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Dottore walked barefoot through the hallways of the house.
He could feel the cold piercing his feet, his toes felt stiff, and his face was struck by gusts of wind slipping through the open windows.
Zandik had assigned him a room on the day he created him. The walls were painted light green with traditional Sumeru patterns, and although the floor was wooden, he had placed a soft rug there so he could lie down if he wished. There was a small bed with the softest blankets and a pillow stuffed with goose or swan feathers, a desk where he could work, and a chest filled with toys.
At first, Dottore thought the chest was unnecessary, an eccentricity at best, but nothing that interested him. Sometimes he thinks Zandik created him as a child with the intention that he would behave like one, which contradicts the fact that he is still expected to carry out work of a professional level.
He is not a child, even if his body and voice belong to a small eight-year-old boy—he is not one. Zandik knows this, yet he still made the effort to give him all those toys. As irritating as it could be, it also became amusing at times.
Even among the Fatui forces, people still possess enough morality to treat a child with greater care and kindness. When Dottore realized the advantage Zandik had given him, he could only smile and clutch a small stuffed toy to his chest. It is an animal, a furry one, though he does not know what kind.
Unlike his room, the hallway he is walking through is far gloomier. It feels devoid of soul. There are a few flowers that, with proper care, could withstand the climate of Snezhnaya, but by this point they are all dead, with no one left to tend to them.
Dottore knew well that tomorrow is Zandik’s birthday.
He waited for it patiently every year. Around this time, Zandik was always more indulgent than usual. Dottore found the change strange, what could possibly be special about another passing year when one had already lived for nearly a century?
Tomorrow, the other segments will appear. He suspected they came for the same reasons that had brought him now to stand before Zandik’s room, though he had never cared enough to ask them.
He pushed the door open and slowly peeked inside. The room was lit only by a large window overlooking the forest where they lived. The light fell upon the large bed at the center of the room, where Zandik rested. The old man barely lifted his gaze when he sensed the young one’s presence.
Dottore wanted to leave soon. Natlan, perhaps, or the deserts of Sumeru, which had always captured his interest.
“What do you want?” the voice sounded hoarse, faint, swallowed by the vast room.
“To sleep,” he replied without intimidation, “with you.”
“Tomorrow you’re going to be unbearable,” the man complained. His breathing was erratic, uneven, as though each passing day made it harder for him to sustain it.
He had been like that for as long as Dottore had existed. A few years ago he had seemed more stable, now he could barely move around the house. Everything there was dying, and the atmosphere irritated Dottore.
He remained standing patiently by the door.
Without looking at him again, Zandik strained to lift the blanket covering him, leaving a small space at his side.
“Five minutes. Don’t move around too much.”
Dottore approached the bed and settled beside him. Suddenly, all the cold he had felt was replaced by the gentle warmth radiating from the old man’s body.
“Don’t think I’ll let you do whatever you want forever,” the man warned, turning his back to him.
Dottore simply ignored him as he closed his eyes.
“Omega told me something similar once,” the child mused. He noticed the other’s interest, so he added, “He said that once you die, none of them would spoil me this much anymore.”
“He’s probably not wrong.”