Chapter Text
Childe knew it would be a good idea to get out of his office. The air atop of the mountains is cool, dispersing the humid heat that tends to stick to the skin when down at the harbour. His brawl against a group of treasure hoarders is also made doubly pleasant by the breathtaking scenery beyond the cliff's edge, although it is admittedly disappointing that his opponents aren't proving to be much of a challenge.
"You can really see the entirety of the harbour from up here, huh?" Childe muses, shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazes past the thin veil of clouds below. The treasure hoarder beneath his boot groans into the dirt, but he pays them no mind. "What a view!"
He traces with his eyes the sloping emerald roofs, red lacquered bridges, and the colourful garbs of people flowing through the streets. He first makes a game of spotting the Northland Bank, and if he can discern the plump shape of the ginger cat that favours sleeping outside his office window, before his gaze wanders further up Feiyun Slope to where he knows the Wangsheng Funeral parlour to be. If Zhongli were to step out right this moment, seeing a client to the door perhaps, he wonders if he might be able to see him. And would Zhongli somehow sense his gaze and glance towards the mountains, to greet the faint visage of Childe with a fondly exasperated smile?
The sound of approach rouses Childe from his frankly embarrassing daydream. He half-turns to see Ekaterina on the gravel path with a clipboard in hand, crossing something off the list. She doesn't seem surprised by the litter of bodies lying motionless across the grass, and steps over a twitching one to reach the path's end.
"I see you've made short work of them," she says in lieu of a greeting.
Childe grins and tosses over a heavy sack of Mora. "Here's the outstanding amount, and a little extra from the chests lying about their camp. Consider it interest for their late payment."
"Very good, sir." She stashes it away into her satchel, then taps her pen against the next item on her list. "More importantly, have you gotten it all out of your system? Your paperwork is slowly but surely reaching the ceiling. And your office has the highest ceiling of us all, Master Childe."
Every word hits him like a sharpened stone to the head. Looks like his little afternoon retreat is over. He sighs mournfully and dispels his Hydro blades, jogging over to where Ekaterina stands waiting with her perfect posture. "Alright, alright, I'm coming."
But halfway there, he falters from the sudden force of a great gust. It whips at his clothes and bites at skin, and he throws an arm over his head only to see a flash of bronze scales shimmering across the underbelly of a gargantuan beast. Its serpentine body undulates in mesmerising coils as it streaks past in a burst of astonishing speed, gone as quickly as it had came.
Childe lurches after it until he teeters off the edge of the cliff. The sun rays thrown off the darker, umber scales of the dragon's main body scatter into shards of falling rainbows. Its heavy set of antlers look cast from the purest gold, as do the wicked claws on its feet and jagged spines protruding from its back.
His skin prickles, hair standing on end from the exhilaration of confronting something so much more incomprehensibly powerful than oneself. It has been a long time since he's felt this way; back then, he'd still been a boy curled trembling behind the cover of a rock, as a horned whale that seemed to dwarf even the sky itself sailed overhead and sung its haunting lament.
"Katya! Did you see that?" He spins around with a smile big enough to stretch his cheeks.
She seems amused by his enthusiasm. "I did. The people of Liyue considers it a very auspicious sign to catch a glimpse of Rex Lapis in the sky, for blessings are soon to follow. Perhaps you might even finish your paperwork today."
There is very clearly a jibe somewhere in there. It's too bad that Childe is far more preoccupied by the sight of the dragon gliding past azure like a fish through still water, and for long enough to notice something strange.
"Rex Lapis…there's something falling off from him."
"Scales, perhaps?" Ekaterina offers. "Although part Qilin, he is a dragon, and they are known to shed."
"He's beautiful." The words leave him with no deception. Flecks of scale peel and shed from the dragon's body like a slow scattering of silver leaves. It reminds him of the ice roses in the Tsaritsa's throne room, eternal in their bloom and carpeting the floor in rainbows from their faceted, crystalline petals.
"…I wonder if he will fight me if I asked nicely."
Ekaterina is silent for a moment. When she eventually speaks, she does so with a yank of his scarf. "Your thought process is truly a marvel, Master Childe. Come now, let us return to the bank before you are led astray by any more alluring beasts."
"But that's my one defining trait!" He lets himself be pulled along the path, while casting a last mournful look towards the direction in the clouds that Rex Lapis had vanished into. Then again, there's no need for their meeting to be premature. He has come here with a script in hand and a goal in mind, which will happily end with his hand plunged into Morax's chest and clasped around his Gnosis. Hmm. Yes, conquests are meant to be savoured. He can afford to be patient.
