Chapter Text
He is walking.
There is a tall figure in front of him, his heavy cape fluttering as he quickly ascends the stairs. He commands the pace as they’re chased by a mysterious dark mist, its movement becoming more and more turbulent as it consumes the lower levels of the tower. On each new level, terrifying abominations appear, sandwiching the two of them between ravenous monsters and the hungry black mist. But the uniformed stranger doesn’t hesitate to wield his shield and sword, shoving them off the railing, down to the bottomless pit of the black mist. There’s a piercing scream being torn apart, digested, weakly fading into the void.
The black mist is not satisfied. It crawls upwards, one step at a time, relentlessly craving more.
“Let us continue,” the stranger states. No, it wouldn’t be right to call him a stranger, especially for how long they have been climbing together. A comrade, perhaps? There is familiarity on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down when he sees the man start moving again.
They continue upwards, but the tension is obvious-- both of them are reaching their limit. His surroundings are an exact copy of the staircase fifteen minutes ago, or maybe even longer. Time has stopped serving a purpose in this endless maze, and his vision starts to go hazy. He looks up at the bright star hanging above their heads, one that only seems like three landings away, one so close he could grab it for himself. His gaze moves between the white star, and the black pit directly underneath, and back up again, the pattern intoxicating. He looks back at the mist, and once his gaze settles permanently into the void, the enshrouding darkness looks like reprieve. Rest.
When he stops walking, his comrade does as well.
“Mitya,” he says. He’s only two steps ahead of him, but his voice travels from afar, as if an infinite space separates them.
Mitya… yeah. That’s my name.
“It seems that my duty begins here.”
Huh. How does he know that name?
Mitya doesn’t process when the dark-haired man pulls him by the arm, gracefully trading positions. Now, Mitya is eye-level with the man, and at this angle he notices how usual his deep indigo eyes reflect a shining lavender. The star, that shining star above them, is trapped in the reflection of purple.
He only gets to appreciate it for a moment before the other lowers his eyes, slowly making his way down to the previous landing. The mist sinks in.
“I will become your ‘closed door,’ Mitya.”
The black mist approaches him from behind, blurring the edges of his figure. Mitya opens his mouth to yell, to apologize for being distracted, to tell him to keep moving, to get away from that thing and come here and keep moving with him--
He smiles. Raises his left hand, and wordlessly points at it, before directing his gaze towards Mitya’s arm.
Something on his left palm itches. Mitya instinctively looks down at his own hand.
When he looks back up, Valeriy is gone.
--
When Valeriy’s memories reignite, he is two steps outside Mitya’s residence. Pricks of frosty snow graze his face, and the wind assaults his eyes enough that he has to squint. The door of the cabin is ajar, snow visibly tracking through, and he instinctively moves to close it firmly shut. Valeriy mentally scolds himself for leaving the door open like that-- he read in Fatui Operating Procedures that in a blizzard, every 15 seconds of an opening leads to a 0.1 degree decrease in room temperature, and Kristall doesn’t come cheap anymore to waste an extra watt of reheating. And the homeowner not only has numerous trinkets that can be temperature-sensitive, but could himself be sensitive to unregulated temperature fluctuations. There will be no mistake like this next time.
He prepares the proper gear, directs the two Fatui taking watch for the next half-day, and trudges out into the snow. It is an estimated 20-minute venture to the Armory Palace, where he will make his daily report on Mitya’s time off.
It is only when he returns, settled at his Officer post, beginning to wrap up the last lines of the report, that Valeriy subtly refers to a few pieces of torn memory, trying to put to paper the fragment of time right before he left Mitya. He closes his eyes and sees a disheveled figure, pale and clammy skin, and something like despair wrestled on his face. There was something said, maybe, or perhaps not, and Valeriy opens his eyes again to the pocket watch beside the report.
He finds himself pleasantly surprised. He arrived at the Armory Palace earlier than usual, assuming he left at the time he had intended. This put his timeliness rate at 89%, while the 11% solely came from handling Mitya, who loves to shift his timely plans further and further back while he jumps to and fro his favorite spots in Sneznograd. Valeriy would look at his pocket watch then and sigh at how time had moved further than desired, so seeing the pocket watch be early for once was a beautiful sight, wasn't it?
