was spent at the main camp, Ororon didn't hesitate to venture out to the other stations, happy to offer his produce and give suggestions for hearty meals.

Of course there was the odd soldier here and there that found him odd, weird; but for children of a snowy land forced into an army, whether it be circumstance or chance, who were they to judge?

Many of them had come to see Ororon as a comrade, to see the discontent that stirred within him was quite discomforting.

And when they were loading up the boat he said nothing about the stares he received in regards to his singular bag, simply finding the cabin he would be spending the next week in and hiding out in it.

Of course his attempts to hide did not last very long. Eventually he was hungry and had to make his way to the dining hall. While many of Fatui foot soldiers felt for him and his current state, they were not going to encourage his isolation by bringing food to his cabin where he would continue to wallow in his self-inflicted seclusion.

The group did not make it a big deal when Ororon came to the dining hall and sat, they did not make it a big deal when he was passed a bowl of supper and began to dig in. The conversation continued and slowly but surely the tenseness of his shoulder settled.

Everyday after that was a little better. Ororon would spend a little bit longer outside his cabin, making his rounds up on the deck and scouring the various activities to do below.

He relished in the lack of responsibilities he had to take on and found peace in knowing that he could just be himself without concern.

It was not that he did not love his home, that he did not love his people. There was just a level of expectation that weighed heavy on him for such a long time. First his abandonment and then being cared for by the village. The well buried hurt at being sacrificed and then his years of attempting to make up for what should have been the end of his life.

Guilt over not being what he was supposed to be had eaten away at him, and when he finally accepted that he had dreams for his own life he was gifted a Tocaitl. And even though he had found release when given the name Bidii, it was a weight of its own.

The weight of the name he now carried meant he was a hero of Natlan. Even though the war is over, that name still meant there were expectations placed upon his shoulders.

The nature of his odd condition was well known, shared far and wide. His wrongness was whispered about, his uniqueness a concern for many. And with a sacred name he had to carry himself a certain way, a way in which he found more and more exhausting every day.

But here on the ocean surrounded by familiar strangers, he felt a freedom that he'd only found underneath the stars next to the first of the Harbingers. A place not to reinvent himself, but be truly and purely him. A version of himself where the weight of his history did not cling to every word. Where his existence brought about neither sorrow or guilt, sadness or agitation.

He did not know what exactly he was seeking upon this journey, but he knew that with every passing day, the further they moved from the land in which he was not even sure was of his birth, that he felt as if breathing became easier.

And as the chill in the wind became more exacting he was given a coat, thick and furred, wrapped tightly around him. For a moment, his mind wandered. Wandered to a moment on a late night under the stars, a similar gesture offered as a heavy coat was draped over his shoulders and a cool hand lingered low on his hips. Teasing words whispered as his ears flicked at the gentle tossling of warm breath. He leaned into that touch, his body warm even as the coolness of the evening and the hand touching bare skin advanced. Bare with nothing but that coat wrapped around him, wilderness surrounding them.

“Ororon?” Rotchev mumbles softly, studying the glazed expression that had taken over Ororon's face moments after he provided the outerwear.

“I-I am.. I am fine.” The cracks in his words are loud, unspoken pain between the syllables.

Rotchev does not believe him, the pensive look on his face obvious that belief. Yet he says nothing, simply glancing at a shadowed mass of land off in the distance, barely a spec upon the horizon.

“We will make landfall midmorning.”

“Oh. Already?”

“It took us two extra days. It's been over a week.”

“Ah…”

The silence between them is comfortable, familiar. When Capitano was occupied, it was usually Rotchev who kept an eye out for the man's shadow.

“She will want to meet you.”

“I expected nothing less.”

“And…Are you sure you are ready for that?”

“I am not sure of anything anymore. Does the carrot know what way its roots should grow before they begin to spawn?”

Rotchev snorts, appreciating that Ororon had managed to conjure up one of his strange comments. “I guess not. But in due time, with water and fertilizer, sunlight, they managed to find their way.”

“This is a cold land, I don't think any carrots will be growing.” Ororon actually smiles this time, pulling the coat around himself a little tighter.

“Even in a land of snow like this, there are houses of warmth where produce grows.”

Chapter Text

The only way to describe Ororon’s first impression of Zapolyarny Palace was otherworldly.

The structure seemed to be made of glass, its shining facade reflecting the light that bounced off of the boundless snow. Not even the cool chill that surrounded everything could take away from the beauty of what lay before him.

He had felt the urge to reach out and touch, to lick, to press his body against the hard surface and discover what else he could glean from the physical touch of such a strange structure.

He knew that it had not been an appropriate time though, the scouts had already been sent ahead of them to notify the palace of their return. The journey from Port to Palace wasn't too long, a half an hour trek on cobblestone roads.

That time had been spent learning all he could about customs and tradition, Rotchev giving him as many pointers as he could about maintaining a respectable disposition when presented before the Tsaritsa.

Standing before her now, the awkward silence stifling the air in the room, he really wished he had paid a bit more attention to what it was that Rotchev had been telling them upon their journey.

No one moved, no one breathed, no one dared to say a single thing. From the moment they had walked in and for the past 5 minutes, there had been nothing but silence as icy silver eyes stared down at him.

Like her palace, the Tsaritsa was ethereal. Seeming as if a wraith had descended upon the Tevayt and swaddled itself in ice and skin. With every moment it was as if tiny spindles of crystalline ice fluttered, the strange sparkles threading her hair as it cascaded around her like a cape. Her skin like the unblemished surface of a frozen lake, borderline translucent yet beautifully crafted. The air around her felt as if it shimmered, shifted, existed solely for the purpose of extolling her splendor.

And though he knew he should have probably bowed his head long ago, Ororon couldn't help but stare at the god whose gaze had snapped to him the second he had stepped inside the throne room.

As the moments dragged on he could feel the tension in Rotchev who kneeled beside him. He could feel the tension of the handful of Harbingers who littered the walls of the throne room.

Even the palace guards seem to tense, no one daring to move or say a thing.

“Ah, I see.” Her words are like a light dusting of snow, soft, glacial, beautiful .

Her expression does not soften, her countenance unmoving. Yet her tone betrays something more.

“I knew the hour was nearing, the time coming close.” She reaches a pale hand outward, thrumming against an unseeable string, eyes tracing as if she would find something no one else could perceive.

“Yet, not even I could have foretold this outcome.” Her eyes closed slowly, a gentle sway to her words that revertebrates through the room.

It feels as if the room shifts ten more degrees down, Frost climbing just a little further out from under her throne.

Ororon half feared that they would all freeze to death before this meeting was over.

After only a few more moments of silence she opens her eyes once more, the chill receding. “In one final missive received from my dear First Harbinger, he requested that if the time would ever come in which you sought solace we shall welcome you. I did not understand this request of his, but now I do. You shall stay in his quarters for as ever long as you might see fit. If you need anything all you must do is ask. And in time you will also see.”

Ororon had no idea about this letter, or about what there was possibly needed for her to understand. He knew though this was not the place for questions, not with so many penetrative stares directed at his back.

His tongue darts out to wet chapped lips, bowing his head slightly and finally breaking the intense eye contact. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Before is even able to fully tilt his head back up he is being swept away, Rotchev hand guiding him through the double doors with swift steps.

“We must make haste if we are to-”

“And exactly where do you think you're spiriting away our newest visitor to, Rotchev?” A friendly voice rings out from behind them, boots on the floor loudly getting closer at a near running pace.

Rotchev stops his movements, whispering an annoyed prayer before turning around.

Ororon follows his action, finding himself face-to-face with a ginger-haired man, slight in figure with flat blue eyes. There's a smile on his face that seemed two parts curious and two parts concerned.

“Lord Harbinger, I was just trying to take him to his quarters.”

“No, what you're trying to do is hide him away before we get the chance to look him over.” Childe corrects with a knowing grin that told of mischief.

“Some people actually enjoy having the chance to decompress after a journey.” Arlecchino strolls over, her own expression pensive. “And one would think by now you would know that accosting people in the hallway is not a good way to start an introduction.”

Childe ignores her to continue his intense inspection of Ororon. “So you're the guy who The Captain was spending all his time with? Ever got the chance to train with him? Spar?” He begins to circle, trying to gauge Ororon's power levels.

“Ummm, he gave me some pointers here and there, but we never actually fought each other. I did get to see him fight though.” Ororon pulls the coat a little tighter around himself, not exactly liking the look he was getting.

“Really?” He steps in just a little bit closer, his eyes tracing every inch of the man.

“Jealousy does not look good on you.” Arlecchino snorts.

“I am not jealous!”

“You definitely seem jealous.”

“I'm not! I just think it's odd that The Captain would go to a foreign land on a mission and yet find himself hanging out with some stranger.” Childe defends his intruding inspection.

“Oh yes, it definitely is strange isn't it. Not like he drained nearly ten percent of his accounts on said stranger.” Pantalone says sarcastically, his deadpan tone giving way to his annoyance.

“Now wait a minu-”

“Or started fights for no good reason, got engaged, didn't know about said engagement.”

He turns to glare at Arlecchino next, “It wasn't my fault that I-”

“Then had a tantrum for the next two years until said engaged partner finally hunted them down and shook some sense into the unknown stranger.” Ends Pantalone.

Childe's cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment and irritation, arms crossed as he tried not to look like the petulant child he was acting like.

“See, you see how mean they are to me?” He looks to who he hoped would be his newest compatriot.

Ororon looks upon the situation with wide eyes and confusion. “That is quite a lot to do with a stranger. I do think it's quite dangerous to spend that much money on someone you don't know and apparently get married to them?”

Even though usually just mention of Captiano led him to a roiling bout of dread, right now he was caught so off guard that he couldn't even begin to feel the usual nausea that settled in his chest at the mention of the man. These were the other Harbingers, his coworkers.

Capitano had told him that they all have their own goals and dreams, yet he had worked with them before, side by side. They were his comrades, people who knew him as well as he would allow them to. And yet up close, face to face to these people who have been described as monsters by all who whispered about them in the dark, he could not help but be shocked by how normal they seemed.

Rotchev can't help the laugh that slips from his lips, knowing that later he would be giving a more detailed explanation to Ororon about the situation with Lord Tartaglia and his betrothed.

“Exactly. So as they say, those in glass houses should not throw stones.” Pantalone teases as he continues on his way.

Childe simply rolls his eyes, throwing an arm around Ororon's shoulder and pulling him towards the wing where the personal quarters were.

“There is so much for us to discuss. You have to tell me what it was like seeing The Captain fight in person.”

Chapter Text

Ororon collapses onto the ornate bed, a fatigued groan slipping from his lips as he relaxes into the plush fabrics.

He peaks over to the hearth where the fire flickered, its warmth casting the room in a soft amberglow. He closes his eyes and lets his body settle, attempting to reconcile how his life's actions had culminated into this moment.

The last several hours were spent listening to the endless chatter of the 11th Harbinger, his boundless energy exhausting even for someone like Ororon.

Never did he think an individual with a reputation such as his could be filled with so much joy and chatter, elatedly talking about his siblings and his betrothed, his smile nearly blinding.

Tartaglia was nothing like Captaino. Where the Captain was mostly silent and pensive, Tartaglia was boisterous and exuberant. Still, with their differences it was obvious that Tartaglia looked up to Captiano. When he spoke about the man there was a level of reverence that he only heard from fanatics, trembling through his voice.

Tartaglia had been enraptured by Captaino in a very similar way in which Ororon had found himself entangled with the man.

Because that was just the type of man that Captiano was.

He was magnetic. A god among men who had this draw that was undeniable. The first time Ororon had felt that draw was when the Captain had come searching for Citlali.

He was suspicious of the man, yet there was something there, some tugging that made him want to stay close. And while Ororon told himself he had tailed the man because of fear and what he was planning, there was a small part of him that was intrigued in an irrefutable way.

The time he spent following him only fostered that kernel of allurement.

And when he saw him in danger during that fight with Mavuika, his body acted on pure instinct before his mind was able to catch up.

Like a call to his already fractured soul, he bounded forth, gripping the man tightly and dragging him into the smoke and wind.

When they had stood face to face in that cave where Ororon fostered him back to health, he was struck by the strange attraction that besieged the Harbinger.

From that day forth he no longer hid in the shadows, walking side by side when able, helping from the shadows when allowed.

In the campsites it was sometimes awkward, his footmen watching Ororon with a suspicious eye. In due time though he had garnered their respect, offering his help and doing his part, ensuring the plan continued without external hindrances.

But no matter where he went, where he was sent, at the conclusion of their days he found himself back at the Captain's side.

Like a moth to a flame, or a lamb to slaughter, he did not care what would become of himself. All he knew was the warmth that slowly began to grow in his chest whenever they were with one another.

And as time went on, it had felt like he had begun to backslide within their companionship. His worried words that had turned confident had once again tripped into stuttering. The comfort that had come with time was replaced with shuttering heartbeats.

More than a few times he had burnt stew because his mind had drifted to Captaino when the man hadn't returned for more than a day or two.

The other members of the Fatui had taken notice, yet none chose to say anything.

And then that day had come, the day in which Ororon had been possessed by the spirit of Guthred. Thinking back now it all felt like a culmination of moments destined to occur.Being gifted with his ancient name only solidifying his theory of preordained circumstances.

That evening as the two of them sat by the campfire alone Ororon did not know whether he wanted to laugh or cry, run away or stay.

The cloying feeling of embarrassment and humiliation nearly drove him to return home, too ashamed to look Captiano in the face.

And yet he stayed. That familiar allure not letting him leave.

That night something changed between them. No words had been exchanged yet the ground between them had shifted.

Captaino stood just a little bit closer, began to make it a habit of telling Ororon where he was going and when he would return. It was as if the situation between the two of them had finally turned the corner.

Not soon after they had shared their first kiss. Ororon had needed to return home to look after his Phlogiston Aphids and Captiano had offered to come along with him. Those days it was not out of the ordinary, the man escorting Ororon to and fro his responsibilities.

It was when Ororon had been in the midst of feeding the aphids that a shadow suddenly had descended over him. When he looked up he was staring into the mask of Captaino, the man moving closer for only a moment before their lips were pressed against one another.

Skin against cloth, a thin barrier between them, yet it lit up Ororon's world.

“If I keep going like this…” Ororon sighs as he peers into the fire once more.

He shakes his head to clear his mind of the memories, determined to shift some of the melancholy away.

No matter how hard he tried, the lingering sadness spectered around him, the outrage and betrayal he felt unending. Captaino knew what he was going to do. He was fully aware of the fact that at the very end of it all, he would sacrifice himself.

And yet. And yet.

Every passing day they fell deeper and deeper in love. Like sailors to the siren, the inevitability of their tragedy was written upon the stars before them.

Ororon had not known, yet the Captain did.

And if he sat and contemplated it for too long he would find that was what he was truly the most incensed about.

He finally had someone who saw him. Who saw past his strangeness, his brokenness, who looked at his whole being and accepted what they saw.

Capitano never asked prying questions about his broken soul as if he was forever damaged. Every voiced intrigue was simple curiosity and wonderment.

“Damn it…” Ororon draws his legs up to his chest, haggard sobs rattling his frame.

Why? If they were destined for such tragedy, why did Captaino choose to get so close?

His heart and soul still sung for a man who was no longer there. Even now far away from the land that was once home, that held him captive, he still felt the pull.

It was as if his chest burned to be near, as if that broken part of his soul finally found what it had needed to mend. Predating execution of this horrid plan, his soul was slowly being stitched back, the vacancy filled with something not exactly making him whole but more. The suddenness of this assault ripping it away, leaving him shattered open, the ragged edges of splendor torn and frayed.

The grief came upon him in waves, knocking him to and fro, drowning him in the sounds of his own sobs.

Surrounded by Captaino's worldly possessions, Ororon felt the damage of his abandonment just as strongly as he had or he watched the man trudge up those steps and turn to take his throne.

Bile had risen in his throat when they had stepped into the darkened world, that eye in the sky glaring down upon them. And while admiration filled him as the Captain spoke, dread began to pool.

He knew he should have been happy for the man, that he had found peace. That his long journey through the centuries finally came to an end where his greatest success could be found.

But that selfish part of Ororon was furious. Enraged in a way in which he had never felt before. It had turned him inside out, making him gnash his teeth and curse into the night.

But at the end of it all he was grief stricken and despairing.

A desolation he could not express in Natlan consumed him. In a land that had been filled with celebration and joy, where a war that had been waged for as long as their country had existed, finally came to an end.

It is true that they had always celebrated death, seeing it as the next step towards the boundless goal of traversing the Night Kingdom. But that same gratification could not reach him anymore.

So he sat upon the bed in which the man he loved once laid, in a room that was his, surrounded by his worldly possessions, in a palace that had once been his home.

And yet he was not there.

Chapter Text

“I swear I didn't do anything!” Childe grumbles as he pulls the mug of hot cocoa tighter against his chest.

Arlecchino narrowed her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching downward as she attempted to weigh the truth of Tartaglia's words. The man was not known for his cruelty outside of work, especially not when one was a guest, but he had been known to be irrational from time to time. Especially when it came to his obsessions.