Mister Zhongli seems distracted today. The air of serene tranquility that he usually carries about him has morphed into something discomfited, and he sits listlessly at their table in Wanmin. Between sips of his tea he would sometimes try to scratch the inside of his wrist discreetly, or sigh while staring plaintively at the sky.
It's not like Childe to dwell over such trivial things. But he and Zhongli have become much closer friends than he thought could ever be possible, and it doesn't take much for him to admit that he does not like to see the consultant troubled.
"Is something the matter, xiansheng?" Childe probes.
Zhongli startles. "Ah, my apologies. I did not mean to dampen the mood. A meal should be a joyous occasion." He picks up his chopsticks and selects a few morsels to add to Childe's bowl; either the leafiest greens or the plumpest dumplings."Please, help yourself to more of the dishes. They are best enjoyed when warm."
Childe leans his cheek into his palm, undeterred. "Did someone cause trouble at the parlour? Or were one of the merchants showing you an attitude again for forgetting your wallet? Just say the word and I'll gladly knock them off their perch for you."
The furrow between Zhongli's brows eases. He leans back and chuckles. "I appreciate the thought, but it's nothing as exciting as what you've described. It's a…personal matter."
Childe fights the wobble of his chopsticks to shovel some stir-fried long beans into his mouth. "Personal how?"
The question gives Zhongli pause, as though he had not anticipated being pressed for further details. Childe mentally kicks himself. He was just about to apologise for overstepping when Zhongli speaks again in a lowered voice.
"I have been struggling with a moul—ah, minor ailment recently. It has left me feeling a little out of sorts," he admits, sounding ashamed. His absent scratching of his wrist leaves behind faint red lines on his skin. "In a moment of carelessness, I dislodged a jewellery box from my vanity and it cracked from the fall."
With the solemn air of a priest conducting a rite of passing, Zhongli places onto the table between them a heavy ornate box. There does seem to be a rather severe fracture disfiguring its lid, jarring and unfortunate, but Childe is more astonished by the mystery of where Zhongli had been keeping a whole jewellery box on his person, especially since he had showed up empty-handed (and wallet-ed) to their lunch appointment.
"All morning I have sought out numerous craftsmen in hopes of mending it, but their response was unanimous. The tree that provides the wood for the body no longer exists, and the mother-of-pearl inlaid upon its lid is too challenging to find. There is nothing to be done but purchase a new one instead." Zhongli shakes his head with a sigh, as though this conclusion disappointed him greatly.
Ah. He thinks he sees Zhongli's quandary now. At least it's financial in nature, which can easily be solved. His mother always liked telling them that a problem that can be fixed with Mora is no problem at all, and if there is something that Childe is short of, it is definitely not Mora.
Childe pillows his cheek into his palm, unable to curb his teasing smile. "You know I'd be happy to buy one for you. We could go to Feiyun slope and take a look around. Some of the bank staff say that rare antiques tend to pop up every now and then at the Pearl Gallery too, and when I first overheard it, I thought—doesn't that sound exactly like xiansheng's cup of tea?"
As he meanders on, the previously despondent look on Zhongli's face shifts into something else. Surprise, amused curiosity, and then…Childe isn't too sure what. Only, Zhongli's eyes crinkle at the corners in the way they do when he sees something that pleases him. Sometimes it could be at the children playing and giggling without a care in the world in the streets, regaling each other with greatly exaggerated tales of the Adepti. Sometimes it could be at an ore unearthed with an interesting shape, proudly boasted by its merchant to carry traces of Rex Lapis' blessing. And once, during an impromptu sleepover at Zhongli's residence after they had drunk together into the night, he had seen Zhongli's gaze softly cast over the stir of the harbour at dawn, as gold limns the rooftops and its people rise to take on another day.
It's a look of fondness. Something approaching love. But that can't be right, especially when directed at someone like him. Childe's mind stutters to a stop. His mouth shapes words that he struggles to know the meaning of. "Aha, ahem, that is…we could go anywhere that you like. Just let me know the time and place. I'll tell Ekaterina to clear my schedule."
He can already imagine Ekaterina's face of unfiltered judgement, and winces. Way to go, Ajax. The other Harbingers are constantly on his case about his inability to curb his enthusiasm, and he's maybe starting to see what they mean.
