Chapter Text
It’s been picking at him for a while now…the missing piece. There he was, the young scientist hunched over his laboratory desk, eyeing each handwritten book and page for an answer. Something…something here can bring him to his much-awaited “aha” moment. But just as fast as he jerked up from his desk, the answer at his tongue to scream out, is just how fast he fell limp, the pages flying slightly out of his vicinity from the impact.
He awoke with a slight shake in his shoulder. “Mr. Mitya!” a woman’s voice called out. With a groan and a strain in his neck, he met eyes with a familiar face.
“Sir, what are you doing passing out again?” she spoke again, her single braid flipping as she turned to face Mitya’s many books placed in the shelves adjacent to his desk.
“Ah…” he voiced, clearing his throat. He felt the same unfortunate feeling in his left hand, but curled his fingers into a fist and ignored it. He glanced down, trying to come up with, yet again, another excuse.
“Just resting my eyes for a bit…” he reoriented his coat, which was falling from one shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting company in my office today, Elena.”
“You’re lucky I was curious enough to pop by, Mr. Mitya. I’m aware you have many responsibilities to handle, with Lord Jester being a crucial contact for your research…and it’s likely that there’s more than meets the eye in your situation regarding Project Stuzha, but…” She turned back to him, gripping a few books she picked out during their chat tightly. “But still…health is important. You passing out in your office just screams that you’re barely getting any sleep at night.”
This was a conversation familiar to Mitya since it happened almost every week. He gave a slight chuckle as he lifted himself off his chair. “I appreciate your concern, Elena–as usual, of course.”
A silence went through them as Elena was patiently waiting at what else he had to say. But unfortunately, once again, Mitya fell silent, a carefree smile appearing on his face.
Elena sighed. “You’re not…letting it out…are you?”
“Letting what out exactly?”
She furrowed her brows, losing that patience she bottled up. “Come now, Mr. Mitya, everyone’s curious! You know what I’m talking about!”
Mitya shared a flabbergasted and dramatic expression. “Oh? And what might that be?” His scarf also made an appearance, over Mitya’s mouth as if representing a gasp from shock.
“You know!” she stumbled over her words, “The reason why you’re always sleeping at work? Or why you suddenly packed your bags and moved to this corner of the Armory Palace–even the custodians barely come this way!”
Mitya exhaled with a slight shrug. “I figured I had already explained myself.” he opened his arms wide, pointing around the rusted walls and the mildly working Kresnik Kristall Prototype humming in the background. The papers on the floor, the other few old rusty chairs in the side, even the circular window at the very top of the wall shining just a glimpse of sunlight.
He stood proud around it all. In the space so identical to a forgotten storage room.
“All this is just an addition to my super private and enclosed space, so I can stay focused on the project and keep at it with progress.” He took a step forward. “Oh, and the sleeping problem? You just so happen to be incredible at catching at the times I’m resting… that's all! And I don’t remember the last time I had an issue with sleeping at night. So Elena, you can rest assured that the reason–just like I’ve given to all our other colleagues–is nothing but the truth.”
Elena observed Mitya, searching his face for something. A glimpse of a lie, like avoiding eye contact or sweat coming down his forehead.
But no…he really stood proudly. She sighed, realizing that no one would ever prefer these working conditions. But if Mitya says so, even after all the pressure in telling him the truth…it must be the truth then…right?
“Very well, Mr. Mitya. I just wanted to make sure on behalf of all the other colleagues who enjoyed working by your side.” A slight slump in her shoulders.
“C’mon, Elena,” he called out playfully. “You can’t say it like that–I am still here to work alongside you. Just not all the time…what difference does that make? Everyone has their own individual times to work,” he spoke frankly.
She straightened the books in her hands, giving Mitya one last listen. She knew the clear difference between having scheduled times to work individually and for someone to work in complete solitude all the time. There was indeed a major difference in her eyes, but there’s clearly something that is restraining Mitya from understanding so.
“Right, sir, you are right.” She started walking towards the door, but paused before reaching for the button. “Just be sure to reach out if you are in any predicament…I trust you can do that?”
“Elena again–”
“A simple yes or no will do.”
Mitya paused, taking a breath. Now that she wasn’t facing him, his face fell slightly more solemn. “Yes, that’s a given.”
“Good, good luck with the rest of your research,” and she left with the click of the door.