“I really mean it! All we did was talk and then I left him in his room! I didn't say anything weird or awkward and he seemed to be fine.” He looks at the gathered Harbingers, defensive with how they had ganged up on him.

Columbina places a placating hand on Childe’s knee, “there there. Do not worry little one. We are just concerned that our newest guest has decided to retreat for so long.”

It had been about a week since Ororon had come to find himself living within Zapolyarny Palace, seven whole days since he had shown his face outside of the wing that had been dictated as Captiano’s living quarters. While technically it was not required for him to leave the residence, the opulent amenities that was afforded to each of the harbingers in their designated quarters ensuring all needs were met, it still was odd for one not to wander.

With Ororon being their honored guest, it was even more so peculiar that he had not left, or even taken a tour of the palace grounds.

Rotchev had tried to rouse the Natlanese man from his self-interment, but he had simply been met with placating words and promises of future dates.

When Childe had attempted to mingle with his newest comrade, he was swiftly zapped by an electrical current when he grabbed for the door knob. That had resulted in nearly a half hour of knocking, only to come to an end when he was dragged away by Sandrone’s newest puppet.

None of the other Harbingers had tried their hand at luring out the palace's newest occupant, but that didn't stop them from whispering about possible causes.

“It's obvious the boy is grief stricken.” Pierro declares without looking up from the paper he had been reading. Right ankle perched upon left knee, a cup of tea set in one hand raising to his lips every few minutes as the other held on to the report he perused.

“Exactly how personal was this relationship?” Pulcinella narrows his eyes, trying to gleam whatever he could from the gathered group.

These days it was quite rare for all of them to find themselves in the capital of the homeland at the same time. Their duties usually kept them spread throughout Snezhnaya and the other neighboring lands of Teyvat.

Once the news of Captaino's mission in Natlan had spread, they all had made their way back, knowing that eventually the Tsaritsa would want to speak to them all. And they had been correct in their assumption, her meeting for all of them having occurred only three days ago. It was during this meeting that she also mentioned their special guest, though she did not give any more details rather than the fact that he would be staying in Capitano’s wing.

Now, gathered two floors above and in the central room where lounging tended to occur, the Harbingers settled upon plush couches and regal chairs attempting to be civil.

“Well, considering he is currently in Captaino's quarters, I can only assume it was very personal.” Pantalone says conspiratorially.

Pulcinella can't help the despairing look that crosses his face. “I hope we're all sticking to our duties and not using our responsibilities as a dating service.

Childe only buries his face further in his mug as he feels a round of eyes look towards him. “Oh come on, it was one time.”

“Yes, it was one time, but no one told you to fuck an Archon.” Dottore points out crassly.

“Can we really blame him, we sent him out into the world wholly unprepared to face the seductions of the real world.” Columbina says lightly.

“If you ask me it seems like his hole got prepared real fast.” Dottore mumbles.

Childe feels his face burn hot, agitation stirring under his skin. “We're not talking about me right now, we're talking about Ororon!”

“Tartaglia is correct. We cannot let this continue. As a guest of our Archon, letting him waste away would be an insult. I also do not believe Capitano would have sent us notice of his arrival without cause. There must be a reason he entrusted us with this.” Pierro finally puts his paper down, eyes boring into each of the gathered members.

“I still find it hard to believe that he allowed himself to be so enraptured with another individual.” Pantalone admitted, his fingers tapping against the chess board in front of him. “He was always shrewd and dedicated to the cause. Never once letting himself stray from the path.”

“He did not stray from his path.” Sandrone points out.

“He just picked up a hitchhiker.” Which was strange enough considering what they knew about the man.

“That's all well and good, but how do you help someone that's grief stricken?” Childe really was not the one to make great suggestions when it came to this stuff. “I mean, we can't force him out of the quarters.”

“Why not ask his friend, Rotchev?” Columbina suggested. Though she knew he had always been loyal to Captaino, she never would have expected the level of hovering he was now doing over Ororon. “He is the only one among us who saw the two of them when they were together.”

The other Harbingers shared a look of contemplation before coming to an agreement.

Rotchev is who they needed.

They sent a palace servant to seek him out, the group discussing the varying ways in which they could lure their newest tenant out of hiding.

When Rotchev arrives it's with a nervous hitch to his steps and a look of barely contained dismay. It's not that the man didn't like the other harbingers, it's just that he found them terrifying in a way in which Capitano was not.

The Captain had been strong, someone to fear, but he did not wield that like a weapon to strike fear into the hearts of his underlings. And while Rotchev had mostly heard rumors about the others, he had seen what the other Harbingers were capable of in person before.

“Rotchev,” Pierro begins, standing from his seat. He clasped his arms behind his back, slowly walking towards the man. “We request that you give us a detailed report on the relationship between Capitano and Ororon.”

Rotchev stands there startled, his mouth momentarily agape as he tries to process what he was just asked to do.

“Of course only the appropriate parts.” Pulcinella cuts in, determined not to make the same mistake like he had done with Childe’s subordinates.

Rotchev forces himself not to panic, his eyes straight ahead even as he knew that the mask that covered them wouldn't allow the others to tell.

“The Captain met Ororon by what some might say was chance. He was actually searching for one of the masters of the Night wind, a woman Ororon considers his grandmother. We were seeking out information and his name had been mentioned. Upon telling him who we were searching for, he tried to redirect our attention. After that failed he started tailing us. We-”

“He tailed you guys? Like he actually tried to keep track of a Harbinger?” Childe says incredulously. “Guys got guts.”

“Yes. The Captain was aware that he was tailing us, but he allowed it because he wanted him to see that we meant no harm. When the time came for the battle between the Captain and The Pyro Archon He was also watching and when the Captain was injured he was the one to whisk him away. That in particular caused us panic, because we did not know where he had taken him. Whatever happened when they were alone was significant because afterwards, Ororon had agreed to work with us.”

And of course there had been pushback, but eventually they all came to understand and see what the Captain saw. “It wasn't something that happened immediately. They started off slow, comrades. Then slowly but surely they started spending more time together first with a group, and then alone. The Captain would sometimes escort him, they would plot together, and disappear but at that point nothing was happening. Then one night everything changed. The Captain had accompanied Ororon home. After that the relationship between the two of them was different.”

He couldn't help the small up turn of his lips as he remembered how it seemed like for the first time in a long time, the Captain was less burdened. “I don't know what it is, but when those two were together it was as if all the worries and concerns the both of them had were eased. Not completely gone, but It was as if they knew they could take whatever it was head on as long as they were by each other's side.”

“Things only progressed further after Ororon had been possessed and gained his ancient name.”

“Possessed?” Sandrone sits up a little bit straighter.

“Yes, there are a few circumstances that are particular about Ororon. One of those things is that he has a fractured soul. Technically only half a soul. It seems as if a spirit had decided to make its home there and try to take over his physical body.” There were a few gaps for him in particular about that situation. Neither man really gave much information about it.

“It was easy to tell that the relationship between them was heading towards love. It might not have been said out loud, but the actions made it obvious. I don't know the specifics about Ororon’s biology, but it is also unique. At one point or another he needed some time alone and the Captain was the only one who went with him. After that, we all knew they were in love.”

“Unique biology you say?” Dottore peeks up, his interest fully stoked. He had yet to see the man, but from the descriptions he had received he had animalistic features that pointed towards a separate possible species.

“You're not authorized to touch him.” Pierro says without missing a beat.

Rotchev does his best not to look at Dottore suspiciously. “Through everything they were at each other's sides. The war, the after parties, the quiet moments. Inseparable unless the Captain had to do something in complete isolation.”

He takes a shuddering breath. “But then on those final days, we all knew there was something wrong. The Captain had been a bit distant, Ororon actually having to go look for him. And then he made that sacrifice. He was there, you know, when Capitano took his last action.”

He had no idea how Ororon reacted in person, just that when he returned to their camp the harrowing haunted look on his face had shocked them all into action. “He was inconsolable, furious. And then a few days after that he had gone back. He would just stay there for hours. Sometimes it was in full silence, others it was anger. We could feel the depth of his rage. Respectfully, you all don't know him yet, but that was not like him. He's a relatively laid back and go with the flow type of guy, takes action when needed, but rarely gets upset.”

“From there he said he needed to leave. We knew it was coming. It wasn't healthy for him just standing there, staring for hours at a time. He would forget to eat, not sleep. I think…I think it might be his surroundings here that makes it difficult as well. Captaino knew that this was his final plan. By now Ororon has recognized that as well. There's probably a feeling of betrayal, hurt, and everywhere he looks there are reminders of a man that he thought he would have a future with.” Rotchev finishes.

“Shit…” Childe murmurs as he runs a hand through his hair. “I get that. The feeling of being lied to leaves you feeling scorned and burned.”

Arlecchino eyes him knowingly, realizing that he might be the best person for comforting Ororon.

“Well the key then is to have him spend more time outside of that room. As you said, being surrounded by reminders can't be healthy.” Pulcinella had seen what grief does to soldiers over time and it wasn't pretty.

“I would have to agree.” Columbina stares down at the floor as if she could see straight through layers of concrete straight into Captaino's wing. “This is a trauma of sorts, and for him to heal he will need to move through the stages of grief.”

“Getting him out of the palace would be a first good move. I am more than willing to fund a handful of excursions. But if they lack the benefits we are expecting, the opportunity will not be continually offered.” Pantalone’s words were decisive.

“I expect progress reports on the situation.” Pierro did not like the fact that Thrain’s chosen partner was unhappy.

With those words of declaration, the group begins to plan.

Chapter Text

The sound of wood splintering was unmistakable as Ororon startled awake, his eyes wild as he tried to orient himself. A shiver runs down his spine at the shock of glacial air, unfamiliar surroundings spurring on panic.

It isn't until his eyes land on the burned out hearth does his memory return, realization of where he was flooding to the forefront of his mind.

He takes a gasping breath, shoving down the anxiety and forcing himself to move. Pulling the oversized robe tightly around himself, he made his way out of the master bedroom and towards the living area where he had heard the noise come from.

His feet trail across the plush carpets, pushing the heavy door to the hallway open. The wing that had been designed for Captaino had substantial doors that he found himself struggling with pushing open as he traversed the private residence. As he passes by the open bathroom door, he catches a glance of his reflection and turns away.

His usually vibrant pale skin was now lacking in luster, nearly gray. Deep purple bruises had formed underneath his eyes, the exhaustion he felt coupled with the red irritation that came from near constant crying. His fist was sore and bruised, an hour spent punching the heavy bag in the small unused training room that lay at the back of the accomodations. He felt gaunt and nearly weightless, the trays of food that had been left for him nearly untouched and piled along the counters. He was sure that whatever had been in the food box upon his arrival had gone bad, rotted away in an unopened fridge.

And as he trudged through the living room and towards the foyer, he was met with an unexpected sight. Two people he recognized and two he did not, the ginger haired man who endlessly spoke and the gray-haired woman whose lips were always twisted in a scowl.

Flanking them was a short man, nose pointed and stout in figure and a woman, a strange air about her with dark flowing hair and covered eyes.

At the very front of the group was Rotchev, his expression pinched yet imploring. “Ororon, we have put together a schedule today for you to see what Snezhnaya has to offer. You've been cooped up here far too long.”

“And there's a smell starting to come out from under the door. We had to make sure you weren't dead.” Childe looks around, his eyes narrowing in the direction down the hall where the kitchen was.

Arlecchino glares at Childe for his uncouth manner of addressing the problem. “You have not been letting the attendants enter, so we figured it would be good to have some time outside so they can straighten up a little bit.” She steps forward, her tone imploring.

“And you decided breaking the door was your best way in?” Ororon glances around the group, staring at the cracked entrance.

“Now now, no need to fret.” Columbina sweeps toward Ororon with a gentle smile. She reaches out grasping his hand on hers. “Please, let us dress you in something more comfortable.” Without an argument she takes him by the hand and tugs him back down the hall.

“Terrifying as always…” Childe shivers at the way Columbina sweeps in with gentle voice and soft words, taking command and directing.

Pulcinella rolls his eyes, checking his pocket watch and turning around. “I will get the cleaners. Rotchev, you shall supervise then while we are out.”

“As you can see, the architecture of our cities vastly differ depending on the Providence you find yourself in. While they do have similarities, each region has a unique design based on the history and occupants over time.” Pulcinella explains as they walk down the cobblestone streets.

Citizens and stationed soldiers watch with the same startled shock as a group of Harbingers casually make their way down the city street. They're given a wide berth, many not knowing what to make of the odd grouping.

While the citizens respected the Harbingers, there was also an undercurrent of fear that occurred whenever they made their way into town as a troop.

The rarest of them all being Columbina, her presence unfamiliar and curious.

They were most familiar with the mayor Pulcinella and Tartaglia, the latter quite the joy when he came into town.

What really garnered their attention was the dark haired man with strange markings on his face, bundled up as if he never planned on returning inside.

Ororon feels himself shrinking under watchful gazes, unsure of whether or not he was being added to their list of terrifying individuals.

“Pulcinella, we have been at this for five hours.” Childe says with a sigh, shifting the bags in his arms once more. “We are trying to entertain him, not bore him after death.”

“We passed the line of bored to death four hours ago.” Arlecchino thought they were going to see museums, some theater, not the different cities.

“It's important that he establishes knowledge of surroundings.” Pulcinella glares at the group behind him.

“I believe we have seen enough of the cities.” Columbina reaches up and tucks in one of the loose ends of Ororon's scarf that had fallen loose. “How about we stop for a meal? From the state of that kitchen you had not eaten for quite some time, and with all this walking you must have built up an appetite?”

“Oh yeah! How about we get some Piroshki? Have you had that before?” Childe spins on his heels, walking backwards so that he could talk to Ororon.

“I have read about it…but I've never tasted it. I have heard it's similar to pita pockets?”

“Similar, but Piroshki is superior.” He responded with a laugh.

“Stop walking backwards before you trip.” Arlecchino smacks Childe on the back of his head.

“Damn you,” he swats at her hand, spinning back around to avoid any further chastisement.

Ororon can't help but chuckle at the exchange, “You two are like Kinich and Ajaw.”

“Oh? Are those friends of yours?” Columbina was familiar with the names, both showing up in a file they had all received on Natlan.

Ororon nods his head. “Kinich is a Saurian Hunter from the Scions of the Canopy. He's also known for taking other commissions as long as it's worth the cost. Ajaw is his companion.”

“You mean K'uhul Ajaw?” Childe mumbles under his breath, eyes narrowed.

Arlecchino gives Childe a suspicious look. “Why does it sound like you're familiar with that name in a way that doesn't mean you just read that in a report?”

Childe shrugs non-committedly, his eyes shifting away. “You know how I am about dragons.” Which meant that he was not about to tell her at all what he had been told by Zhongli.

“The one and only. The two of them are always at each other's throats, but they make it work. It's fun to watch, especially when you throw in Cacucu. He likes to pretend that he doesn't know what Ajaw is saying, even though he's perfectly capable of understanding.” His eyes soften, the exhaustion dissipating just a little bit.

“How about you tell us a little bit about your other friends?” Columbina suggested. “I'm sure we'd all love to know more.”

“Are.. are you sure?” He looks at the eager faces, his own smile returned. “Okay, but if I'm going to tell you about them we have to start with Ifa…”

“I think I ate too much. Like a Saurian at an evening feast, I'm stuffed.” Ororon runs a hand over his stomach, his pants tight as he watches the plates cleared from the table.

Childe sat to his left, his own shirt untucked and a glass of fire water between his fingertips. “You really must have been hungry. You even ate more than me.”

“And that very rarely happens.” Pulcinella only had a singular plate, mumbling about youthful metabolism as he watched the others.

“What can I say? I'm still a growing man! If I continue to keep getting stronger I will have to nourish myself.”

To his right, Columbina held a cup of tea still untouched between her fingertips. “You're 25 now aren't you? I think you are nearing the end of your growing years.”

“He's practically still a child.” Arlecchino huffs.

“You all will always see me as a child.” Childe rolled his eyes, “I'm pretty sure he's younger than me.” He gestures toward Ororon.

“Yep, I'm 21.” Ororon confirms.

“You're all children in my eyes.” The Rooster sometimes had a hard time believing he was surrounded by so much youth. “Well, except maybe you.” He narrowed his attention on Columbina.

“You never ask a woman her age.” Columbina sings.

“My granny says the exact same thing.” Ororon says softly, his eyes darting towards his hands. “I should have not left the way I did.”

The others at the table turn their attention towards him, understanding eyes spurring him forward.

“I... I did not really say goodbye to any of them as my feelings were overwhelming.” He closed his eyes as he remembered the scene outside of his home. Turning his back on them all and practically fleeing.

“I just couldn't stay. Everyone was happy, celebrating.” And they had the right to do so. Years of death and turmoil had finally culminated into a success.

Yet he could not find that same joy for himself. There were just so many questions left unanswered for him, a happiness that he had slipped through his fingers and now he was left with an innumerable amount of queries.

“I obviously did not know Captaino as well as I believed I did.” The words are said with a shudder, a deep buried sob. “He was an honorable man obviously. Carrying the souls of so many for so long.”