"That is…very kind of you, Childe," says Zhongli softly, after a beat. On the table, Zhongli's hand shifts as though making to reach for his, but it stops halfway. "You have been graciously providing me with so many exquisite gifts of late, and allowed me to monopolise much of your hours. I fear I have yet to properly express my gratitude."
"There is no need," says Childe, and means it. It's strange because he doesn't think he has always been this generous, except to his parents and siblings.
Zhongli presses on. "I wish to thank you all the same. We may not have been acquainted for long, but you have become a dear friend to me."
The heat crawls onto his face. If Childe had been an ordinary person with things like friends and a functioning social life, perhaps Zhongli's remark would come off as a normal compliment that he'd be able to accept gracefully, as he is bound to have done so before. But alas. He fears that this is the first time anyone has ever declared him as a friend (as opposed to a freak, monster, upstart, etcetera), and it is having a profoundly embarrassing effect on him.
"Oh." He hates how his voice catches.
Zhongli's smile is unfairly patient as he waits for Childe to recover from his crisis. He shakes his head and gestures almost violently towards the box between them, praying that Zhongli will take the hint and change the subject before he becomes as red as his scarf.
Thankfully, Zhongli does. Thank the Tsaritsa. Or should he be thanking Morax, now that he is on His shores? Better not—it might make things awkward later when he has to claim his Gnosis.
"Ah, yes. My jewellery box. I truly appreciate your kind offer, but I do not think that it can be so easily replaced." Zhongli's brows slant into an unhappy frown. "This is a piece dating back to before the harbour's conception, and I'm afraid its style and craft is very much the last of its kind."
"Is that so?" muses Childe, as he seers every last detail of the box into his memory. Just in case he can prove Zhongli wrong one day, by swiftly taking it off the undeserving hands of whoever owned it and giving it to Zhongli instead.
"Thank you for your concern, and for lending an ear to my troubles," says Zhongli, stowing the box back into the mysterious space that he had brought it out of. He pulls out of his seat and extends a hand down towards Childe, his smile returning. "Shall we use the remainder of our time together to browse Chihu rock? I believe Granny Shan has made some new toys that your siblings may be partial to."
"Alright," laughs Childe, exiting his seat. "And we might as well stop at the calligraphy house next door to grab that scroll you've had your eye on. Don't think I didn't notice!"
As he joins Zhongli's side in the streets, he feels a gloved hand ghost over the back of his waist and hover there, lingering. If it had been anyone else, Childe might have whirled around and knocked the hand away from his blindspot, but the burn of Zhongli's near-proximity is strangely agreeable, and it confuses him just as much as it annoys him.
"Nothing eludes you, fierce Harbinger," Zhongli lilts, and smiles at him as though reading his mind.
Work takes him to the harbour outskirts, this time under the cover of darkness. Not because the Fatui are up to anything untoward (at least, for tonight), but his recruits needed overseeing and the only time Childe has for them is, unhappily, outside of his office hours. Contrary to popular belief, most of his time is spent on paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. Enough that it makes him regret his career choices, but then again it isn't as though he had much of a choice to begin with.
"A little to the left," the agent with the blueprints direct. Two Skirmishes heave a drill-like contraption between them, a million-Mora, state-of-the-art device that must not, under any circumstances, be installed even a millimetre off the mark. But since this is Dottore's project, Childe isn't exactly too concerned.
"Yes. No! That's too left."
The Skirmishes shift to the right.
"No, no. Now it's too right. Left again."
The Skirmishes shift to the left, their arms trembling from the effort. Childe watches this procession from a distance while bored out of his mind. It makes him itch to do something entirely unprofessional, like charge at the nearest monster camp with a battle cry to dispel some of that mind-numbing boredom. Surely his recruits would understand, and even if they don't, no one dares make a face at the eccentricities of a Harbinger.
But then there is a palpable shift in the air, as though something of insurmountable power is fast approaching. The feeling is familiar and recent. As soon as the back of his neck prickles, he cants his head up expectantly and sees the moon blotted out by a slender form. The eclipse lasts for only a second—the dragon soars past with a burst of wind so fierce that the Skirmishes nearly topple over and the agent cries out as the device pitches dangerously sideways. Childe lunges forward to right it with one hand. There are sighs of relief and exclamations of apology and gratitude from the recruits, but his attention is elsewhere.