Mitya stared at the door now closed. He unclenched his left fist and stared at his palm. The main reason for the drastic changes in his life all those months ago.
***
Mitya enjoys looking out his home’s window, the beautiful scenery of Snezhnograd atop winter snows and sheer ice for garnish. But whenever his eyes fall to the Korolevskiy Theatre in the distance, his heart slightly wavers, reminding him of his permanent scar on his left hand. Though it isn’t visible to anyone besides himself, he still finds himself hiding that hand in any human conversation.
It was only a few days since the incident anyway. A few days since Ronova paid a visit to the Armory Palace too, where she faced off in a short battle with Aether. Mitya tried wracking his brain to remember any particular detail from that fight, but he couldn't help but be clouded by his usual dizziness and throbbing in his left hand.
The throbbing really was an inconvenience too…almost like a reminder etched into his soul of those days at the theatre, and how he “dies” only to be resurrected once again. And the answer to all this? The possible solution to get rid of the Curse of Death permanently? He fears that conclusion is still far off…
With a sigh, Mitya turned away from the window, grabbed his belongings for the workday ahead and stepped out of his home.
Going into the Armory Palace, he was met with a few friendly guards, chatted amongst colleagues while skipping through the halls, and finally made it to his work area.
“Morning, everyone,” he called out, placing the few folders he brought from home to the side, “I trust you all are well?”
Three other colleagues turned to face Mitya, a gleaming smile on one.
“Mr. Mitya! You have to help us with the rest of the report; it's honestly impossible to complete without you,” she said, as she pushed her chair back and headed for Mitya.
“Tella, you know it’s only because you don’t want to do it,” the older colleague said, peering at Tella through the sides of her glasses.
Tella responded with a sheepish laugh and a skip in her step. “Ughh, but can you blame me, though?”
“Alright, you two, I see your bickering is still never-ending, huh, Yulia?” Mitya mentioned that his scarf gave a friendly pat on Tella’s head before she went back to work. “Honestly, I don’t know if any progress is gonna be made with your conflicted attitude towards each other.”
“Mitya,” Yulia pushed her chair back, “You say that with a gleaming smile–c’mon, be more strict as our team lead, will you? Or Tella’s never going to change her attitude.” She shot a glare back at the young girl, who was sticking out her tongue in return.
Mitya laughed at the familiar presence and couldn't deny that he was, in fact, never upset with the progress that his team made. It was the four of them currently–Tella who was an intern at the Armory Palace for energy remediation. Yulia, who was working as an assistant in another department, but was moved here to focus on communications and project management. Mitya, of course, as a Team Lead in the group, focusing on creating project milestones and teaching Tella along the way. And finally, Fanil.
Mitya walked over to the boy as the two other girls continued with their usual banter behind him. Fanil was buried in his books with a focused eye and a rhythmic fidgeting of his leg.
“Fanil, how is everything going today?” The scientist spoke up first, albeit he did feel slight suspicion in doing so. Lately, Fanil’s focus on Project Stuzha had been shifting to Mitya even more for a reason Mitya wished he knew. It wasn’t long before the scientist realized the common analytic eye from across the room, or the quick scribble in the notebook Fanil always carried around after a quick glimpse.
And this only started a day or two ago after the theatre incident, but Mitya knows better than anyone not to disclose the information from that night, especially to interns and people who are not included in Fatui's inner circle.
It’s for their own protection after all. So, Mitya decided to leave his speculations about the boy for now, so long as it doesn’t truly cause any issues to the team’s progress.
Just as Mitya thought as he neared the boy’s desk, Fanil closed his book and turned to him in slight awkwardness.
“Sir, you’re back,” he spoke quietly, slowly drawing his attention to Mitya’s face.
“Well, yes. I just wanted to pop in and see how things are going. I know I left you with a few tasks yesterday…”
“Right, I managed to complete those this morning. It’s at your desk.”
Mitya blinked. “Oh, well, that was fast. Thanks for your hard work,” and with a smile, he headed for his desk.
Short and sweet. This should do.
Slumping down at his desk, he noticed the few books he had opened from the night before, and even piled the remaining notes he collected from his home this morning.
Alright, time to start. And with that, a few hours went by with him buried in the sheets in front of him, an occasional holler across the office to his coworkers about his findings, or teaching Tella a few methods to follow when constructing proper theories.
With a rhythmic pen tap as he reread a few lines in his report, a presence came and loomed over him. Looking up, it was Fanil, with his familiar notebook in his hands.