He clenched his fist atop the table tightly, nails digging into his palms. “He brung them all to peace, allowed them to enter their own heaven. I should be overjoyed for him, I should be celebrating.”

“He toiled and suffered. Immortality was obviously not all it cracked up to be.” He tries to joke, but it falls hollow. “I should not feel so selfish about this. He saved my home. My people. But…He did not save himself, not in the way that I wanted him to.”

And that was it, wasn't it? Ororon believed that they would have a future. That after the war was over, they would return to his home. They would spend their days together, nights under the stars. He would travel with Captiano, possibly becoming an unofficial member of the Fatui.

But Ororon had been an idiot.

“For the longest time I've wondered about myself. I was found abandoned as a baby, my name the only thing belonging to me. I was always kept at arm's length by my tribe, my constitution being considered some type of curse or prerequisite to misfortune. For so long I thought that was just how my life was going to be. Different. Even my vision is different from everyone else's. My traits are also untraceable.” He flexes his ears on the top of his head to make his point. “Between the wings, my weird name, who knows?”

“But with him… with Thrain I felt like I had found home. A place to belong and be who I was meant to be. He saw me. And now that he's gone, I fear I might go back to being unseen.”

Columbina squeezes his clenched fists, holding on tight until he relaxes. “Everyone must find their way in life. All of us might not know where we come from, where our roots are, or why the circumstances of our life have led us to this moment. Regardless though, we have all found where we belong, where we want to be. And now it's just your time to find that path. The past cannot be forgotten, it cannot be ignored, but it does help shape your future prospects and how you choose to look out towards the horizon.”

Childe nodded his head in agreement, “So if you can't trust yourself, trust us. We'll help you find the path.”

Arlecchino offered a tentative smile. “It won't be easy.”

“But having a new meaning to life can be rewarding.” Pulcinella finished off.

Ororon looks from the hand that was gently being clasped to the faces of the people around him. He is silent for a moment before speaking. “I… I am willing to put the work in.” And while his heart was still shattered, for once he felt like the constant shedding of shards had come to a stop.

Chapter Text

Ororon huffs as he pricks himself once more, pulling away from the circuit he had been trying to fix and staring down at his bruised fingertip.

“I told you, you cannot rush the work. If you are to complete the circuitry, you must be patient.” Sandrone glances over at the man, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“You say that, yet no amount of patience has led me to any success. This is almost as bad as trying to craft woven scrolls. It's like I have fingers of worms.” He flexes the digits, setting aside the tools he had been using and leaning back in his seat.

Having officially been in Snezhnaya for a month now, he had slowly begun socializing with the Harbingers on a regular basis. He still avoided Pierro and Dottore, but the others made great strides in gaining his trust.

Pierro reminded him a bit too much of Capitano for him to want to get close. The shining familiar eyes causing him to freeze whenever they landed on him. And while he did not often get the chance to stare into Captiano's eyes, those moments when he was Thrain, he had been given the chance to gaze upon them. Pierro’s serious disposition and determination were also reminiscent of the man he tried not to think of more often than not these days.

Dottore was avoided for the sake of self-preservation. His first interaction wasn't too bad and he had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that the other Harbingers had been there. But each subsequent interaction had left Ororon feeling molested and nearly devoured. The doctor had managed to ambush him one evening when Ororon couldn't sleep, backing him up into a corner until he had nowhere to go.

His hands had been obtrusive, poking and prodding as he tried to ask unending questions about Ororon’s origins. Ororon had been unsure of what to do, simply standing there and allowing the man to stroke at his ears and reach around to prod at where his wings protruded. He had feared that the man would drag him off to some dark laboratory, but he was rescued by Arlecchino. Threatening words on her tongue as she demanded Dottore remove his hands.

Dottore had bared sharp teeth, a grin upon his face as he promised that they would catch up again sometime soon.

Ororon had stopped wandering at night after that..

Still though, Dottore seemed to always be lingering whenever Ororon found himself alone. Luckily it was a rarity with how closely the others watched him, Rotchev ensuring him that it was not because they didn't trust him, but because they wished not for him to fall into the despair he had upon his arrival.

And now, he was spending another morning with Sandrone, her attempts of unidling his hands once again falling short.

“I do not seek to disparage your chosen hobby, but I do not believe my own abilities are compatible.” Ororon gives her an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry.”

“You do not need to apologize. Some skills come easy to others while others do not.” Sandrone put her own tools down. “At least you are aware when to throw in the towel, unlike some.”

Ororon quickly notices the particular bite in her tone, a note it usually takes whenever she references Childe. Ororon knew not of what had occurred between the two of them, the history obviously ensnared in some type of disagreement. From his conversations with Childe he was unaware as of what he had done as well, simply chalking it up to the fact that she might not have been appreciative of his destructive streak when he had first joined the Fatui.

”I was a hapless kid! Can't believe she still holds it against me more than a decade later.”

“Once the adjustments to the greenhouse have been made, I'm sure you'll be spending much more time down there.” Sandrone motions for her Ruin Guard to readjust her positioning. “I added a few extra heating elements so that you will not even have to wear a jacket inside. I know all this cold cannot be easy for you to adapt to.”

Ororon could admit that he was very grateful for the consideration. The only times he did not find himself bundled up was within the confines of his private wing. Captianos private Wing. “I truly am grateful. You will be the first to have produce delivered.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I’ve never really thought much about money.” Ororon tilted his head as Pantalone explained the importance of balancing ones accounts at least once a week.

“Yes, the youth never does take such things into account.” Pantalone rolled his eyes. “There is much money to be made in Natlan if you're ever to return. Starting up your own business or forming business relationships would ensure that you're set for life.”

“All I need is my home and my garden. I built my home and I get seeds from trade.”

“Do you not sell your goods?” Pantalone can't help the affronted expression that spreads across his face.

“No, they're gifts to others. Or sometimes a thank you for help.”

“We need to work on that.”

“I swear, I didn't change anything in the recipe!” Childe holds up his hands in defense, flinching as another round of retching comes from the bathroom.

Columbina continues to hold her bowl, bringing a spoon of soup to her lips as she focuses on the flavors. “He is correct, it's no different than the last few times he's made it for us.”

“How can you stand here and eat as we listen to him vomit?” Pantalone wrinkles his nose in disgust at her behavior.

They had all abandoned the dining table after Ororon had jumped up, his chair clattering to the floor as he fled to the nearest restroom.

Lunch had become the traditional affair in which they all gathered for meals, usually half of the Harbingers able to attend if their duties didn't require them elsewhere. Today it was practically a full house, the only ones missing being Pierro and Sandrone.

Pulcinella had stayed back in the dining room, asking Rotchev of any allergies Ororon might have had.

“And you are sure all ingredients were fresh?” Arlecchino crossed her arms.

“Everything was delivered this morning just as usual! I followed the same steps as I did two weeks ago. Nothing new, nothing changed.” Childe didn't like the idea that he possibly caused the newest of his friends to be ill.

“I just think that it's quite suspicious that-”

“Worry not, it is simply a newer habit.” Ororon says with a frown, taking the glass of water offered by Pantalone as he steps out of the restroom.

“A habit?” Arlecchino leans in to inspect his face, taking note that he had already splashed water on it and cleaned up.

“As of late nausea has been taking me by surprise.”

“Oh, has it now?” Dottore pushes past the group who had been keeping him as far away as possible, excitement tinging his words.

“Oh for fuck sake.” Arlecchino grumbles.

“Down boy, don't sound too happy about his misery.” Childe snaps, not at all amused by Dottore’s sudden interest.

“I'm not necessarily happy about his misery, but it could be a perfect opportunity to look into his substantially unique biology.” He reaches a hand out, as if he was to grab Ororon.

“Okay, let's stay hands off for the time being.” Pantalone gently pulls Ororon away, guiding the group down the hall to a vestibule with sitting chairs. He places Ororon in a comfortable recliner, sitting on the arm.

“How about you give us a bit more information?”

“There's not really much to say. I've been getting nauseous lately. Usually in the morning, sometimes midmorning to early afternoon. At times it's caused by a smell, something I eat, and sometimes nothing at all.” He ticks down his fingers as he lists the most memorable reasons.

“Oh, and how long has this been going on for?” Dottore was practically foaming at the mouth, his foot tapping as he took in all the information.

“About two weeks.” Which strangely enough was when he had finally begun to feel a little bit better about the situation he found himself in. He'd only been in Snezhnaya for a month. The first week had been spent swallowed in grief and the second him trying to put aside that grief and reconcile with his new reality.

It seemed as if once he was no longer fully occupied by his sorrows, he decided to fall ill.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Childe narrows his eyes as he tries to remember the familiarity of Ororon's explanation.

“I just thought it was me expelling the sadness.” Ororon stated simply.

The group looks at him as if that was the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard.

“What? Granny says sometimes we manifest our emotions in physical ways. I have obviously been upset, so I might have just made myself sick.”

“Any other issues, concerns? Little things that might not seem that big of a deal on a day-to-day basis but compiled with nausea might be some other issue?” Dottore already had a plethora of possibilities.

“I mean… Not that I can really think of. I'm having a hard time differentiating between symptoms and just being in a new environment. Sometimes I smell things that smell really good or really bad, but that's probably just because I'm in a new place with new foods. And I've gained weight, but that's also because you guys have been feeding me too much and I lost weight in those first two weeks.”

“Kind of sounds like you're pregnant.” Childe says with a scrunched brow, his head tilted in confusion.

Arlecchino nearly chokes on the word she was about to say, her eyes whipping towards him with murderous intent. “Are you daft?”

“I'm just saying!”

Columbina also steps in a bit closer, “How would that even be possible?”

”It happens with Adepti.” Childe says defensively, his words quickly making the room go quiet and all eyes finally turn towards him.

“Should we be expecting more expenses sometime soon?” Pantalone says exasperatedly.

Childe closes his eyes and tries not to lose his temper. “We are not discussing this, and no Pantalone. What we need to be focusing on right now is Ororon.” He gestures wildly towards the wide-eyed man.

Ororon feels his own cheeks go red when all eyes turn to look at him. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to deny what they accused him of. “I don't believe I am an adeptus.”

Silence reigns over the group, each and every last one of them trying to figure out the best way to go about the situation.

“You don't know much about your own biology do you? Your origin, species?” Dottore prods, still trying to gain closer proximity.

“No, I was left with nothing but my name. Which has strange origins of its own. Well no origins technically.” It was one of his greatest irritations.

"Well, we can assume that you're quite similar to the Valuka Shuna of Sumeru.”

Orororn tilted his head in a display of confusion.

“They are a humanoid fox-like race. Kind of like you're a humanoid bat of sorts. Assuming anyhow.” Dottore explains. “For instance, Pulcinella hails from the elves. Though he won't give me any further detail about that fact.”

“Oh…That does make sense, kind of like how Xilonen is an ocelot.” He could definitely understand now that it was explained so clearly. “Like how plants are plants, but there are variations. Flowers, vegetables, perennials, annuals.”

“Yes, like that.” Columbina agrees.

“But that still doesn't mean that I'm… with child.” Once again he feels heat rise in his cheeks.

“That might be true, but you did spend a lot of alone time with our Lord Captaino.” Rotchev says gently as he steps into the room with Pierro.

“Well…I mean…” he shrinks a bit further into his seat.

“We are all adults here. We understand that when relationships reach a certain point intimacies are exchanged.” Pierro pins Ororon with what seemed like an attempted look of comfort, but came off more terrifying. “How often would you say the two of you participated in coital exercises?”

Childe closes his eyes, embarrassed for Ororon at Pierro’s words. The other Harbingers also cringed, knowing that this was definitely not going to put the man at ease.

Ororon sits there, mouth agape as he tries not to choke on the squeal that wanted to escape his mouth.

Rotchev clears his throat, a tense expression pinching his brows. “A minimum of three times a week they would disappear as well as every night they would share a tent unless Captaino was on a mission or Ororon had prior engagements.” He ignores the look he was receiving from the other harbingers. “And there was a time about two to three months back where they completely disappeared for eight days.”

“Wow…That is quite a lot.” Dottore begins to pen out a calendar on the sheet of paper he had produced from his pocket. “Are you willing to tell us what those eight days were about?”

Ororon shifted uncomfortably, his eyes averted. “Occasionally I fall into these fits. Granny wasn't sure about them at first, but over time we realized it was best if I was isolated during them. I become a bit obstinate during those times.”

“Obstinate?” Dottore raised an eyebrow.

“Impassioned?” Ororon tries to use a word that would not make him out to be some type of trollop.

Dottore's excitement became palpable. “You mated with him! A carnal need undeniable… This is incredible. I will need to run some tests. Blood ones first, physical examinations, maybe a hormone panel, how receptive to electrical shocks are you? You have an electro vision-”

“Enough.” Pierro's words are sharp, firm. His whole body had gone tense. “You will only confirm it's that until further notice.” He turns, leaving the room in a strained quietness.

Ororon sits there in silence for a moment, the familiar churning returning. “I think I'm going to be sick again,” is all he's able to get out before he's rushing back to the restroom, Rotchev on his heels.

Chapter Text

Ororon stares up at the screen, his stomach a pit of despair at the image clearly projected in front of him.

Ignoring the feeling of cooling gel, of hard plastic pressed up against his bare skin, he ignores the sound of shouting, completely entranced by the desolation that was slowly encroaching upon him.

Childe still to his left and Rotchev to his right, doing their best to be there for him and ignore the arguments going on around them. Dottore was continuing to take imaging, his own voice high and as he made his own arguments.

“You need to breathe.” Rotchev says gently, squeezing Ororon’s hand. “We can't have you passing out.”

“I can't do this.” It said in a whisper, the words cracking upon his lips.

“Ororon…” Childe does his best to push Dottore away, glaring when the man only pushes a little bit firmer with the ultrasound machine.

“Ow!” Ororon jerks away, the pressure shocking.

Childe grabs Dottore's wrist, his expression turning dark. “I suggest you back the fuck up.”

Dottore pulled away with a roll of his eyes, though he made sure to take plenty of pictures and screen print stills of the newfound evidence. “You're obviously in a bad mood. This is an amazing discovery! We can't just back away and-”

“Pierro said confirm and then stop.” Childe reminds him, grabbing a wad of napkins from the cabinetry to his left. He begins to wipe the clear jelly from Ororon's exposed stomach, making sure that he didn't press too hard.

“We don't have time just to sit back and wait! He's already at the 16th to 18th week mark. That means we're nearly halfway through! If I was truly going to study this remarkable process it would have been best to have an earlier start date.” Dottore was once again frantic, ignoring the other harbingers who had been arguing with him moments ago.

“Forgive me sir, but I believe it's time that Ororon had some rest.” Rotchev keeps his eyes low as he quickly fixes Ororon's clothing, helping the man off the examination table and swiftly spiriting him away.

Childe is fast to step in front of Dottore, blocking his path from following after. “Give your report to Pierro. If you follow, I'll break your neck and then I will hunt down your clones and break their necks.”

“Geez, family life hasn't made you any better.” Dottore mumbles under his breath, printing out the proof of their discovery.

“No, it's made me protective.”

“More so than usual.” Pulcinella says with an air of pride.

“And were there any malformations?” Pierro kept his back towards Dottore, glancing over the vast landscape of snowy white.

“If it is visible in the imaging, then that means we have already passed the prime time of intervention.”

“None that could be detected this early. That's why I believe it would be important if we were able to take just a few samples-”

“No. Not yet.” Pierro looks off into the distance, squinting as if he could see the icy throne in which Captaino sat upon.

_Why old friend, why?

Ororon didn't know if he should be laughing or crying, the weight of this newest development heavy in his chest. He always thought the idea of children was far off, determined more so to be a fun uncle than a father. He did not know enough about his own existence to feel as if he could be a good parent, his lineage unknown and unspectacular.

Half the time he didn't even know how he managed to make it to the end of every day. It wasn't like he was irresponsible, he functioned and could take care of himself, but they didn't mean he could take care of a child!

A child he would have much rather to be raising with another parent. The parent who was now gone, lost for eternity into the void!

If he had to do this alone he might just end up being as shitty as his own parents, dropping the kid off and running away from the responsibility!

“You're not breathing again.” Rotchev points out as he added another log to the fireplace

“Depriving yourself of oxygen is not going to change the situation. And if you are attempting to snuff out the child by suffocation, that's not the way to do it either.”

“Rotchev!” Ororon practically hisses, wrapping his arms around his middle section as if trying to prevent the child from hearing those very words from being spoken.

Rotchev’s expression is smug, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“There you go, you might not be happy about your situation, yet you will protect them. And perhaps next time you'll remember to use protection.”

Ororon sinks into the warmth of his blankets, covering his face. “I didn't even know this was possible! I thought it was just some weird biological thing. I was supposed to know this would be the outcome?”

Rotchev shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly, those who raised you could have done a little bit more research.”

“I can assure you no one was looking for this particular situation in terms of research.”

Rotchev couldn't deny that opinion.

Ororon glares up at the ceiling, his chest heavy. “How am I going to tell everyone back home? Unwed, pregnant, certainly not the vision for someone barely able to drink.”