Falling from the dragon's body are scales of shimmering, bright iridescence. He's already seen this before, and it shouldn't inspire such strong feelings in him a second time, but it does. He thinks of bright colours warping and distorting when oil and water mix. He thinks of the neon lights that sometimes dance in the Abyss' true sky, reflected in the fuchsia of his master's eyes. And then he thinks of the polished mother-of-pearl inlay on the lid of Zhongli's broken jewellery box, layers of sentiment buried behind their shifting colours. His breath catches.
"I have a new mission for you of utmost importance," he decides.
Something in his voice makes the recruits set down Dottore's device instantly, and stand at attention with a salute. "We are at your service, Lord Harbinger!"
Childe points at the horizon, and the dragon fast disappearing into it. "See the scales falling from Rex Lapis? Retrieve them for me."
The recruits light up in excitement. The bunch of them are Dottore's underlings, momentarily stationed under him at the bank. It isn't hard to figure out what's running through their minds—a chance to track, collect, and study residues of an Archon up close. They could even put it through testing in the laboratory hidden beneath the bank, and do up a comprehensive analysis report for him if he just gives the command. Surely this will make noble strides in advancing the Tsaritsa's cause, more than their present manual labour in the countryside can hope to achieve.
But truthfully, Childe just wants the scales because they look pretty, and his new friend Zhongli does adore pretty things, especially if they carry some form of cultural significance. And what could be more culturally significant than the divine scales of his own Archon? Such a gift could even make an irreplaceable jewellery box entirely replaceable, and it'll easily turn Zhongli's regret into delight. Truly one of Childe's better schemes if he does say so himself.
"At once, Lord Harbinger!" The recruits make haste down the hill.
When they've made themselves scarce, Childe sighs and picks up the discarded blueprints from the ground. He examines them for a moment, tapping his chin. After a cursory glance around to make sure that there are no prying eyes (it's best not to reveal his cards too soon), he calls forth his Foul Legacy and doubles in height.
Dottore's device now weighs almost nothing to him as he lifts it and sets it down in the correct position. He then de-transforms, shakes his head to rid himself of the ghoulish Abyssal shrieks in his mind like water out of his ears, and heads for the path back to the harbour while whistling a tune. Mission accomplished. All that's left is to pen a missive to the Doctor.
The recruits show up in his office the next evening, each looking more terrified than the last. There is mud on their pants and leaves of all colours and shapes stuck to their tops. Childe returns his quill to the ink bottle and motions for them to speak.
"We humbly beg for your forgiveness, Lord Harbinger," the Pyro agent practically folds himself into two with how low he bows. On both his sides, the Skirmishes hang their heads and quake in their boots. "We spent a full day searching, but we could not recover the scales of the Geo Archon. Our failure is unacceptable. Please punish us as you see fit."
Childe considers this. He had only just reprimanded another agent for failing to detect a Sigil of Permission on their overdue debtor from the Yanshang Teahouse the other day. Seeing as though their assignment isn't related to their main mission (not that the recruits are aware of this), he can let it slide. Even if he thinks the task is such a simple one that even Teucer can do it.
"Dismissed." He idly gathers his documents, clacking them against the tabletop.
"Please, have mercy—wait, huh?" The agent stares at him, as though expecting to have been vivisected on the spot. Right. Dottore's men. Poor chaps. "I—I mean! Thank you, sir. We vow to be more useful to you in the future. Goodnight." They swiftly back themselves out of his office, not wanting him to change his mind.
Looks like another trip to the mountains is in order. He had just about reached the end of his patience with desk work anyway, and a spot of exercise is always welcome. He throws open the windows behind his desk with a flourish, taking a moment to enjoy the night breeze. And then he swings himself over and off the ledge, free-falling long enough for an unsuspecting bystander to scream for the Milllelith, before he lands in a roll on cobblestone tiles and springs to his feet with his arms theatrically parted.
Under an awning across the street, a child giggles and claps while his mother desperately tries to pull him behind her. Childe winks at them both before heading for the gates. The sentries on duty stare blankly at him as he bounds past in the opposite direction of the merchants and travellers seeking shelter in the harbour for the night, and into the near-impenetrable darkness of the Liyuen wilderness.
Ordinary men fear the dark. A boy named Ajax used to fear the dark. But Childe has known for a long time now that the nights on the surface are harmless and even gentle when compared to the Abyss, where the darkness writhes and takes on insidious forms. He maps in his mind the approximate trajectory Rex Lapis had flown west from where they had spotted him at Lingju Pass, and his feet follow that invisible path, steps never once faltering in the dark.