“Sir,” he said first, “Here’s the readings and stats around the experiments revolving around Kristall…”
“Oh!” Mitya shook himself out of his trance from his research. “Uh, why don’t you give that to Tella? I’m sure she’ll get a kick out of those numbers for that weekly report she needs to write.”
“I would…” The boy turned and faced Tella’s desk behind him. “But she left an hour ago.”
Mitya leaned over to look past Fanil, and the desk was indeed empty. So was Yulia’s.
“Huh, they went out for a coffee run or…?”
“The workday ended an hour ago, sir,” Fanil answered with no shift in emotion. Stoic…as he always is.
But more importantly, the workday ended, and here Mitya was still engulfed in his research. He exhaled in surprise. “Well, I honestly hadn’t realized…” He immediately stood up with his hands on his desk, looking at which pile of papers to clean up first, when it occurred to him.
“What’s keeping you here, Fanil? These stats could’ve been given tomorrow–you know they aren’t a crucial priority…”
“I figured I’d stay with you, sir.” They locked eyes for a minute–Mitya sensing the same suspicion and uneasiness from the boy. A feeling that tingled through the scientist as if his deepest secret had been revealed–he knew something…but what?
He felt a throb in his palm, the feeling that was unfortunately familiar to Mitya. It couldn’t be…
Before Mitya could say anything, Fanil lunged his hand towards Mitya’s left arm, and like arm wrestling, he pinned it straight down with an impact, papers flying to the ground. Mitya felt a spasm in his arm as Rovona’s symbol was looking up at both of them, gleaming and throbbing through every vein in his hand.
The surrounding air felt thick and suffocating. An additional stab of pain pierced through the scientist's head, slightly clouding his consciousness as Rovona’s curse felt near.
He felt the familiar presence of dying again…But the trigger was never activated??
He glanced up at Fanil, whose stoic expression turned into intrigue. His eyes were wide with a slight grin, never leaving the scientist’s face as his grip tightened.
He needed to fight back…but his scarf was unresponsive, and the right side of his body was stiff–he couldn’t even raise his other hand for protection. He felt glued to the ground, an unknown weight upon his body as he endured the nails of the boy now dug deep into his flesh.
“F-Fanil, you…”
“This was your doing, Mitya. You put this upon yourself.”
Mitya turned down to his wrist with another wince, but his eyes went wide at the sight of Fanil’s fingers, up to the first knuckle, entirely engulfed in his wrist. The scientist’s breathing sped up, looking up in desperation, back at the boy whose expression never changed.
The uncanny expression left Mitya breathless and in a cold sweat, until he narrowed in on the eyes.
Yellow and orange gradient, with a flower of seven petals centring the pupil.
“I…when did I…” Mitya gasped to answer.
“You marked yourself, Mitya. This is your doing,” Fanil spoke again, his mouth moving with slow and slurred lips, though his voice was still powerful. “Now…let's see how long you last…”
Fanil finally broke eye contact and focused his energy onto Mitya’s wrist, pushing harder, testing the limits of maybe another knuckle able to slide in.
Mitya yelped in pain this time, suffering whilst not able to protect himself, and shutting his eyes, praying the pain would stop. He felt the splurge of blood around his wrist and felt drowsy due to the immense loss of it. And with a snap of the bone in his wrist, he jolted awake.
He sat up on his bed in his home, gripping his bedsheets as he calmed his breathing. He wiped his forehead with a hand, a heavy feeling in his heart as he slipped off the bed. Tumbling to his washroom, he splashed a few handfuls of water into his face. He closed his eyes for a second, water dripping from his face as he turned to the mirror once again.
I’m alive. I’m awake. I did not die from Ronova’s curse…just–just a nightmare.
With hesitation, he held his left wrist and glanced at the red eye. Couldn’t even say it was red anymore, just that brown, murky colour of dried-up blood. He felt his pulse, the veins, the bone intact.
Just a nightmare. A vivid one.
He took a few breaths as a familiar piece of garment went limp on his shoulder after slithering its way there.
“What?” Mitya said to his scarf, likely giving company after his sudden exit from his restless night. “Yes, I’m fine, relax…”
He slowly made his way back to his bed in the dark; it must be around midnight still. He sat atop the bedsheet, took a large exhale, and lay down once again.
Unlucky for him, though…he didn’t sleep a wink after that.