“There are plenty of unwed parents. Pregnancy happens, it's a fact of life. Probably one of the most natural ones. And those who get pregnant young tend to bounce back quicker than those who get pregnant older. So that's a positive to look for.”

Ororon knew that he was right. Knew that he wasn't far from the norm, but it didn't mean people wouldn't talk, gossip.

No one back home really knew about his relationship with Captaino. They had mostly kept it confined to the safety of the Fatui camps in the privacy of his home. Of course he was sure there were people who suspected things, but there had never been an actual confirmation from either man.

And now, if he was to return home it would be with child, and the truth of the situation would become blatantly obvious.

Some might even consider it treason.

And while he knew he would never actually earn that title, he came pretty close before and it probably still lingered in some's mind.

“Granny is going to kill me. She's going to kill me revive me and kill me again just for the sake of doing it over and over.”

“She'll have to wait until you have the baby.” Childe says closing the door behind himself I'm making sure to latch it so no one came in. “If you're planning on keeping it anyway.”

“I am.” Ororon confirms without looking at him. “Who am I to deny destiny?”

Child grunts in agreement, not able to deny the peculiarities of the situation. “So, how much weight do you think you're going to gain?”

“Lord Tartaglia!” Rotchev says exasperatedly.

Childe smirks playfully, bounding over and refusing to let Ororon stew in his feelings alone.

If he was going to do this, he would be doing it with friends.

Ororon burns under the scrutiny of the eyes on him, doing his best to avert his gaze from the star-shaped pupils.

For the past half hour, Pierro and him had been finally sitting side by side, cups of tea clasped in their hands, the soft sound of a flickering fire behind them filling the void.

“This is a dangerous endeavor you and Capitano have decided to undergo.”

Ororon can't help the snort that left him. “I can assure you, consciousness was absent during the creation of this.” Orororn gestures towards his belly, officially having hit the 21st week mark.

“Careless decision man.”

“Let's just say decision was not in the equation.”

The two of them sit quietly once more, the tenseness of the air nearly choking Ororon.

“You do know of the curse of those that hail from Khaenri'ah?”

Ororon sighs and nods.

“I myself do not know what the outcome for this child may be.” Pierro admits.

Ororon had thought about that issue quite a few times already. He worried that the same curse that afflicted Thrain would have afflicted their unborn child. On the darkest nights, where sleep was interrupted by terror, he imagined himself birthing a nearly decayed child, screaming out in pain from the weight of its own existence even before it took its first breath.

He took in the possibility of giving life to a small creature, similar to those found in the wild, dancing around their fires with unknown words on their tongues. It had made him wake up sobbing, puking as terror overtook him, dominating his thoughts and leaving him shaking and unable to sleep.

There were many terrors that he had now, many fears he was unable to control. Where Ororon used to be a laid-back man, barely flinching in the face of adversity, now he found himself tense, walking on the ledge of despair and tragedy.

It seems as if the changes are permanent, striking his very core being affected and afflicted.

But isn't that what it's like becoming a parent?

It's what Childe had whispered to him one evening when Ororon couldn't sleep and neither could the 11th. Chasing shadows as if they were ghouls, the ginger haired man had appeared.

Orororn felt fear in ways he had never felt before. So much worry and concern for a child that had not even made it to its birth date.

“No matter the outcome, I will cherish what time we do have together.” Orororn finally looks up from his mug, searching Pierro's eyes.

Pierro It's still stiff, yet assured. “You may use whatever resources we have to ensure a healthy pregnancy. And any information in which we may offer we will give. This life is important to all of us. And even if you choose to retire back to your homeland, we will still offer support. Captiano was a chivalrous man. He would want you taken care of, your child supported. We will do that for you in whatever capacity we can.”

“Thank you. It is important to have your support. For how is one to grow without each and every raindrop that nourishes the roots?”

“That is an apt metaphor.” Pierro glances over towards the strange man. “We are all hoping for a healthy child, but you've heard the stories from Thrain. What happened that day. There is no telling what the result of a child may be. If the curse will afflict them as well, if they will be somehow monstrous and deformed, or if Celestia herself will reach down and punish you for this blatant act of defiance in their eyes.”

Orororn does his base to curtail the rising panic. Celestia! He didn't even think about that.

“No matter the outcome. Every root has a use. Every wind a song, every cloud a day for it to fly across the sky.” Regardless of the shape of the child, he would love them for as long as he would have them.

And if that time is not long, if the child would be forced to live a tortured existence, then he would ensure that he shall be with his father, and wait until the day Ororon joins them.

Chapter Text

“You can't just completely ignore the rhino in the room.” Childe narrows his eyes as he tries to make sense of the strange scroll he had been given.

“There is no rhino in the room.” Ororon knew he was being obtuse, but he had no interest in reading any of the letters that had arrived.

For one, he had no idea how he had even been tracked down. It wasn't like he made an announcement or declared exactly where he was going. If his assumptions were correct though, he could probably trace the knowledge of his current whereabouts to talkative Fatui soldiers.

As great as they were with keeping the secrets of their country, when it came to gossip they never seemed to shut up. If something happened in one land, it would probably in the next within the week. They were a wonderful network of information, but that included information that you didn't necessarily want getting out.

“If you do not respond I would not put it outside the realm of possibilities that they'd show up here.” Rotchev continues his sweep of the room, collecting items in need of disposal.

Orororn glares at both men who had apparently crafted some type of union to conspire against him. It seemed like more days than not, the two of them were pairing up and attempting to convince Ororon of something he needed to do.

If he was honest, he never did think that Tartaglia would be so agreeable. The man's personality screamed brat, a very disagreeable one at that. But apparently when it came to mother henning, he drives the wagon itself.

“I mean, what's the worst they can do? Kick you out of your tribe? Technically you haven't lived on their lands for years, and you're not even in Natlan! They could try, but it's not like they can revoke your abilities.”

Ororon had to agree with that, well aware of the fact that if they truly did react negatively, it would only hurt him emotionally. There's nothing at this point they could do to stop him from the choices he had made.

If all parties were being honest, their biggest concern was the punishment in which Celestia might deem fitting if their eye might turn to the current predicament. And while they highly doubt that was even on the radar, there was still the small possibility that had everyone walking on eggshells and nervously checking to see if there were any whisperings of strange happenings on the wind.

The father of this child was from a doomed nation, and said father was also now sitting on a throne after challenging an all seeing being who didn't seem very happy about being duped.

And while Ororon always felt he wasn't worth much until recently, he knew that even now his position was a bit more elevated because of that.

“Let's just get over the hurdles one at a time.”

“Our lady has already blessed your pregnancy and stated you are free to stay.” Rotchev reminds him. “What other pressing hurdles do you see?”

Orororn looked at him as if he had just said the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. He gestures wildly to his midsection, the slightly distended area more prominent than it had been three weeks before. He was nearing 25 weeks, each passing day bringing him closer to the inevitable.

“Look, you're going to get big. No avoiding it. You got new clothing, just wear them.” Childe really thought the dramatics were unneeded.

“You two are so cruel to me.” Orororn throws his head back with a loud grunt, glaring up at the ceiling.

Ororon awkwardly bows as he stands in front of the Tsaritsa, Pierro to his left and Dottore to his right. The latter was a few paces away, having been told to keep his distance unless needed for something.

“We can confirm that there are no anomalies as of today.” Dottore says firmly. “His last blood test also confirmed that there is nothing out of the ordinary that we need to be worried about.”

“I have scoured the archives for any information on the curse, and so far I have not been able to find anything about children born after the cataclysm.” Pierro had been determined to seek out any and all information so that they could be prepared for the worst outcome.

“Unfortunately, there was not much to be found. The surviving inheritors of Khaenri'ah are scattered, some nearly untraceable. The majority have already succumbed to the decay of the mind and physical body. I do not know if we will have further successes in seeking more information.”

The Tsaritsa gives him a pointed look, her eyes tracing the air around him yet not pointing out the one link he had not sought out.

“Thank you for the update. If you do not mind, I would like to speak to our guest alone.”

Both men bow, turning on their heels and leaving Ororon to their Archon.

Orororn watches them leave with weary eyes, not exactly thrilled about the sudden exit. Only when the sound of the doors closing ring through the hall does he turn his eyes back to the throne.

He nearly jumps out of his skin though when he comes face to face with the pale and unblemished facade of the Tsaritsa. His ears press flat against the top of his head, startled at her sudden closeness.

“Come with me child.” She does not react to his shock or comment on his fear, simply moving with an elegance that was otherworldly, her cape of crystalline snowflakes following close behind.

He looks around the room, being moving guards not even watching as he eventually picks up the pace and follows behind her. Their shoes clatter on the hard iced floors, echoing loudly as a hand is pressed against the wall, and unseen door opening.

Ororon only hesitates for a moment before following her through, the sound of it clicking behind them loud in his ears.

They walk for what seems like nearly 5 minutes, the hall opening to the inside of a cathedral, grand architecture on display of each sparkling spiral.

She sits down at a small table already prepared, the cushion soft seats a startling departure from the iced throne.

There's a small table between another chair and her, Ororon swiftly moving to sit himself down. He did not know why, but he felt a swirling guilt crawl up his chest. This was not a placement for him. He wondered if Captiano had to come in here before. If the very chair he sat in had been familiar to the man whom he had come to love. Whom he never got to say the words to.

He closes his eyes as a wave of sorrow crashes over him, breath hitching as he steels himself against the tide of emotions. No matter how hard he tried, and how much he improved, there was always grief at the bottom of the basin.

“I have wondered about you for quite some time.” The Tsaritsa says softly, piercing eyes staring straight into his soul. “For 500 years I watched the winding thread that encircled Thrain, watched as it laid flaccidly, a single thread not yet cut. It confounded me greatly, what type of greatness lurked on the other end.”

“Then one day, as if suddenly tugged, the thread was no longer limp. It's strained, tugged, thickening as time passes. To say it was a shock would be untruthful, it was expected one day, but there was a bit of startling to its resurgence. Suddenly, 20 something years ago it came alive.” She once again looks at, around, Ororon.

Ororon shifts, trying to see what she saw. Even with his special ability of sight, he was unable to locate what it was she always seemed to look at.

“The life of immortals is lonely, it weighs heavy on the heart and the soul. Sometimes destiny decides that one needs to have that load lightened. It is not often, I've only known a handful whose thread led somewhere that was not objectively a tragedy.”

She smiles, thinking of her darling Tartaglia and his thread. It showed obvious signs of fraying, struggle, desperation and repair, yet it was still strong and bright, proof of the struggles of seeking with that destiny was meant for, and holding it successfully.

“Every time Captiano went on a mission within the last 20 some odd years, I have wondered if this was the time. Would he return with his thread shining bright, sheathed in light, or would it be cut, forever unattached once more.”

“When he wrote to me about you, I knew what it was. I felt it from the paper, in his words. The feelings that he held for you are undeniable. The proof of such a connection held between your hands.” She looks at his stomach where his hands had come to rest.

“I questioned what type of person would make Captaino waiver in his determination. A man who honors every commitment, who strives for perfection and to follow through with the vows he's made.”

“And when I saw you it made sense. And destiny, fate, whatever one might call them, undeniably linked to you. I'm not saying that your feelings were predetermined, that you were required to fall in love, but that the two of you opened yourself up to the possibility and allowed it to happen.”

She tilts her head slightly, a sly grin spreading across her cheeks. “For not only are you connected by the threads of existence, but even that gifted to you by the gods show signs of a connection tangible.” She gestures towards his vision, an undeniable link to those of the Fatui.

Those in her service who had them had already acquired them by the time they had come to her, and she knew what it meant. They were linked in a way that might not be comprehensible for many. A path laid out before them, predestined but not promised.

“Are…are you saying we were like.. soulmates?” Ororon was a mix of shocked and horrified.

“Soulmate is such a human word.” She says with a gentle smile.

“I don't even have a whole soul, so divvying it up to pair with someone else might be a bit scarce.”

She laughs, the sound melodic like chimes on the wind. “Yet he carried hundreds of souls, an abundance of them. I might just say that's proof of the compatibility.”

Orororn leans back in his seat, doing his best to take in all that he was told. He could feel it when they met, this draw, this feeling as if he couldn't let the Captain out of his sight.

And when they first touched, that first kiss, it was like a spark igniting a fire.

“I know you question why you two had such a fateful meeting just for it all to be drawn away. But remember, there are many rewards in life that we may not reap until much further down the road. And sometimes it cannot be seen, but you must walk the path.”

“And perhaps the fates knew just what was needed.”

The rest of their discussion is kept relatively light, her words weighing heavy on Ororon's heart.

He had been filled with so much anger and disdain, hurt and fury. He still was, and yet he now felt something else. He was hopeful.

He knew there were going to be days where the anchor would wash over him and drown him, where he would be determined to burn the memories of Captiano from his mind. He also knew that there were times when he basked in the memories, when he thought about the moments in time where it was only them.

And before where he was angry because all there would be was his memories, no proof, not even a single person they had been honest with about their relationship, there now was.

As scared as he was, there was no tangible proof of what they were. There was now something that he held inside that reminded him that it was not something conjured up between them. Something he had convinced himself of that truly wasn't.

They had a child and he would raise them knowing the love that Ororon had felt in those moments with their father. And they would know that they were loved, he would say it, say the words that he never got to express out loud himself. He refused to have it taken away from him.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Pierro asks Ororon, watching as bags were loaded onto the boat behind him.

Ororon rested a hand on his belly, a deep sigh leaving his lips. “I believe this is what I need to do. We have exhausted all of our sources and still do not have a definite answer. I know it could very well be a long shot, but it's important that I at least see if anyone has any information.”

Pierro crossed his arms, still unconvinced that this was a good idea. As much as he approved of Ororon taking the reins of his life, he still was not happy with this idea.

“You have nothing to worry about, I'll be right by his side.” Childe says with a large grin, refusing to let down his superior or his friend.

“And I will be monitoring both of them to make sure they stay out of trouble.” Pantalone adds, a look of dismay etched across his face as he eyed the boat.

“There's a reason that he returned to Natlan after so many years. Why he sacrificed himself back then and now. There was a bond created, significance in the land. He said it felt like home, I want to at least try. I don't think I'm going to stay, but the least I can do is visit those who have supported me. And tell him about this, even if he can't hear me.” Ororon did not know if he was going to regret making this choice.

So far he hadn't replied to any correspondences sent, not even a letter emblazoned with the Pyro Archons sigil.

“I still think it's a stupid idea. Absolutely ludicrous.” Dottore gripes, a put upon expression on his face. He had wanted to travel with him as well, but had been very pointedly denied the ability.

Pierro still did not trust him not to pull something egregious, even after Dottore had helped maintain a close watch on the unborn.

“If there are any troubles we will send for you.” Pantalone waves off the juvenile complaints.

“We will keep in touch, I assure you.” Ororon offers Pierro a shy smile before stepping forward and pulling him into a hug.

The man freezes for a moment, his eyes wide before returning it with one arm.

“Be safe, return to us.” Pierro whispers softly before pulling away, retreating back to where Arlecchino and Columbina stood waiting, already having said their goodbyes.

Dottore, still bitter about being left behind, gives one final nod to Pantalone before heading back as well.

“Everything has been loaded, it's time for us to go if we plan on beating out the snowstorm.” Rotchev says, his arms crossed as he glared up at the sky.

“We're coming, we're coming!” Childe rolled his eyes and tugged Ororon along, Pantalone following close behind.

The past six weeks had been spent looking for each and every bit of information that the Harbingers could find about the curse of Khaenri'ah, immortality, and the transformation of its citizens.

They were able to find bits and pieces here and there about the history of the great kingdom, the wonder of its creations, and the devastation that was the result of the greed of a handful of people.

It had not been an easy topic to study, the Tsaritsa stone-faced as she recounted her own memories of the event and the failings of her predecessor.

And while they had a good amount of information about the events that led up to the devastation, the end results, and the scattering of the Khaenri'ah people, there wasn't much research into the curse itself.

Which was to be expected when it was something inflicted by the divine.

Not even consulting some of Dottore's more gruesome research projects had resulted in any true information.

Pierro had attempted to contact Dainsleif, but that had been to no avail.

With no further avenues that could be exploited on a short-term basis, they had to turn to their next best option. The Traveler seems to always have bits and pieces of information, connections that no one else seemed to have.

Perhaps he would be able to offer them advice, information, and insight. There was no telling it would be any success, but they didn't have many other options.

He also wanted to consult his own tribe, to see if there was any information that could be gleaned from the Wyob.

He also knew he would like to consult the shamans of Mictlan, but was leaving that for last considering the second they heard of his questions Granny would be informed.

He was definitely nervous about seeing her after the way he left. There's also the fact that his state was now obvious and unable to be hidden. While he did not have a belly that protruded like those of his female tribe members he had seen with child, he was still swollen. The bump was obvious along with the other physical restrictions that came with such a short-term change.

When walking around Snezhnaya he was able to keep himself well covered, tucked into the safety and protection of thick coats and layered capes.

Once they make it back to Natlan that wouldn't be an option. He would probably die of heat stroke if he attempted to continue his current way of hiding.