Soon enough he picks up a faint elemental trail, which he knows from experience leads to promising finds. It guides him across a stream and into a moonlit meadow where small Geo slimes slink around in search of food. Something bronze glimmers in the grass amidst their herd, and a victorious smirk spreads across his face.
"Now that wasn't too hard, was it?"
He carefully sidesteps the slimes (accidentally stepping on one feels akin to squashing a poor defenceless snail) and reaches down for the scale. He can already see glimpses of his soon-to-be reward clearly in his mind's eye; surprise shifting into delight on Zhongli's face, the way he would reverently savour Childe's gift with careful hands and half-lidded eyes, a smile dissolving his jadish composure like honey in hot tea. But Childe's favourite reaction from Zhongli would still be the unexpectedly demure way he would murmur his gratitude, his baritone thank yous and that's very kind of yous, shaping the sound of Childe's name with his lips—
His hand closes around air. "Huh?"
The dragon scale is gone. It is utterly, inexplicably gone, because one of the slimes had lunged over to swallow it into their body with a single gulp. Childe stares at it. It stares beadily back. A shimmer of gold begins cloaking its form, and then it swiftly doubles, no, quadruples in size. A rocky carapace thickens around its membrane, from which spines of Cor Lapis and other colourful gems extend and elongate from. He quickly finds out that it is able to break off the ends of those spines and launch it at him via a form of elemental telekinesis, with enough strength to send it whistling through the air. Childe drops into a roll to avoid the shrapnel; they collide with the tree behind him and snap its trunk into two.
Now this is getting exciting. Childe draws his blades and leaps atop of the mutated slime's carapace. Hydro isn't known for being the most effective element to wear down Geo-enhanced defences, but Childe is a staunch believer in defying the odds. He increases the pressure of the water surging through his blades and starts hacking at the spines. They snap apart like wood, and soon enough he is able to pierce the point of his blade through gelatinous membrane.
In death, the slime explodes. There's no other way to describe it. Childe is flung skywards, but he arches his back mid-air and lands on his feet without fuss. A sizzling crater is all that's left behind in the dirt, without even a drop of slime condensate to be found. Needless to say it didn't drop the dragon scale either. Childe sighs and tries his luck elsewhere.
Unhappily, the same events proceed to repeat half a dozen times. Every time he locates another scale, a monster gets to it before he can and consumes it as though out of some instinctual compulsion. They will then glow gold, balloon into unimaginable sizes and evolve into unconceivable forms. If Childe had been any other man, he would be frantically wondering which deity he'd offended to be confronted by a slew of nightmarish beasts. But because he is unfortunately or fortunately himself, he thanks the Tsaritsa and all the gods of this land to have provided him with such merriment before he brawls with those enraged monsters through the night, and to his heart's full content.
Nearing daybreak, he manages to piece together some semblance of self restraint to make his way back to the harbour. Sans Rex Lapis' scale, and sheepishly thinking that he might owe his men an apology. But of course Liyue itself will go out of the way to make sure that a foreign actor like him wouldn't be able to get his grubby hands on its Archon's scale. Completely understandable, but no less annoying. Childe has a consultant to woo—uh that is, in a friendly way.
It's still too early in the morning (or late at night?) for anyone to be out and about the harbour. That is why when he sees Zhongli serenely crossing the wooden bridge in total darkness, Childe almost mistakes him for an apparition. And the way he deals with apparitions is by drawing his blades.
The blue glow of his surging Hydro lights the side of Zhongli's face. He does not shy away at all from the blade abruptly pressed to his throat, and Childe is concerned enough that he thinks about giving Zhongli a lesson in self-preservation.
But then Zhongli greets him genially, and the thought passes. "Good morning, Childe. This is a pleasant surprise."
He dispels his blades. The glow of his element extinguishes, returning them into a darkness deeper than before. "Xiansheng. Do you make it a habit to wander around in the dark?"
"I have good night vision," offers Zhongli, as though it is a perfectly reasonable explanation. "And there is a certain charm in strolling through the harbour while it slumbers."
He extends a hand down an empty street, gesturing towards no destination in particular, but Childe takes him up on it anyway. Being in Zhongli's company is easy; the silence between them is as enjoyable as their conversations. In an odd way it reminds him of fishing on the ice, waiting calm and still for the inevitable moment of delight when the line begins to pull. Increasingly he has noticed that whenever he spends time with Zhongli, it is only a matter of time before he is laughing in a way he has not in years, or exchanging stories and teases as though he was with his siblings. As though with family.
"What brings you out here?" Zhongli asks, the pitch of his voice softened for the night.
Childe wonders if the sun might delay its rising today, so that they may continue to walk indefinitely through this gentle darkness.
"Nefarious Fatui schemes of course," he answers nonsensically. Because there is no way he is telling Zhongli that he'd hunted for Rex Lapis' scales halfway through the countryside, just so he can make a gift that might impress him.
"I see." Zhongli huffs a laugh. During the early stages of their acquaintanceship Childe had been baffled by his composure, as others in Liyue tend to recoil from his jokes with either suspicion or fear. But Zhongli has never once looked at him with aversion. He hope he never does.
Zhongli blinks, eyes still lingering on a point somewhere past Childe's forehead. He lifts a hand and hesitates. "You have ah, leaves in your hair."
Childe halts his steps to pat about his head. "Huh? Where?"
Zhongli's eyes crinkle at the corners. He leans in and Childe goes very still. "Allow me."
Gloved hands cup both sides of his face. The touch is gentle, but there is no hesitation in the way that he angles Childe's head down until the position satisfies him. One hand releases his cheek, and instead shifts up to card slender fingers through his hair.
Childe feels a little delirious. Very delirious, in fact, and he hopes his face isn't as red as a Sunsettia. Tsaritsa save him. No, actually, he's perfectly happy where he is. He wants to close his eyes and sink into Zhongli's touch, and be held like someone who matters. But then he feels Zhongli's hand ghost over the jagged edge of his Fatui mask, and he remembers himself.
"There." Zhongli pulls back and deposits a ginkgo leaf into Childe's palm. He notices that Zhongli had tucked the rest into his own pocket instead of discarding them onto the ground. "All tidied up for more nefarious schemes."
Childe can't help it. He tips his head back and laughs.
When Rex Lapis appears again, Childe is prepared to give chase. All around him, his subordinates are ducking to the ground before they can be knocked down by the harsh winds, but he sprints right past them to the cliff drop, and leaps off.
"Sir?!" The cries of his subordinates warble from above.
"I'll be back shortly! Stay where you are!" he hollers back, because at least one of them will try to jump after him and have to be rushed to Bubu Pharmacy in a stretcher. The waterfall beneath his feet responds to the pull of his Vision and bends to his will, cushioning his fall and steadying his descent. It releases him safely at the foot of the cliff and he continues his chase across the field, keeping a close eye on the dragon above him.
Rex Lapis is flying much lower than the previous two times he had seen him. He also seems to be shedding less. This may be Childe's last chance to acquire one of his scales. He has to make it count.
While the dragon is not moving particularly fast, his immense size permits him to cover a great deal of distance, making it somewhat of a challenge for Childe to keep up with him on the ground. It's fortunate that he has a lot of experience with chasing down beasts much larger than him, and not to mention, it's great practice for his eventual conquest for the Geo Gnosis. Oh, if only Her Majesty would give the command now. He will bring her victory by the end of the night, in the form of a glowing rook set upon her beloved chess set.
He applies a bit of Electro under his heels to double his speed. It brings him from behind the dragon's hindlegs to right under his mane, but he still needs some way to capture Rex Lapis' attention.
Time for his signature move. He draws Polar Star out from the ether, pulls its string taut, and lets an arrow fly. Hydro coalesces in a spiral around its shaft, surging from a jet to a wave and then into a great mass of almost solid water. When he concentrates, it morphs into the shape of a horned whale that climbs higher and higher into the sky with every beat of its fluked tail, filling the valley with sonorous song.
Rex Lapis takes notice soon enough. His pupils swivel as it watches the Hydro whale dart playfully about his head, leaving a trail of turquoise sparks in its wake. Incredibly, Rex Lapis slows to a stop, holding his body in a loose coil as he permits the Hydro whale some of his attention. With one last beat of its flippers, it collides face-first into the dragon's snout and disperses into sparkling vapour.
Rex Lapis' golden gaze lowers to the ground. For a moment, it feels as though every other living thing holds its breath, and even the sun rays and winds go still the moment he is held by an Archon's eyes. Blood roars in his ears. His heart is beating fast and hard enough to make him dizzy. The pressure of Rex Lapis' gaze is insurmountable, pining him where he stands and stripping him right to the core. He tells himself not to lose his nerve.
"Rex Lapis! My name is Childe, and while I am kind of a bad guy, I am honoured to meet you." And even more excited to fight you, he doesn't say. Instead, he puts his fist to his palm in a traditional Liyuen greeting, exactly as Zhongli had once showed him, and smiles with too much teeth. "Will you heed my request?"