There would be whispers, gossip, words exchanged that would spread. He very well could be shamed right back out of the nation and be sent back to the snowy country much further along and emotionally devastated.

He knew it was risky to travel in his current state and stage of pregnancy. By the time they arrived he would be thirtytwo weeks pregnant and within range for giving birth within two to three weeks of arriving.

There was also the fact that he didn't necessarily feel as at home anymore as he did back in Snezhnaya these days. No one had truly attempted to talk him out of it, simply giving him the facts of the situation and voicing their concerns.

While Ororon knew for a fact that he would be returning, the feeling of home found among the Fatui ranks, there was still some unfinished business he had to face.

“I'm still mad at you. But it's not the rage that I felt the last time we spoke.” Ororon gazes upon the ice sheltered throne, the chill eerily similar to the one found in the throne room of Zapolyarny Palace.

“I've learned that if I let the fury take over, I wouldn't move forward in life. I wouldn't be able to look at what we had and enjoy it.” He clutches the lighter robe usually meant for pyro agents tightly around himself.

“I spend a lot of time thinking about the time we shared and the time that we won't be able to share. I wondered whether or not you knew this moment would come on those evenings we laid together. I questioned whether or not I had dreamed it all, let my fantasies take over and craft full memories.” His laugh is sardonic, lacking humor.

“Like it was all a dream so perfect that it could only be found in the Night Kingdom. But then I realized it couldn't have possibly been a dream, because now there is something tangible. Proof of what we were, what we had.”

“I still don't forgive you, I don't know if I ever will, but I do understand the choice you made.” He was still so selfish. “Hundreds of souls, the savior of the land, peace you have sought. This as a whole, a noble endeavor you sought after.”

He clenches his eyes shut, willing away the burning behind his eyelids. “It was not necessary for you to consult me or consider me. We were unclaimed by one another, undeclared. And yet…”

He thinks back to that connection, that looming string in which the Tsaritsa claimed to see. “If you were truly supposed to be that other half of my soul, why do I feel so empty still? Was I not enough to keep you? Was the brokenness of my existence unfulfilling?”

He knew it was inconsequential, knew that he would never receive an answer, but what else was he to do?

“I yearn for you still. I yearn even after you left me. Yet all the while I am relieved you have found your peace, but how am I supposed to find mine? How do I go on knowing that I will never be satisfied like I was with you? And how do I raise a child in a world that will praise their father's sacrifice, while their other mourns it?”

His words taper off into a whisper, the fight thoroughly wretched out of him. “I know I will never get my answers from you, but there are still so many. Still so much undetermined.”

He turns to walk away, eyes cast to the ground. “If this child must suffer in this world, then I hope you come for them swiftly.”

“I've only passed through here, but I have to say it's quite nice.” Childe murmurs as he holds onto the reins of the alpaca he was directing.

After leaving Ochkanatlan, the group had sailed along the west coast of Natlan, passed Tecoloapan Bay and right up to the region that belonged to the Masters of the Night wind. Of course if they wanted to, they could have taken one of the smaller boats upstream, but they figured walking would be the best way to calm down Ororon’s nerves.

“Perhaps this was a bad idea?” Ororon murmurs from his seat in the carriage drawn by more alpacas.

“Too late to back out now. We have already made arrangements and spent the coin.” Pantalone glances over at him from the other side of the carriage.

Ororon lets out in exasperated breath. He knew the stingy man was right, but that didn't mean he had to act like he appreciated the bluntness.

“Come on you two, it's a beautiful day.” Childe tries to cut off the bickering before it begins. He found it amusing how easily Ororon got along with all the members of the Harbingers. There was even quite a bit of playful teasing.

Rotchev turned to look back at them from where he stood at the front of the platoon, hand held high as a sign for them to stop.

He narrows his eyes, only having a moment of warning before swiftly moving back. “There is someone up ahead over the ridge. I don't think they know we're here yet, but I think it is an individual familiar to you.”

Ororon could feel it too, the familiarity of those drawing near. It was impossible to mistake who the group was, a duo he found himself familiar with.

Childe narrows his eyes to get a good look, expression brightening. “Oh, is that Kinich and Ajaw?”

Ororon lifts his head, making direct eye contact with a sharp ombre stare. “Yes, that certainly is.”

Chapter Text

“So, are you back permanently?” Kinich questions as he glances towards the Harbingers who had stayed with the cart and the foot soldiers who were mulling about.

Ororon shook his head, doing his best not to look guilty as he was studied like he was prey caught in a trap.

“You certainly got fat!” Ajaw barks, getting up close and personal with Ororon.

Kinich’s eyes darted to the Harbingers behind him, suspicion clearly present across his facial expression.

He then looks back over Ororon, his eyes going straight to his stomach, brows raised in a way that said he wasn't surprised, just confused.

“Kinich…” Ororon says, his tone warning, pleading.

“It's too late, I already let them know.” The second he had seen Ororon, he had let a flare shoot off, a message secured to a bird's leg to the nearest patrol unit of the Masters of the Night Wind.

Ororon groans, covering his face with his hands. “I needed more time!”

“To what, eat more?” Ajaw floats closer to Ororon, ready to prod at his stomach, but is stopped when the tip of a hydro blade is pointed directly at his small pixelated body.

Childe's eyes are sharp and unyielding, a warning in his expression as he gently moves to block Ororon away from the intruding duo.

Ajaw is at first surprised and then offended, a sneer growing across his face as he takes in the man in front of him. “You smell.” Even with being as small as he was, he moves in front of Kinich, a rare show of protectiveness for the man he held a contract with.

“What can I say? We've been on a boat for quite a few days.”

“You know that's not what I mean.” Ajaw was nearly hissing, his hackles raised.

“All right all right, enough posturing.” Pantalone pushes a bit of hair out of his face, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Tartaglia, I thought you would have stopped smelling of that man by now.”

“I don't even have a piece of his clothing or his cologne with me! I think it's just a stupid dragon thing.” Childe says with annoyance, not lowering his weapon.

“Regardless, that's not what we're here about.” He eyes Kinich and his gabbing partner, less than impressed about their current situation. “Apologies for him assaulting your nostrils, he's done the same to our eyes quite a few times with his partner. All we ask is that you clear the way for us. We were already heading towards the Masters of the Night Wind. Ororon would have appreciated more time to prepare, but it looks like he isn't going to have that.”

It wasn't often that Pantalone played the role of diplomat, but he knew that Tartaglia was a hot head and Ororon too nervous.

They also needed Rotchev to continue to be a neutral party who still got along with the people of Natlan.

“I don't trust you two, but if you are escorting Ororon we will come with you.” Kinich grabs a still hissing Ajaw, not even paying attention to the harbingers as he begins to walk, gesturing for them to follow.

Ajaw for once is quietly arguing, his eyes glancing backwards from time to time.

Childe rolled his eyes at the behavior. He knew Natlan was considered the land of dragons, but he didn't think he would get this type of reaction.

Ororon stays close to Childe, “is that because of your fiancee?”

“Unfortunately. Apparently other dragons can tell when someone is paired with another.”

“Well isn't that inconvenient for you?”

“Yeah, I didn't get the best reception in Fontaine either.”

Both exchange an amused smile, bumping shoulders gently as Pantalone rolls his eyes behind them.

Pantalones eyes were closed, tension obvious in his shoulders as he did his best to keep his own temper under control. He had been listening to unending yelling for the past hour, voices raising over one another.

It had taken a single look by a rushing Citlali flocked by members of their tribe at Ororon for the arguing to begin.

First they screamed at the Harbingers who had accompanied Ororon, then at Kinich for not rescuing him. Once that avenue had closed with the man leaving to go notify their other friends, the fight turned inward, the group debating what they were going to do with the situation and what could be the cause.

Ororon had not been able to get in a word edgewise, his face only becoming more and more crestfallen as the fights continued and words were flung around. Many of them were hurtful, most of them unproductive to the situation at hand.

Citlali in particular had been aggressively angry, yelling about how Ororon had been making stupid choices and needed to stay under their protection.

Eventually Pantalone loses his patience, a loud clearing of his throat occurring before he clapped his hands at the gathered tribe members. “Would you please stop your senseless prattling?”

“Excuse me? We are discussing my grandson, we are trying to make choices so you can leave.”

“Your grandson is an adult who can make his own decisions. Maybe if you and your cronies would shut up for a moment or two you'd actually hear what he had to say.” Pantalone’s lips are molded into a smile, but his eyes were nothing but ice.

“Make his own decisions? Look at him! He ran off, came back pregnant, and apparently has joined the Fatui! Which I very pointedly told him not to do!” Her hands were on her hips, face flustered as she looked around Pantalone and to Ororon who stood next to Childe.

“Now look here lady, you don't know the story, so maybe you should shut your trap?” Childe moves slightly forward, keeping himself between the two.

Citlali’s eyes go wide, the offended expression on her face undeniable. “I swear I will -”

“Enough. This has been going on for far too long.” Biram’s voice cuts through the fight, his expression stern even as most of his face was covered.

Pantalone’s eyes snapped towards the man, gasping slightly as they trail over his entirely too large frame. “Oh my…” His hand quickly makes it to the frame of his glasses, readjusting them in an attempt to distract himself.

“Damn, no wonder you liked Capitano. Growing up looking at him…” Childe bites onto his lower lip, leaning in so he could also get a better look.

Biram offers a placating smile to the Harbingers. “Please, let's be civilized. A discussion over a meal makes for a much more pleasant conversation, yes?”

“I see, so this child of yours belongs to the First of the Harbingers.” Biram’s voice was genuinely sympathetic, understanding on his face as he reached over and clasped Ororon's hand.

“Our relationship was short, secret for the most part. This was not something that we planned on happening. That we were even aware of being able to happen. But it did.”

“And how do you know that he is the father?” Citlali questions, the seething expression on her face unmistakable.

“Well that's certainly a nasty question to ask.” Childe mumbles into his glass of wine.

“He's the only one I've laid with.” Ororon murmurs, his ears pressed flat against his head as he faced the scrutinizing looks of the elders.

Biram really would have to talk to the others about the type of questions they asked. “We understand and we believe you. Your situation is unique. As you know we are not aware of your history either and could not have prepared you for this possibility either. For that I am sorry.”

Ororon nodded, knowing that there was no explanation for his existence. For his condition, for why he was how he was.

“Well then, until the time of labor will you be staying? Or were you just planning on visiting?”

“Of course he's staying.” Citlali furrows her brows, unsure of why that was even a question.

“He's actually planning on going back to his home.” Childe cuts in. “We have all our supplies to make camp around his home, so we'll be there to help him when needed.”

“We will also need to purchase supplies for the next couple of months. We're willing to pay wholesale and for priority delivery.” Pantalone adds on, not wanting to give them a chance to argue.

“Very well, I will send some merchants your way to get exact numbers.” Biram is also quick to cut in, not wanting to hear any more arguments break out. “Now, how about I escort you?”

“He's pregnant?” Xilonen says slowly, the bun she was about to take a bite of slipping from her hands and falling back onto the plate.

“How was that even possible?” Kachina looks between the adults, her face scrunched up and her head tilted.

“I think this is an adult conversation. How about we go get something to eat?” Chasca says stiffly, swooping in and placing her hands on Kachina’s shoulders. She did not want to be a part of this conversation and was more than happy to volunteer.

Mualani watches as the two head off and out of the speaker's chamber, waiting until the door closes to speak. “And we're sure this isn't some weird experiment by that Fatui doctor?”

“It's not.” Mavuika says with a deep sigh, pulling a letter out and placing it on the table before them. “I received correspondence from the Tsaritsa a few days ago. She gave me a heads up about the situation. She confirmed the state of Ororon and the father.”

“And we're sure this is just not some plot by them to distract us.” Kinich was still unconvinced, especially with how badly Ajaw reacted to the 11th harbinger. Since then, his partner had been quiet, stewing.

“The Tsaritsa has always been very honest about what her goal was. She is not a fan of Celestia and is planning on challenging them. While she uses underhanded tactics at times, it's because not all of us agree with angering those who might damn us all. She signed off on Captiano doing what he did. She allows her Harbingers a certain level of individuality even as they work towards her goal. She also knows the connections between people. Apparently those two shared one.” Mauvika was less than thrilled as she had read the letter, conflicted with the honesty that was presented.

“And there's nothing we can do? We can't stop him from leaving again? We can't put him under some type of arrest? This has to be some level of treason!” Citlali slams her hands against the table, face red with exertion. “He literally has an army of Fatui camping out around his home!”

“Probably because you look like you're going to kidnap him.” Xilonen pointed out, pushing her snack away.

“Rightfully so!”

“He's not staying, is he?” Ifa says softly. He had been sitting at the table, a dejected look on his face as he listened to the conversation. “It's too hard for him. We should have noticed how upset he was after everything.”

“How could we have known if he didn't say anything! You know how he is,” Citlali rolls her eyes.

“We’re his fucking friends! His family! We should have been able to tell.” Ifa’s words are filled with anger and despair. “He was in love. He was in love with someone who died and we didn't notice. And now he is having the child of the person who he loved, who died for his nation and he was so devastated that he had to leave.”

The silence that settles over them is stifling, heavy and unmoving.

“And now he's back, but it's temporary. We all know it's temporary.”

“I thought you were going out to train, not collect strays.” Pantalone looks down his nose at Childe and the trio of Juvenile Tepetlisaurs.

Childe huffs, “I was looking for some treasure hoarders and I found these little guys in cages! I can't believe someone would cage these little guys!”

“They are in abundance and many people consider them family.” Ororon says as he bends down slowly and pats one of their horns. “I also know that they are great resources for medicinal purposes.”

Pantalone can't help the chortle that leaves his throat at that unexpected comment. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Chapter Text

Aether sits across from Ororon and Rotchev, not at all phased by Ororon's current state. After all the worlds he had visited, it was not a rare ailment or predicament. If anything, he was more intrigued on how it worked in a world that had such inconsistent species.

“The traveler doesn't really have a way to contact Dainslief. Usually he just randomly appears and we get caught up in whatever mischief he's dealing with.” Paimon explains, floating above the table as she munched on her plate of Honey-Glazed Ceviche.

Rotchev couldn't be less disappointed by the news. They had been turning over every stone for the past two weeks since arriving in Natlan and so far it had been nothing but unsuccessful. Book after book, resource after resource, no definite answers were given. Even after having the traveler scan over Ororon for any signs of strange energy, nothing had been detected.

So far the traveler had shared with them the story of Caribert, the curse that was laid upon the people, and the devastation as it took hold of civilization in the streets.

Ororon had been brought to tears when he heard of all the children who had been unlucky enough to have mixed heritage, forced to wander Teyvat mindless and slaughtered.

He had been inconsolable for an entire day, melancholy though no tears would fall. He had declared that if upon birth the child would begin to change, then they would not let them suffer. It would be a loss, a devastating one that would take the last bits of what he held dear, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to take.

There were arguments, disagreements with how to approach such a predicament, but he refused to even think about it. He did not want his child to become a test subject, a prisoner of their life in existence.

“Have you thought about the possibility of shielding the child from Celestia?” Aether questions, his voice breaking through the contemplative silence.

The group perks up at that suggestion, eyebrows raised at the possibility. “How would we even be able to do that?” Rotchev leans forward, arms crossed.

Aether is hesitant to answer, his eyes glancing towards Paimon as they silently communicate. Only once he was sure that it was their only possible option he spoke. “Have the child in the abyss.”

“This idea is so insane that I actually like it!” Childe's grin is wide, bordering on manic as he rolls the possibility around in his mind.

“Don't you try to avoid the abyss if you can?” Pantalone gives him a skeptical look, his expression between frazzled and suspicious. He knew this was dangerous, probably impossible, but with no other options it might be their only chance.

“And this is why we don't trust the Fatui!” Citlali slams her cup against the table, glare sharp as she stares down at the two men who obviously didn't understand the danger of what was being suggested.

After the proposition had been made, Ororon had taken his time to contemplate the options. It did not take long considering they didn't really have any, and he was forced to face the facts of his situation.

“I don't think any of us like this idea, but it's the only possible solution we have.” Ororon says, exhaustion obvious on his face. “Sometimes we cling to the darkness and sometimes it clings to us. A step forward might just be the one into the dark.”

Ifa sat beside him, refilling his glass with water from the pitcher. He had been doing his best to stay silent and listen, understanding that they really were on a tight schedule when it came to planning what they were going to do.

Mauvika sat on the other end of the table, finger steepled as she rolled the idea around in her head. “I don't even think that's possible. The abyss chokes out everything. How could he even survive down there? Could the child?’

“We don't have to take him to the abyss, we just have to bring the abyss to him.” A melodic voice says, tinged with enthusiasm and anticipation.

The group turns, expressions tense as they come face to face with Dottore.

Childe wrinkles his nose, glaring at the segment that he hadn't seen in quite some time. “Great, we got this one. I don't know if I dislike you or Omega more.” He takes in the ridiculous clown outfit, short blue curls, and the younger appearance.

“ Ah, the doctor.” Mauvika says, the aggravation obvious in her tone. Her patience was really on thin ice with the Harbingers being in her land. “We just got rid of the abyss, we are not bringing it back.”

“We're not going to induce a full-on incursion, just a little portal. Enough to shield Ororon from the eyes of the gods.” Dottore explains.

“That's all well and nice, but what happens after? Won't Celestia notice when he pops up with a child?” Kinich scoffs from where he was leaning.

“Details details.” Dottore waves off his words as if they were unimportant. “We will just need someone who can conjure a bit of the abyss.” His eyes are sharply on Childe, hunger in his eyes.

Childe doesn't back away from his glare, though he does feel the disgust that clings to his skin. “I can't summon a portal to the abyss. If you find one I can manipulate it, hold it open, but I can't open one up myself.”

Many eyes turn to look at him, questions on their tongues. It was no secret that the 11th Harbinger was a curiosity to many. His age being one of the factors that made many many people question what he was even doing among his placement of the Harbingers. It was said he was strong, could wreak havoc, but there were no true explanations as to his abilities. Anyone who had seen whatever secret he held had been killed and not alive to speak of what he held so close to the chest.

“I'm sure we could locate a gateway. They tend to pop up don't they?” Rotchev tries to remember whether or not they had mapped any in Natlan and whether or not they would still be present.

“I cannot approve of the manipulation of the abyss within Natlan after we worked so hard to eradicate it!” Citlali looks around the table, a wild anger in her eyes. “If the destiny of this child has already been predetermined, who are we to manipulate it?”

“I have already seen what destiny does. I'm not sitting and waiting for it to snatch anything else from me.” Ororon's voice is dark, angry. A rage that they had yet to hear from him clinging to every word.

“Cracks to the abyss are unstable.” Paimon pipes in. “Even if we were to find one, there's no telling what is on the other side.”

“And this is why it would have been nice to have Dainsleif on payroll.” Childe murmurs.

“I might know a guy.” Kinich murmurs, not looking at anyone else around the table even as the words leave his lips.

Ajaw scoffs, “You've got to be joking! We are not reaching back out to him. That man is a lunatic! Absolutely disrespectful!”

Mauvika quirks a brow at Kinich’s information. She had not known of him having such associates, and now felt like she would need to look into it.

“Wonderful!” Dottore claps his hands. “Let the fun begin.”

“Are you really supposed to be peeing so often?” Rotchev questions concern tinging his words.

Ororon huffs as he returns to his living room, his facial expression pinched as he glares at the man. “I've been told it's normal, therefore I will come to the same conclusion.” Ororon had been grumpier than usual as of late. With only three weeks to go before he was due, things had become a lot more difficult for him.

He did not like asking for help, but it seemed like at every turn he needed it. It made him feel even more useless considering all the preparations that were happening on his behalf.

Kinich was able to contact his strange friend, the tall man leering at Kinich in a way that made everyone concerned. Kinich on the other hand had been receptive to the leers, a smile on his face every once in a while when he didn't think anyone was watching.

Childe and the strange man that went by Sanka got along like a house on fire, an obvious clash between the two of them on the horizon. No one really knew why, but when the man was around her Tartaglia had his hackles raised, always on edge.

And that of course resulted in quite a few issues for Dottore, the man doing his damndest to get them to work together as he studied the results of their combined use of abilities. Of course that in turn caused them both to snap at him, fights causing damage wherever they were.

At one point Mauvika threatened to find a cliff and throw them all off of it, her patience waning as she received complaints from the various tribes who were unfortunate enough to be near their training exercises.

Dottore had been relocating their practices everyday, trying to determine where the best results occurred. He knew that opening a rift near a naturally occurring one would be their best bet for having a stabilized connection.

The other end of his research was determining whether or not shielding the birth itself was enough to keep Celestia away. Mauvika had not been very forthcoming, her determination not to have the eyes of the sky turn to them once more winning out..

They had reached out to the Tsaritsa, her own knowledge lacking about the situation. She did suggest they contact the Ludex of Fontaine, knowing that if they were able to jog his memory he might know something. Her close seconds were Zhongli and Venti, though she did advise that Venti was quite tight-lipped about most things.

Those names really didn't mean much to those who had been around the table when they had received the letter, except for the quite obvious stiffening of Childe when all three names were mentioned.

“Fucking of course.” Childe grumbles under his breath, discontent obvious.

“Still sore about your little run in with the Ludex?” Dottore teases.

“Would you stop pestering him?” Pantalone had been dealing with headaches everyday since Dottore had joined them. He was doing a pretty good job at keeping him away from Ororon, but that didn't stop him from running his mouth.

“I do not believe that is who he is concerned about.” A voice smooth like silk, rich and solid rumblef. Everyone at the table turns in shock, except for the one man who was sitting there, stiff as a board with his shoulders hunched.

“Ah, I see. What a delight it is to have such a renowned consultant joining our debate.” Mauvika smiles widely, pushing herself up to stand and offering a hand of welcome.

“I was informed that there was a little problem being faced and who would I be if I didn't offer my expertise?” Zhongli says smoothly, grateful that Mauvika was considered enough to remember his current alias.

“Who is that?” Ifa whispers to Kinich, even Citlali narrowing her eyes at the newest visitor. Rotchev cringes along with Childe, scooting a ways away from the ginger haired man.

Pantalone’s sigh is deep and unmistakable, the man already mentally counting the current balance within the elevenths account.

“I also thought it would be nice to check in on my fiance since my letters have remained unreturned. Though I guess it is understandable since I was still sending them to Zapolyarny Palace.” His tone was still light, but there was an undercurrent of annoyance.

“Well fuck me” Childe grumbles under his breath.

“No need to worry, I'm sure he will.” Dottore says condescendingly, enjoying the tension.

Ifa and Kinich can't help the shocked looks that cross their face at the newest information, looking from their Archon who was friendly with the man, to the consultant who was apparently engaged to a Harbinger.

“Close your mouth, you'll catch flies.” Sanka whispers in Kinich's ear.

Sanka was doing his best to contain Ajaw, who was borderline feral and having a hard time keeping his current form as he attempted to transition into his full size.

Zhongli turns and looks at the other dragon across the table, his eyes shining a little bit brighter for just a moment before dimming once more. “I'm not here for any trouble, just to help where I can.” He turns towards Ororon, bowing at the waist in greeting.

“I have heard much about you from the time you spent in Snezhnaya. It's nice to finally put a face to the name.” Zhongli looks him over one last time before finally starting at the back of Childe's head.

“Now, tell me what information do you need?”

Chapter Text

“You need to concentrate!” Dottore yells with frustration, his foot stomping into the dirt as he glared at the two monstrous beings in front of him.

Enjou and Tartaglia look at him with equal expressions of disgust, though no one could really tell considering the forms they had taken. Standing tall above all present in the clearing, both unhappy with his continued instruction.

“Perhaps you would like to give this a try?” The distorted voice of Tartaglia's foul legacy grouses, floating just a tad bit closer to the doctor.

“If you have time to make threats then you have time to work more. We are on a schedule here and I don't see either one of you improving.”

Tartaglia growls, surging forward as his patience finally snaps.

“Childe darling, please avoid mauling him until we've successfully completed the plan.” Zhongli calls, the glowing embers of a shield forming around his unhappy partner. Zhongli is not thrilled about this continuous training, maintaining foul legacy causing great pain and exhaustion to his mate. And every time he used it, a little bit more white appeared in his hair, proof that his life essence was being burned the longer this persisted.

Tartaglia gives Dottore one last glare before backing up, his breathing deep as he was getting closer to his limit for the day. “One more time.”

Enjou sighs, his own tone terse as he glances over towards their audience. Ajaw and Kinich sat on the opposite side of the clearing from Zhongli, Ajaw still uncomfortable with the presence of the retired archon.

“Stop looking over here Sanka,” Kinich says without hesitation.

“You do know that's a false name he gave you, right?” Ajaw glares at the lowly clerk, not trusting him either.

“I'm aware.” Kinich keeps his eyes planted on the man, watching as they once again open up a rift.

Tartaglia focuses on connecting to the darkness of the abyss, forcing foul legacy to accept the emptiness and manipulate around himself. He was panting, breathing heavily as he warps and sinks into the darkness until it is larger and more stabilized, shooting inside as he looks around and separates it from the dimension of the abyss it had originated.

The watching entourage is startled, not having expected a success after the grueling day of practice. They watch as the empty dark splash morphs into what seems like a bubble, the air around them shuddering at such dark manipulation.

It holds, stable and unwavering, even Dottore unable to speak as he marvels at the success.

This! This is what it was all for.

“How long is it going to be until he recovers? This plan won't be a success without him.” Citlali says sharply as she stands in front of the floating teapot, glaring at the man who refused to give them access.

Zhongli cares not for her attitude, simply waving his hand and placing the teapot back into storage. “I will alert everyone when he awakes.”

“We are working on a deadline here! Ororon can pop any moment now and his monstrous abilities are required.”

Zhongli’s nostrils flare at her words, though he maintains his calm disposition as he continues to face her down. “I am very well aware of the deadline. He will be ready. You need not worry.”

Citlali rolls her eyes, turning on her heels and stomping away from the immovable man.

“Granny, you need to be patient.” Ororon tells her as she makes her way back down the path and towards the Fatui encampment that surrounded his home. “Childe is doing us a really big favor by using that form of his. Each and every time he does so, it burns a little bit of him out, and his recovery time is only getting longer because of how often he's been using it. He's not a simple candle that we can burn until there is nothing left. We must nurture him, and make sure that he heals, or else he will no longer bear fruit.”

“What's it truly matter? He is Fatui. For all we know they're doing all this so they can snatch your baby afterwards.” Citlali hisses.

“I doubt they would be doing all this if they're just planning on stealing the baby afterwards.” Kinich pointed out, bringing over a mug of tea for Ororon.

“Truly, if we wanted to procure a child we have orphanages we can do such from.” Dottore waves off her concern, continuing to write down his findings during the research he had been doing on the abyss while they were manipulating it.

“Plus the trip is expensive. We could have just held Ororon in Snezhnaya where we wouldn't be paying for all these resources.” Pantalone gestures toward the gathered troops in the clearing.

“And they're my friends. They helped me when no one else could, I trust them.” Ororon adds on exasperatedly. “And when the time comes I am returning with them.”

Citlali tenses when he says that, raring to start another argument about how she thinks he was making a terrible choice.

Ifa, who was coming over with Rotchev speeds up, quickly grabbing the woman by the elbow and giving the group a tense smile. “We just hope you will not make it a habit of being a stranger. We would be pretty terrible aunts and uncles if the kid didn't know us.”

“I'm not planning on being a stranger, but I think the distance will do us good. I can't keep hearing about Captaino's sacrifice. I can't gather my own feelings about it if everyone's telling the child about the grand sacrifices their father made. I grew up hearing stories of what I should have been, could have been, I don't want there to be any type of pressure put on my child.”

Citlali deflates at his words, knowing that his own upbringing wasn't the best. As much as she and the other tribes members attempted to raise him, she knew that they were not aptly equipped to do so. And with the sacrifice hanging over all their heads, it only increased the instability of his upbringing.

“They will learn stories about the good man he was, the things he did, but only when I'm ready for it. For now, I think Snezhnaya is the healthiest place I can be. Because if I'm here, I'm always going to be standing in front of that throne of his. I'll be stuck, frozen in time just like he is. That is not healthy, that is not the way to live.”

“I just…I just wish you weren't leaving so soon.” Citlali admitted solemnly.

“Well, there's a couple of weeks. And even after that I'm not going to leave for another week or two. Have to make sure the little one is strong enough for the trip.”

Citlali nodded her head in understanding, “then we will have to respect that choice of yours.”

“Grandpa Zhongli,” Ororon calls as the man approaches.

It was well past sunset, the visitors to the encampment gone and most of the foot soldiers having retreated to their tents to sleep.

Kinich had disappeared somewhere with Sanka, Ajaw yapping about being a third wheel.

Citlali had left for the speaker's chamber, wanting to give an update to Mauvika.

Ifa was inside Ororon's home, having temporarily moved in until Ororon gave birth.

“Please, just Zhongli. You make me feel old calling me that.”

“But you're even older than Granny?”

“I'm aware,” Zhongli can't help but laugh at the true words.

Ororon grins, happy to know that he had made the recently dour man smile. “How's he doing?”

“He still has not woken up.” Zhongli's words are fragile. “I have healed him as much as I can, but the rest is up to him. The abyss that clings to him rejects most of my powers, opposing forces and all that. With him working with the abyss itself, manipulating it, it's even stronger around him now.”

“I'm sorry.” Ororon looks down at the ground, his ears folded over and drooping.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You're important to him and he has never short changed his efforts when someone's important to him.”

“You know, he told me about the story between the two of you. Passion is on both sides obviously. I mean, nearly drowning your own harbor? Many might see you both as opposites, but I can tell you're two sides of the same coin.”

“Yes, we don't do things in halves. Though I think proposing without being clear of my intent was a bit ridiculous.”

“Yeah, he did mention feeling bad about not giving you an answer for 3 years.” He can't help his own laugh at that.

“I just look forward to when this is all done, when the abyss is no longer such a prominent part of his life.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, once he has fulfilled the Tsaritsa goal and is no longer needed, he will allow me to bless him.”

Ororon tilted his head in confusion.

“What I mean to say is I hope to make him one of my adepti. We have been studying ways to clarify the abyss. It will be painful, very much so since it's interwoven with his very soul right now, but we believe it's a possibility.”

Ororon sits silently as he takes in that declaration, his heart warm. The love between Childe and Zhongli was as obvious as the sun in the sky. Being near the two of them as they interacted was like standing next to a warm fire, the embers between them unavoidable as you watched. Even with the trio of years between their reconciliation, it was as if none of the love between them had been lost in the throes of anger.

He wondered if he had been given time with Capitano, if they would have been the same? How they move around each other like the way the wind knows the sky? Would they know the pathways of each other's very soul, predicting the other's choices before it's even made? Would people have stood by and watched them interact, feeling the heat of their gazes?

Looking at the two of them sometimes made Ororon wonder so many things he had put to the back burner of his mind. A man with unwavering strength, strength of a god, and the boy he fell in love with.

He wondered if Captaino would have been overjoyed with knowing he had a child on the way, or if you would be filled with the same fear in which Ororon was. Did he have more information about the curse of Khaenri'ah, information that not even Zhongli had been able to offer? Once again he was stumbling upon questions with no answers, his body tense as he tried to force the thoughts away.

“Love lost is devastating. It's all encompassing and destructive. There is no true pathway through grief, only the cold chill of it as it rocks your world.” Zhongli says softly. “Love lost prematurely does not have the chance to be nurtured and to full bloom. Like a sparrow cut down upon takeoff from its nest. The absence of its potential leaves an emptiness unfulfilled. That is what you and Captiano have suffered. There are no words that can take that hurt away, could soften the anguish. You'll be filled with questions for the rest of your days, contemplating if there were hints you missed, words you could have said that would have changed the outcome. And I will not tell you not to dwell, for I have spent many years dwelling on what has already transpired. What I can tell you is his memory lives on in you and in those times when hurt seems to drown you, focus on those reflections. Remember the good times, the laughs, the moments shared. For when no one or nothing can break through the tendrils of grief, the true power that will shine out is within you.”

Ororon looks up at the sky, clear of clouds and stars shining. A new moon high in the sky, the same as the night he had known he was in love. His heart was heavy, yet his soul sung, for once the memory no longer clouded with sorrow.

Chapter Text

“Let me through this instant! We need him right now!” Citlali screams, cheeks pink from the exertion of the yelling she had been doing.

Voices yelled back and forth through the clearing, the sounds of panic and rumbling feet loud on the wind. The air had been in chaos since early that morning, unexpected fear coursing through the group. In the wee hours of the morning, only the day after their first successful attempt at manipulating the abyss, Ororon had to go into labor. Now nearly 13 hours later, no progress had been made and Tartaglia was still unconscious.

Zhongli stood in front of the wrathful woman, arms crossed as a golden barrier protected the floating teapot that remained undisturbed.

“Unfortunately he is of no use at this moment.” Zhongli repeats the same statement he had made over the past 12 hours, frustration obvious on his face. Time and time again he had entered the teapot, attempting to rouse the Harbinger. Each attempt had been unsuccessful, no one able to awaken him. Even Dottore had attempted his own way of rousing him, but that had still gone unsuccessful.

“I can't believe this is happening! We were relying on you guys!” Citlali strains forward once again, Kinich holding her arm tightly to keep her from lashing out.

“If he's not awake it can be helped!” Kinich tries to reason, his face tense with annoyance.

“What happened to the reliable Fatui, huh? Aren't you guys supposed to care? This is your coworker's child! Or are you just waiting for him to pass outnand then you'll snatch him and the child away?”

“You're incessant whining is getting under my skin. Why don't you try to make yourself useful, huh? Aren't you a great elder of the Night Winds? How about you use some of that voodoo of yours?” Pantalone was nearing his wit's end, the past several hours driving him up a wall and back down the other side.

His use in this situation was null, his ability to pay for information coming to an end when they had used the last of their possible leads.