Rex Lapis does not answer, but he does not immediately smite Childe where he stands either, so he takes it as a cue to continue.
"May I please have one of your scales?"
Rex Lapis still does not answer. But a ripple moves down his coils and his maw parts slightly, and Childe wonders if he might be devoured. Goosebumps prickle up his arms. But before anything more exciting can happen, Childe is flung backwards by a great gust of wind. Above him, Rex Lapis plunges back into the sky and disappear behind the clouds.
Winded and somewhat humbled, he picks himself up and dusts his pants. Well, at least he'd asked nicely. He doesn't haveto make a jewellery box embellished with a dragon scale for Zhongli, in fact it might even be overkill. Anyway, he's pretty sure that Zhongli would be happy with any jewellery box that he buys for him from the market, so it's fine. It's even convenient. He gnaws the inside of his cheek, and kicks a stone on the ground. No, he's not disappointed. Not even a little bit.
Just as he is about to return to his subordinates, a glimmer in the sky catches his attention. It is faint at first, barely discernible from one of the stars in the sky, but it grows rapidly in size and luminance. And it keeps growing. In another few blinks, it becomes clear that the object is hurtling his way with the full force and glory of a falling star, but it doesn't even occur to him to try and avoid it. Instead, he raises his hands and reaches for it.
The scale lands in his grasp. He needs both hands to hold it, and it still spills light. Gold dust skitter off his skin and onto the grass beneath like small diamonds. Clasping it now between his scarred hands, it feels akin to stealing a fragment of the sun. His breath hitches in his throat. No other moment in his life has ever felt quite like this one, and he knows it will seep into his dreams for the rest of his days.
He touches his forehead to the scale, and closes his eyes. Indigo and green starbursts continue to dance in his eyelids.
"Thank you," he says, and means it with his heart. On the way back, he cuts down a young sandbearer tree for its wood, and brings it home with him.
Now the real challenge begins. Because he is his father's son, he has picked up a few tricks of woodwork from many nights of watching his father carve by the fire. But he realises with some dismay that his hand naturally holds a knife to maim rather than to create, and he has to unlearn the habit in order to make less unseemly cuts into the wood.
Carving is a slow, precise art. His father used to amuse them both by reciting hymns he had heard from his travels, while Ajax rested his cheek against the arm of his chair and watched the wood in his hands slowly take on a shape.
"O, let not the death-pangs you suffered pass into me, lover of frost and winter."
Corkscrew shavings fall from his knife to his feet. The flame from his lamp flickers, sending a shimmer of iridescence across the surface of the dragon scale.
"You cheerful, fair, kind-hearted lad, noble-born and nobly raised, a gentle and valiant son."
The blade nicks his skin. He licks the bead of blood away before it can stain the wood.
"Upon the starry steed, you rode across the forsaken isle of Hiisi and the dark, mist-shrouded lands of Pohjola…"
For many nights he continues to carve until sleep overcomes him. Every morning he will wake at his desk, carefully set his project aside, double and triple check that the dragon scale is still there, before getting himself dressed and ready to work.
One afternoon, over lunch, Zhongli has something for him.
"What's this?" He turns over the small tin in his hand, feeling the cuts on his fingers sting from the movement.
"Healing ointment." Zhongli deftly steals back the tin and unscrews its lid, revealing a paste within that smells faintly of herbs. Childe desperately tries to keep a poker face as Zhongli peels off his gloves, but he thinks he is failing spectacularly, because Zhongli's bare hands are infuriatingly erotic. Pale, slender, and flexing with both bird-like grace and hidden strength. There's no reason for anyone's hands to be that attractive, but here they are.
Those long spindly fingers gather a wad of translucent paste onto two fingertips. One of Childe's eyelids begin to twitch as he tries to dispel the sordid images his overly active imagination conjures. What in the Tsaritsa's name is wrong with him?
"I can't help noticing that there are more cuts on your hands as of late." Zhongli makes a motion for his hand, and Childe helplessly gives it. His mind goes very quiet when Zhongli gently rolls off his leather glove. His own is marred with scars both fresh and new, and the difference between the complexion of his hand and Zhongli's is like night is from day. Someone else might have been ashamed, but Childe is mesmerised. He is also gladdened by the sight of Zhongli's unblemished skin, as it tells him that he did not live a life of great hardship. It might be silly of him, but it's something to smile about.