“I can always just take him into the abyss.” Sanka suggested from where he lounged.

“No!” The declaration is resounding, the man holding up his hands in surrender. “Geez, it was just a suggestion.”

Before any further arguments can break out, the sound of a door closing and footsteps on stairs produce Rotchev stepping outside of Ororon's home, swiftly wiping his hands on a bundle of towels he held.

“Are there any updates?” Citlali questions, her eyes wide as she walks over towards the man.

His facial expression is tired and tense, his head shaking. ”No, nothing at all. Dottore and Ifa said that this isn't necessarily rare, but if it continues it will become a true concern.”

“This was a mistake, this was a huge mistake! If we would have known about this earlier we wouldn't be dealing with this situation right now!”

Pantalone narrowed his eyes at her words. “What do you mean? You would have already had a plan in place?”

“No, he wouldn't be going through with this!”

“That isn't your choice to make.” Sanka pointed out.

“If he would just listen to me, he wouldn't find himself in the trouble that always comes for him! I told him not to hang out around that man and now look at him!”

“I think you have said enough.” Zhongli stands a bit straighter. “I know you have your feelings about Fatui, so do I. But by marriage they are going to be my family and Captiano was very important to Childe. Tread lightly.”

“I think we can all agree tensions are running high right now.” Mauvika says as she walks up towards the group, concern pinching her brow. “How about a meal?”

“I'm fine, just tired.” Ororon murmurs, his eyes barely able to stay open as exhaustion thrums through each and every last one of his veins. He had been consumed by a burning ache for nearly a full day now, every inch of his muscles on fire.

He hadn't been able to keep anything down, forced to chew on chip's of ice in an attempt to sustain his energy. Never before had he felt such suffering. Not even when his mind was being infiltrated had he felt so out of control of his own body.

Every breath burned his lungs, every movement scorched white hot pain down his spine. The air brushing against his skin was like nails dragging dermis. He did not know what, but everything was so wrong.

He had been told time and time again that he could not fall asleep. That he needed to stay awake, conscious. The tone in which those words were said to him had been slightly panicked and fearful, the desperation rising the longer this went on.

“He can't take much more of this.” Ifa whispers harshly to Dottore.

“I know that. What would you have me do? Cut him open? I can tell you the people out there are not going to be thrilled at that suggestion.” Dottore was always thrilled to cut into someone, but that would actually risk him losing a pretty good test subject for the future.

“If this continues both of them are going to die. I know we wanted to shield the birth completely, but at this point it looks to be unavoidable.”

Dottore curses, glancing at the door. “Come on Tartaglia, you never break a promise.”

“You're right, I don't.” Childe says breathally, swaying slightly on his feet as he kicks the door open. “Oops, I probably shouldn't be exerting that much energy.”

He stumbled forward slightly, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to reel in his pain.

“I heard we have a baby coming.” He smiles, stumbling forward until he was inside of Ororon's room.

Ororon's eyes snap open as soon as he feels the familiar presence, his smile tired but relieved. “And here I thought I'd been left to my own struggles.”

Childe snorts, “I don't leave my brothers behind. You know that!”

Ororon nodded his head in agreement, Childe glancing behind himself as the crowd had begun to gather inside Ororon's little home.

“Let's do this.”

The air in the clearing was stifling, Enjou and Tartaglia floating above the crowd, both transformed and focused.

“Are you sure you're up for this?” Enjou rumbles, eyes narrowing as he studies Tartaglia’s foul legacy transformation.

“It doesn't matter if I'm up for it, what matters is if I do it.” The words are somewhat garbled behind the mask, determination thick in his tone.

Mauvika watches on with a disapproving frown, not at all thrilled at what was about to happen in front of her.

Enjou focuses on locating that abandoned area of the abyss, slashing until its dark starry sky comes into view. He stares at it for a moment before swooping down and picking up the still shaking Ororon and the basket that had been prepared.

Tartaglia jumps right into his task, letting as much as his abyssal energy flow out as he grips the edges of the warp, bending and folding it as he commands. He nodded his head towards Enjou, giving one final look to the crowd below before both men entered into the space. They stood right near the entrance, attempting to wrap themselves in the isolated sector. As soon as they are through though, the portal closes, plunging the clearing into a deathly silence.

“What the fuck just happen?” Kinich whispered, staring at where the gouge had been.

“That wasn't supposed to happen.” Dottore says, his own tone shocked at the sudden disappearance.

A screech could be heard in the clearing, wrathful anger assaulting their ears. “I knew it! I knew it!” Citlali charges forward, not knowing who she was going for just knowing that someone was going to get it.

She never trusted them from the first day they had appeared, and now they had snatched away her grandson and possible grandchild all in one fell swoop.

“The abyss is an unknown, we could not have guaranteed the same results from each attempt. They only successfully completed the attempt a singular time.” Pantalone murmured, running a hand through his hair.

“How did this happen?” Mauvika demanded, her tone stern and unflinching.

“I don't know! I'm a scientist, we have our hypotheses and we test them out. There's never any guarantees.” Dottore shrugged his shoulders, “if they come back then we know it's a success. If they don't, then well, that's unfortunate.”

Zhongli stands from where he had been sitting, letting out a very deep sigh. “They will be back.”

All eyes turn to him, skepticism obvious.

“Tartaglia has been to the abyss before. He will return to me. Until then, let us not start a war.”

Chapter Text

“What did you do?” Childe accused as he slipped from his monstrous form, exhaustion causing sweat to bead on his forehead. He takes a few shaky steps, knees weak as the darkness surrounding them taunts and pulls at him.

“I did nothing.” Enjou lowered himself, gently placing Ororon down in front of the harbinger, the supplies settled beside him.

“Well something obviously went wrong, because there is no exit! We weren't supposed to be in the actual abyss!” Childe yells.

Enjou glances around, his expression unchanging in his form. “This is the abyss, yet it is not.”

“It feels like it regardless.”

“Yes, it certainly does.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Childe curses as he scrambles to kneel by Ororon.

The man had been surprisingly quiet since their arrival, Childe quickly identifying the reason why once he looked at him. “He's as pale as a sheet.” He touches his skin, cursing when he feels how warm it is.

He uses shaky fingers to open his eyelids, pupils blown wide at the darkness surrounding them.

“And the baby?”

“I don't know! I'm not a doctor.” Childe hisses, not exactly wanting to lift the gown Ororon was wearing. “Aren't you some type of librarian? Shouldn't you know about this?”

“I'm a clerk.”

“Same difference!”

“Not at all.”

Childe lets out an aggravated grunt, disbelieving and how he ended up in this situation. He takes a deep breath, doing what he had to do and looking to check how far Ororon had progressed. When he does so he's met with a sight of blood and nothing else.

He closes his eyes, the danger of the situation getting to him. He had never been sensitive about blood, but between the constant use of his abyssal form and now the assault of the abyss energy, he was feeling weak.

“From your reaction things are not looking very good.”

“They certainly are not.” Childe would kill the man if it wasn't pertinent they got back to the other side.

The two of them argue back and forth, trying to decide what needed to happen. They knew that two lives hung in the balance, but neither one of them were prepared.

“It was just supposed to pop out once we got here!” Enjou argues, realizing that they had really not thought the situation out to this point.

“Yeah, well obviously that plan isn't working!” Childe was still reeling about the situation they were in.

“I don't think pushing is going to help.” Ororon croaks, his eyes open a sliver as he glances at the two men. Both jump, eyes going straight to his frame.

“What do you mean pushing is not going to work?” Childe crowds closer, grabbing a towel and wiping at his brow.

“Something feels wrong. If I push…I think something is wrong.” Tears nestled at the corners of his eyes, breath panting from exertion and blood loss.

“Well shit. Enjou, any luck yet?” Childe watches the lector closely.

“I am attempting to open a rift, but there is something blocking me.” He had not experienced something like this before.

“Oh sweet Tsaritsa, I swear if we get out of this I'll be much better about my prayers.” Childe glanced up into that endless sky, the purple and blue vastness untainted.

“I want you to get the baby out of me. Now.”

Childe is startled by the desperation in Ororon's voice, not having expected that demand. “Excuse me? What do you expect me to do, rip it out of you?”

“If that is what you must do!”

“Ororon!”

“I can't let them die! This is all I have left! The only part of him!”

“And you think I'll let you die instead?”

“If you don't do something both of us will!”

“Okay, no time for panicking.” Enjou returns to their side, eyes dancing between the two glaring men. “Perhaps this is the best we can do. Preserve one life over the other.”

“If you're concerned they're going to accuse you of murdering me, then I can write-”

“I don't care if they accuse me of murdering you! I'm not going to let you die!” Childe hisses with annoyance, disdain spread across his face even as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I'm going to do this, but you need to hold on. I'm not letting you go that easily, you try and kill over on me and I swear I will hunt you down in that precious night kingdom of yours.” His fists are clenched, anxiousness radiating. “You're my nursemaid Enjou. I need something you handed to me fast, got it?”

The Lecter for once it's silent, its hands going towards the basket prepared and laying out the supplies.

“This is going to hurt,” Childe swallows, bile rising in his throat. He had killed many men, women, but this was completely different. He calls on the power of vision, a small scalpel appearing in his hand.

He uses the other to open up the tunic Ororon wore, the bulge of his belly uncovered.

His hands shook as he lowered it to the skin, pressing gently until a bead of blood appeared. All three watch as it swells before dripping, its red tear track marring pale skin.

“You cannot make it too shallow, yet not too deep. You must cut deep enough to pierce the layers of fat and skin, the muscle that holds the child, yet not injure the child.” Enjou offers very unhelpfully.

“I think I'm going to be sick.” Ororon mumbles, his parlor going even grayer.

“Me too.” Childe agrees, pressing harder even as the sound of Ororon's pain begins to lance through the air.

Unfortunately the process is neither swift nor painless. The sureness in which Tartaglia usually cut down an enemy far gone from this moment. Every inch is done slowly, The feeling of skin, fat, and muscle giving away underneath the scalpel reverberating up his wrists and down his arms.

The sound is like a rubber band popping, the metallic scent of blood drowning their senses.

Ororon's screams out, wailing as the searing pain burns through him. There is no help that can be given, no release from the pain.

Childe has to sit on his legs to keep him from kicking, tears tracking down his cheeks as he tries to keep his momentum, tries to solidify his heart against the wails of his newest friend. It is like hell, continuing the torturous pain even as the man beneath him convulses.

Enjou holds Ororon down by his shoulders and arms, knees ungracefully pushing against shoulders as a wrist are held far away from where he tried to claw.

He pleads and begs with them to stop, bile slipping from his lips as the pain overtakes him. The two men hope and pray for unconsciousness, yet it never comes. The soundtrack of new life being born, tortured screams that would haunt their dreams.

And when the gash is long enough Childe disperses the cursed scalpel, hand shaking as he reaches for the open fold. He closes his eyes and dips his fingers inside, the warm stickiness of blood coating his fingers and getting under his nails.

He gags at the wet squelch of loose skin and tissue underneath his fingertips, and the feeling of cut muscle untethered. Each movement of his hand causes a new barrage of screams, hopeless as he feels around for what was needed. And when he finds it he lets out a choked sob, grasping the child and tugging.

He ignores the sound of innards shifting, the scent of death on the air, simply focusing on the task he had at hand and the promise he had made.

And when he pulls the child out he is chilled to his bones. The body lifeless and nearly blue, the residual warmness from its nest slowly ebbing from its skin.

“Enjou!” Childe's breaths are hurried, panic settling in. He sees nothing but the impending doom in front of him.

“Clear its airways!” Enjou shouts in return, his own focus turning on Ororon and what to do.

Childe does the only thing that he knows, sticking his fingers down the open mouth of the lifeless child. He moves around, pulling back gunk, dark and thick. He repeats the process until he feels nothing else, shifting the child and shaking it gently in a way that he had seen a mother do when a child had choked on food in the middle of a restaurant.

“Don't shake it! It's back! Pat it's back!” Enjou was near his own panic, the body he had to hold down going slack.

Childe readjusted his focus, smacking a small child on its back until a small cough is heard, a wheeze and the sound of wet expulsions happening.

And then comes the scream, loud and ear splitting, precious all the same.

Warmth that had ebbed from skin slowly returning, movement sluggish but there. He looks the child over, a boy. Dark hair black as ink, tiny ears poking up at the top of its head, flat and slicked down by bodily fluids. He inspects the child for any malformations, deviations from what he knew a normal baby would look like, well besides the wings and the ears.

And when he finds it his eyes go wide, his mouth a line of worry at the dark blue marring a shoulder and arm, its properties similar to that of the sky in which they stood under.

“He's alive now! So let's please turn our attention to the pressing issue!” Enjou interrupts his focus, gesturing wildly to the unconscious man.

Childe was prepared to hand off the babe to Enjou before realizing the sharp claws were the last place they wanted the child. So instead he takes a towel from the supplies, wrapping the baby and laying him by their side.

He gets to work, reaching back inside and pulling out what he knew would need to come next. “I am going to be taking ten showers after this.” Childe murmurs, glaring at Ororon as he continues to keep count of his breathing.

“That's if we can get out of here.” Enjou pointed out.

“Thank you for that vote of confidence. Why don't you try figuring that out?”

Childe was nearing the end of his rope, exhaustion blurring his sight. He continues to feel inside until he grabs what is needed, gagging when he tosses the remainder of what had been inside away from them. It lands with a wet splash, though the duo of men refuse to look that way.

“We've got to close him up.” Childe mumbles, pulling his hands out and trying to hold the open flesh together. “Is there any thread in that kit, needle?”

Enjou shakes his head, his own face dismayed. “We could…We could sear the flesh?”

This time Childe is unable to stop the wave nausea, quickly pulling his hands away and turning, puking off to the side and away from the far from sterile medical field they were dealing with.

Enjou gags, grabbing Ororon by the shoulders and yanking him in the opposite direction of the sick that now trailed on the floor. Between the puddles of bile Ororon had produced, moving him was a lot harder than he expected.

Eventually though they were in a cleaner spot, Childe quickly gathered the baby and supplies in the new area.

“Sorry.” Childe doesn't even wipe his mouth, not wanting to contaminate his hands.

“Definitely many showers.” Enjou says, tone somber. “I can go later by layer, burn the wound closed. It is the only thing I can think of right now unless you want to try using your delusion? But I'm sure electro isn't as useful as pyro in this situation.”

Childe did not like this idea, but it was the only choice they had. “I'll hold what needs to be held out of the way as we go.”

Both men look at each other, Enjou still transformed yet the weight of what they were about to do heavy on his frame.

And so they begin their work, blocking out the cries of the child beside them. They ignore the gushing blood, the smell of skin burning, the occasional jerk from the man beneath them. Nothing is said between them as they work, precise and methodical, not leaving a single inch unsealed. And when they finish it is with no words of celebration or joy, simple recognition of what had been done.

“Now we need to get out of here.” Childe uses what's left of the towels to clean up Ororon. Even though the bleeding had stopped it was futile, the mess soaked into all of their clothing.

“Do you think you can transform again?” Enjou asked, focusing directly in front of them.

Childe does not complain nor argue, forcing the transformation even as his body attempts to reject the change. He forces it through though, knowing that there would be damage but not caring. They were going to get through this.

“It's been a week! I demand retribution for this!” Citlali glares from where she stood, Kinich keeping himself planted in front of her so that she doesn't end up attacking the other group again.

“Is this woman always so loud?” Arlecchino questioned with narrowed eyes, her dismay obvious in her tone.

After hearing about the sudden disappearance of Ororon and Childe, Arlecchino had decided to come to Natlan to see if there was anything she could do.

Her connection to the abyss was not one often shared, but if there was anyone that could possibly have any insight into the situation it had been her.

She had studied the surrounding areas, and put much work into tracking any remaining traces of what had occurred, and had come to the conclusion that they had succeeded in their plan, but more practice should have been put into the end result.

The abyss did not like being manipulated, it was an entity of its own. And while she could not make promises as to their return, she could say that they were still alive on the other side.

“Unendingly so.” Pantalone passes her a teacup, his own cradled between fingertips. The pyro gunner to his left has to keep from rolling his eyes, the fan in his hands continuously ensuring that the pale skinned man didn't overheat.

Dottore looks up from the fifth notebook that he had been writing in, annoyance obvious on his face. “I have tried time and time again to tell her that there is no true way for us to tell when they will return. Plus from what our Tartaglia has told us about the abyss, time moves differently for them; he might not have even had the kid yet!”

“Yes, but you mustn't antagonize her. She is his family and to rub it in her face would only further her disdain.” Zhongli scolds the other Harbingers, though his tone was far from the calm and collected nature it usually took on.

“I'm surprised you're not sitting on the other side of the clearing with her having a fit.” Dottore taunts.

Zhongli turns his glare to him. “I am unfortunately tethered to the likes of you until your untimely death, through Childe. I also understand better than anyone else what the abyss is capable of. Standing on that side of the clearing with her would only cause arguments and I am not in the mood.”

“Are you sure you shouldn't be talking to Mauvika at least?” Pantalone was still not thrilled about having to associate with the Geo-Archon. There was much bitterness from his own youth that lingered from the time in that land.

“We have already discussed all that we can. She knows where I stand and I have given my word that you will not plan to kidnap one of her citizens.”

“And you're sure about that?” Dottore would not be making any promises to anyone about kidnapping.

“I will put you thirty feet under if you try.” Zhongli shrugs and continues penning out missives.

Citlali throws her arms up as she's ignored, her pacing continuing as Kinich and Ifa look on.

“I know we're not supposed to be worried, but this is taking too long.” Ifa says with a deep sigh, the dark circles under his eyes marring his tanned skin. Since the disappearance he had been unable to sleep, cleaning up Ororon's home and ensuring that it would be in perfect shape once he returned with the child.

Kinich tried not to look too worried, though he knew things were not looking great. “We will go after him if we need to. We have faced danger before and we will face it again for a friend.”

If he was honest with himself, Kinch hadn't been exceptionally close to Ororon like Ifa. Those two were best friends, and connected in a way that Kinich has never done so with another person.

At least before Sanka anyway. He did worry and care for Ororon though, dinners shared and mutual game nights on the tally of their interactions.

He was a hero of Natlan, someone that he would be connected to for the rest of his life. He would sacrifice whatever was needed to find the man, even if he decided not to stay with them.

Ifa looks up at the sky, “If I had known he was going through this I would have done something for him. I don't know why I never thought about the possibility of him falling in love. His behavior has always been odd, you know how he is. Him deciding to hang out with The Captain was far from the strangest thing he's ever done.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “But I should have noticed the change when he decided to change his plans, stopped coming around as often. And when he spoke about Captiano, there was something in his tone. I noticed it, but I never made mention of it. I just thought he was finally getting a role model, someone he looked up to. I didn't know it had been intimate.”

They had been friends for so long, it was second nature for Ifa to write off Ororon's strange behaviors. He was always checking up on him, but on each and every time it ended up being something nonsensical. And with how busy he had been since the end of the war, he had been more willing to write off strange behaviors from his best friend.

But damn it! He should have noticed.

“I think upon reflection we all could have done a better job at realizing what was happening.” Kinich didn't like to see the vet kicking himself so much. “But we all have been wrapped up in the post-war recovery. People are injured, bodies are still being found, it's a lot, it's been a lot for everyone.”

Ifa knew that he couldn't sit around feeling guilty forever, but this was something that he didn't know if they would ever come back from. “I know, but the inability to see what was happening might have lost us a friend. What if he doesn't come back? What if he does return, but decides to make a permanent home elsewhere? What do we say then?”

“Oh thank fuck! I don't think I've ever been so happy to see grass.” Childe groans as he slides down onto his knees, arms heavy as he loses hold of his transformation and places Ororon down in the grass.

“Don't get you happy just yet.” Enjou rumbles, closing the rift behind them and placing the newborn in the supply basket down next to Childe as his own transformation slips away.

He looks around the area, realizing that they were on Huitztli Hill. “And far away from where we are supposed to be.”

Childe looks around, his own consciousness fraying. “Well you get us some help because I don't think I'm going to be around for much longer.”

Enjou’s eyes flared with annoyance and the sudden cries from the child did not help either. “Fucking hell!”

The ground beneath them quaking makes everyone pause, eyes wild before they all land on the suddenly unmoving man.

Zhongli had been in the middle of showing the group the proper way to swaddle when he suddenly stopped mid-explanation, the ground beneath them all shaking.

“Zhongli?” Mauvika says gently, her eyes searching his. It had now been three weeks since the men had disappeared, everyone trying to keep themselves busy. It wasn't the first time that there had been quaking, the tight hold the ex-archon had on his patience loosening a little bit every day.

Citlali looked up from her own spot in the grass, the blanket she had been knitting placed in a basket beside her. She had watched and offered her own few instructions to the group of Harbingers and Natlanese citizens who had been listening. Around week two her panic turned into straight up depression, the only thing keeping her going was the offer of Zhongli for them to organize classes together.

It was a bit ridiculous, Harbingers, Fatui foot soldiers, and members of the Masters of the Night Wind Tribe huddled together for classes on taking care of children.

But they all had made it work, determined that when they returned, Ororon would have his own little army of helpers willing to offer him time for peace and help.

It had not been easy to convince her, her rage obvious. But she realized that being angry wasn't helping anything and if they were to return, she would need to be a support rather than a hindrance.

“It's Childe… They've returned.” His words are simple, yet it makes the clearing suddenly light with actions and movement.

“Where are they!” Citlali jumps up, running over towards him and placing her hands on his arm.

“They are pretty far away,” He admitted to the group, eyes far on the horizon. “But we will find them.”

“You know, this is all quite suspicious.” The merchant says to Sanka as they continue to make their way down the road.

“I'm sure it is, but there is no reason for you to fear. You'll be compensated handsomely once we arrive at the proper location.” He did not have the patience for this, especially while trying to calm down the screaming child and look over his two unconscious wards.

“And where exactly ya get the baby from? I don't see any mother and that one looks to still be wet and fresh. Plus you all are covered in blood, very suspicious.” His tone is accusing, though he doesn't stop moving.

“She is where we're headed.” He was not about to offer any further explanation or give details about the situation. What he needed was to get to where they were going and to find some medical help.

The trip took about an hour, the hot sun beating down on all of them due to what he assumed was the noon time high.

“And who exactly did you say you were looking for in the Flower Feather Clan?”

“That's not important, I'll know them when I see them.” And with that he doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride, checking the breathing of both of the other passengers and making sure the child was comforted as much as he could offer.

When they reach the Clan, they see people mulling around outside. He jumps out, offering a stiff smile and saying that they needed to get word to the Masters of the Night Wind. From there he requested healers and medical assistance, not moving an inch or allowing anyone to separate the trio, well technically quad now.

It only took about 45 minutes before they were finally greeted by the people they really wanted, Sanka nearly crying in relief when he was relieved of holding the screaming brat.

Citlali cradles the child to her chest, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and she runs her fingers gently over black ears. “How precious.” She says softly, using the corners of her skirts to wipe away any lingering moisture. “It's like they were just born?”

Enjou sighs deeply, “The temporal differences are always hard to adjust to. For us he was.”

“He?” Ifa lingers over Citalli’s shoulder, staring with wonderment at the small bundle.

“Yep, it's a boy. Ears, wings, and all.” He shuffles towards Kinich, grateful to see him but surprised by the lack of yelling companion.

“And is he?” She searches Enjou's face.

He nodded his head. “There are some signs. On his skin, but nothing drastically concerning at the moment.”

She's relieved, yet doesn't drop her guard just yet. “And Ororon?” She looks around, noticing the wagon that was very strategically faced away from them.

“That's a bit more complicated,” He mumbles, wincing as she swiftly runs past him bundle still in her arms.

The rest of the group follow suit, most of them having been stunned into silence as they had watched the small child in Citlali’s arms. The only one who had not been there listening had been Zhongli, the man swiftly running past them and to the other side.

From the expression on his face though, everyone knew it was not good.

“What did you do to him?” Citlali's whispers, her eyes burning as she stares at the seared flesh currently being debrided and bandaged by healers from the flower feather clan.

“He had to have a cesarean.” Dottore mumbles as he takes in the injury.

“We were worried about that possibility, it looks like it couldn't have been avoided.” Ifa says looking at the injury that would one day be a scar.

“It was a bloody mess. The baby wasn't coming, Ororon was in pain and losing consciousness. We really did wait as long as we could, but there were no other options.” Sanka begins as he informs them all of everything that has happened. He told them that they still were not aware of the reason why they got stuck, but that neither he nor Tartaglia had any good theories.

The rest of that day was filled with a flurry of action, everyone taking a chance to assess Ororon and ensure that he was going to be okay.

He had received the all clear from five different doctors, each one giving Citalli and Mauvika their guarantee that Ororon would wake up soon enough.

Childe was another story completely. It seemed as if he had absorbed more of the abyss while down there, staying in that form causing him more harm than originally thought. He hadn't been at his best, and had stayed transformed for an extended period of time exerting energy he didn't have.

After he had been checked over by doctors, Zhongli had swiftly transferred him to his teapot for rest.

The next morning, Ororon woke to the sound of soft coos and a gentle hum, his eyes searching before landing on Citlali. “Granny?”

Citlali was up the next second, tears shining on her cheeks as she leaned over, pressing her forehead to his and crying. Not many words are exchanged between them, but emotions run high and unspoken apologies given.

The next few days have been difficult for Ororon. He had been determined to get better as soon as possible, holding onto his son and nearly refusing to let go until he nearly passed out from exhaustion.

Everyone was excited to see them, most staying away until they were given the all clear only after the group had been transferred to the Masters of the Night Wind Tribe.

After that the line of visitors was unending. Everyone had wanted to stand and coo over the baby and check in on Ororon. There were unasked questions, concerned stares, but no one said anything as they were glared at by Citlali and Rotchev.

Rotchev had taken the lessons offered by Zhongli and Citlali very seriously. He was the second person who had the most contact with the newborn, changing him when need be, feeding him, and even telling bedtime stories even though the boy couldn't understand.

Ororon even teased him about hanging up his fatui mask and exchanging it for an apron.

As Ororon got stronger Childe stayed asleep, the uncanny slumber he was in not changing from day to day.

It was on the fifth day of his recovery that he was finally approached by a group of his friends, all of them with curious eyes as they asked about what they should start calling the newest addition.

“I'm pretty sure we all can't just keep calling him the baby or him.” Xilonen pointed out, her own eyes looking into the colorful star shaped pupils.

While he had the obvious signs of being from Khaenri'ah with those star-shaped pupils, the coloring was all Ororon's. One pink and one blue, light in tone, but sure to darken with age.

When Ororon had noticed he had burst into tears, panic etched into each and every one of his breaths as everyone around him tried to get him to calm down. Through watery tears he had asked if it meant his child was broken like him, an incomplete soul.

Citlali as well as the tribe leader had done a thorough exam of the child and its soul, coming to the conclusion that it was fully whole. The heterochromia looked to be genetic in this case, rather than the result of something else deeper.

When he heard that, Ororon had been so relieved that he had sobbed himself right back to sleep, only to repeat the process two more times before the end of that day.

“A name?” If he was completely honest, Ororon had not thought that hard or far. He was so concerned, so worried about this child and everything that could go wrong with it, that a name had not even crossed his mind.

“Alright, I retract my question.” Xilonen says swiftly, realizing that she just asked a question with no answer.

Ororon gives her a stiff smile, knowing that he really did not have an answer for her.

On the seventeenth day of his recovery, Ororon was greeted by familiar blue eyes and a head of unruly ginger hair.

The two nearly threw themselves at each other, careful as they nestled a small child between them as hugs were offered and words of congratulations whispered.

“I can't believe I didn't get to see the other's facial expressions upon first meeting!” Childe says exasperatedly as he leans back against the pillows next to Ororon. He gently rubs at the soft ears, appreciative of the light twitching.

“They were all certainly surprised, I'm sure everyone was expecting a monster.” Ororon doesn't take his eyes off of those sparkling stars.

“Well, at least you know if anyone was second-guessing it, there's exact proof right here.” Childe knew the gossip train was probably already taking off.

“I have to thank you.” Ororon says, turning his attention back to Childe. “I heard what you had to do, how bad it was. I'm sorry you had to do that to me.”

“You're apologizing? I literally stuck my hand inside you, I feel like I should be the one apologizing.” Childe was genuinely surprised by the thanks. “Plus that scar I left is pretty gnarly.”

“Then we can both just chalk it up to us being even.” Ororon declared, passing his child over to the man he considered a brother. He may have grown up being an only child, but now he felt like he knew what it meant to have a sibling.

They both knew they would never forget what happened in that strange dark world. Never forget the sound of flesh being cut into, the agonizing screams, the scent of blood as a child was ripped from the womb, but they would always come to the same conclusion that it was worth it.

“Should we be worried?” Dottore questions as he tosses the letter into the fire. That was the third one from Snezhnaya, the other harbingers demanding to know what the child had been named.

Even Pierro had threatened to hop on a boat and make his way over if he didn't get an answer soon.

They knew that wasn't going to happen, Mauvika already feeling twitchy about the four Harbingers that were already in Natlan and the abyss lector that had yet to leave.

“About them? No. About the fact that we still don't know a name? Possibly.” Arlecchino did not know how much longer they would need to wait before a decision had been made.

“I think it's just going to take him time. A name is important, it can very well determine your future.” Pantalone says with a huff, moving back over to the bassinet and peering inside. He did the same thing every two minutes, making sure the sleeping child was still sleeping.

Dottore glared over at Pantalone, annoyance obvious. No one had allowed him anytime with a child, not even the chance to hold it! Of course he knew it was because no one trusted him not to run off with it, or to attempt to steal samples. Not that they were wrong either.

Rotchev knocks on the door before walking in, a bottle in hand. “Feeding time.”

“Hey, have you heard anything about a name? It's been a month and everyone's curious.” Dottore turns his attention to the now always present man.

Rotchev reaches into the bassinet, picking up the boy and gently rousing him for his meal. For a newborn, he was uncharacteristically quiet and needed to be woken up for meals, or else he'd sleep right through them. “He's been rolling a few of them around, but so far I haven't heard anything conclusive.”

“Then I guess it's going to be a while.” Dottore groans.

“Hey, it's been a while. Honestly I didn't know if I would be able to conjure up the courage to come back. Things were difficult for a bit there and I was still angry. As you know last time I thought I would always be angry and sometimes I still am, but a lot less these days.”

“I've been really busy packing up, making sure that I have all my documentation correct, pretty much transferring my whole life for the time being.” Ororon shifts a bit, readjusting the bundle in his arms.

“I don't think I've had so much clutter before. This one here hasn't even started crawling, yet his stuff is all over the floor. I can only imagine what it's going to be like once toys actually enter the picture. You don't need to worry though, I have a lot of help, sometimes more than I know what to do with.”

His laugh was light, genuine. “This kid is probably going to be the most protected child in all Tevayt. I have you to thank for that.” His eyes slide from the star-shaped ones to the black mask, forever unmoving.

“He has my ridiculous ears, I know you'd be happy about that. You always loved to scratch mine, rub them when I was stressed. When you were stressed too.”

He traces his finger over the soft tips. “The coloring is yours though, dark and soft, like silk under fingertips. And while I don't know what your skin was like before, I think he takes after you there too. He does have a small spot of you know what, but he's being monitored. It'll probably grow with him, but we have a pretty good team of people who are going to keep watch.”

“Everyone's been hounding me for the last two months, but this has been really important and I wanted you to be the first one to know. Pierro helped me a lot, we've been writing back and forth. I didn't really know the naming customs from where you come from, he was useful and I am forever grateful for that. I wish I knew what you would have picked, but I did my best.”

He undoes a little bit of the swaddling, sitting the child up so that he could face his other father. “It resonated with me though, not for just you and me separately, but for us together. Our time was short, but it forever left a lasting impression. I like to think that little Dagny here is a full embodiment of what we both wanted together.”

The little boy let out a soft gurgle. Ororon knew he probably wasn't understood, but hoped it was a sign he enjoyed what he would forever be labeled as. “He's our little hope. New beginnings. What we found for each other, what you found here, and what I hope to find in Snezhnaya.”

He takes another step up the stairway. “It's a bit funny if you think about it. I know you were here a long time ago, but you returned to a place that was my home to fulfill your destiny. And while I know that Snezhnaya wasn't your original home, it became your new one. You found a family there and so have I. To think we switch places and find what we've always looked for.”

He stops when he's right in front of the man who stole his heart and gave him a future he never saw for himself. “I was worried that once you were gone I would no longer be seen, but I realize now that you pushed me to see myself. What I was capable of. What I have and what I could have.”

He readjusted Dagny in his arms, securing him with one arm as he reached out with the other to place his hand on Thrain’s cheek. “I don't know if you can hear me, if you're aware wherever you are, but I love you. And I'm so sorry I never told you.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes glassy yet no tears falling. “I will tell our little one every single day that I love him, that you would have loved him. That we loved each other. I will tell him that you did what you did to not only give those who you fought side by side with peace, but to save an entire nation. To be a hero in a dark place that truly needed one.”

“Because of you a new day came, new hope, new beginnings. In many many ways.” He smiles, presenting their child to him. “Wherever you are I know you're here.” He places a hand over his chest.

“A man with too many souls and a man with not even a whole one, perfect pieces of a puzzle.” He glances behind himself, down past the stairs and over the right, he can see the water from where he stood, the boat waiting patiently.

“Apparently we are woven together, Tangled in a string in which destiny saw to bind. In the shadow of that bond there was love, there is love.” He pulls his hand away, moving down the steps carefully.

When he reaches the bottom he thinks about turning around, he thinks about giving him one last glance. Instead he looks down at the child in his arms, both arms wrapping tightly around him. “I have to move forward, keep looking at the horizon. If I dwell on the past, then I won't be doing any justice to what you've given me.”

“Until next time, Capitano.” Ororon puts one foot in front of the other, stepping forward into what life has to give him. He does not look back, head held high as he walks towards his future. His new beginning.