The paste is minty cold when Zhongli applies it into his skin. He rubs it in with great care, a furrow forming between his brows. "Please be a little less reckless before you charge headfirst into battle next time."
"Hey now, don't be so sure that these are battle scars. And I'm offended that you think anyone will be able to land a scratch on me!" Childe turns up his nose, scoffing.
Zhongli chuckles. "Pardon me, Lord Tartaglia. Still, it brings me no joy to see you hurt. Now please hold still."
While the sound of his title on Zhongli's tongue continues to ring in his ears, Zhongli takes out a small roll of bandages from his inner coat and unwinds it. He proceeds to wrap it around the cuts on Childe's hand, carefully and attentively as though Childe was someone who meant much to him.
"Xiansheng, you don't have to," he tries to protest. "Surely this is overkill."
"Indulge me?" Zhongli insists, because he knows Childe doesn't have the best track record of denying him.
Childe bites back a sigh and relents. Zhongli's ungloved hand burns with an almost otherworldly heat; he feels the warmth even through the layers of bandages. Maybe if he shuts his eyes this moment will last a little longer. Childe likes to tell others that he can look after himself just fine, that he's used to being alone and having to patch up his own wounds. But now every touch from Zhongli unravels that lie, because he feels that gentleness igniting an ache in his chest that is near unbearable. He wants to hold on—he wants to pull away—
Zhongli ties a perfect bow atop of Childe's knuckles. But before he can lean back to admire his handiwork, the bandages inexplicably spring free and slip right off Childe's hand, piling loosely onto the tabletop. He's not even sure how it happened, because Zhongli had seemed so sure of himself.
"Ah." Zhongli stares blankly down at the mess of bandages. "It seems I have underestimated the complexity of this task."
Childe bursts into laughter at the utterly flummoxed look on Zhongli's face. "No, no. You're okay. I've got it."
He picks up the tail end of the bandage and winds it quickly around his own hand. Zhongli watches this with rapt attention, his eyes wide and cat-like.
"Truthfully, I have never done this before," he admits ruefully.
"I can't see someone like you needing to. Corpses don't require much bandaging now, do they?"
"Perhaps you're right." He smiles, somewhat enigmatically.
Once his hand is tightly wrapped, he offers it to Zhongli without meeting his eyes. He clears his throat. "Here. You can finish it off with your fancy knot."
But somehow, he still sees the delight suffusing Zhongli's face, and that sends warmth prickling the top of his ears. "Thank you, Childe."
The dragon scale has to be sanded down with Abyssal power. It cannot be cut by any other means. He knows this because he has tested it out with both his Vision and his Delusion, to no avail. There are very little things in the world that highly pressurised water or plasma cannot cut, and it seems that Rex Lapis' scale is one of them.
Realising that he will not be able to put even a dent in the Geo Archon's defences without resorting to heretical power excites him to no end. A part of him has already long suspected this outcome, but now that he knows it to be certain, his mind races. How long will he be able to last against an Archon? How far can he take the battle with a six thousand year old god? He can hardly wait. It's one of Her Majesty's greatest gifts to send him here.
Holding the dragon scale steady, he lifts a hand. But the bounce of the overly-elaborate bow atop of his knuckles stills him. Zhongli had tied his bandages with the gravitas and focus of a surgeon, not letting go of his hand until it satisfied his exacting standards. Childe hadn't minded it, because he liked it when Zhongli held his hand. The memory of it makes him smile in a way that someone watching might describe as 'besotted', but thankfully he lives alone.
He raises his unbandaged hand instead. Abyssal power courses through his arm with a sensation of both fiery and icy pinpricks, warping his fingers into indigo talons. He sands their sharpened edges against the scale, gingerly at first, but then with considerable strength to file it down into the shape he has in mind.
It takes an entire night. He blunts almost all the talons on his left hand, and that's never happened before. A severe pounding in his forehead makes itself known in the morning from the partial Foul Legacy transformation, and he aches in several places from hunching over the desk all night. But he's happy with the slender draconian shape that the scale has turned into, and fitting it in place like a puzzle piece into its corresponding slot in the lid of the jewellery box makes it all worth it.
It's done. Shadows of finches outside his window flit across his workspace as he holds the box up to inspect it. It's not perfect by any means, but the varnish on the wood has settled nicely, and the pearly iridescence of the Rex Lapis motif on its lid flashes brightly with every movement.
He lets out a small happy sigh. He's done it. Now for the hardest part—giving it to Zhongli.