Huh. Somehow, Valeriy wasn’t as happy as he thought he’d be.
Maybe he’s just bothered by how he accidentally left Mitya’s door open for so long. Valeriy knows Mitya prefers his warm cabin in comparison to the lower temperatures of the Armory Palace. He fails to remember why the scientist standing beyond the doorway didn’t tell him to close it sooner.
No matter. Although he doesn't have to watch over him in person during Project Stuzha's pause, they've been stuck together for so long that seeing him was practically habit. Tomorrow morning, he will return to check on Mitya, apologize for his rather inconsequential mistake, and his heart will be settled.
So he believed.
“Armory Officer.”
The two Fatui watchmen straighten up at the sight of his uniform. Valeriy gazes down at the snow and sees scattered footprints guided in circles. They’ve been pacing, and the footprints sunken in further at the toe rather than the heel show that they’re nervous. Valeriy, too, digs through the snow with his boots to counteract the uneasiness bubbling within him. “What's the issue? Give it to me straight.”
“The- the Energy Scientist is not in his house. Sir.”
The officer should be used to Mitya’s escapades from the Armory Palace by now. But from his own home, on his time off? He could feel a headache creeping up his skull. “And he left without you knowing?”
“Yes. There are no trails, but the west window has signs of being opened and closed.”
“...This is not unusual for him. You two don’t need to pace around like that. I’m not going to write you up for losing a volatile subject like the Energy Scientist.”
The two Fatui subordinates lock eyes with each other. The more scruffy-looking one seems to falter in choosing his words.
“Unless there’s something you have yet to tell me?” Valeriy questions. The Fatui could tell his gaze had lost its patience.
“Well, a few hours after you left, Researcher Mitya came out to give us some warmed blankets. Even a bowl of soup. Lots of hospitality, you see. But, but he told us to guard the house well, and he told us to pass the key to his residence to the Armory Officer. Said something about not bothering to break doors.” The more timid Fatui presented a small keyring, a teal stone dangling off as a charm.
A key?
The female Fatui started to scramble her words after taking a quick glance at Valeriy. “T-though we didn’t enter, sir! Out of caution for confidential information! H-here, you can--"
Valeriy couldn’t listen to this any longer. He swipes the key off her hand and jams it into the lock, twisting a bit too firmly, too desperately. The door clicks open, and instead of warm air greeting him, the interior was as cold and stale as outside. Paper was scattered about on the dinner table and the floor, full of frustrated handwriting and scribbles. The Kristall radiator is cold to the touch. It hasn’t been used in a minimum of six hours.
He remembers Mitya saying that he makes no copies of his keys. Something about security compromises to Project Stuzha, whatever it was.
This is the only one.
Valeriy turns to the two Fatui, both of them tightening their shoulders at the sudden movement. They were both used to seeing the Sergeant around the Armory Palace with a passive, blank expression, but none of that was present now.
“Assemble the first battalion to search the city. Now.”
--
Mitya does not stop by the theater.
He does not go to see Odette and Vodanitsa at the restaurant, where they had sent him an invitation for a late lunch today after hearing of his surprise time off.
He does not greet Alyosha when he spots him and Tugarin in Zolnyy from atop an awning, although he can tell the dog has sensed him. That thing will definitely spill the beans to Alyosha through some secret dog code, but it doesn’t matter if no scent can be tracked.
He does not want to see anyone.
And the person he doesn’t want to see most is a tall, annoyingly punctual, irritatingly persistent Fatui Special Officer, who has a perfect track record of finding his location. Of course, that was only possible because Mitya was kind enough not to hide very well. It wasn’t as if he wanted to abandon his post forever! He just needs a during-working-hours break every now and then, and he wanted Valeriy to see some pretty sights too, instead of being cooped up in that metal castle.
He knows where to draw the line between fun cat-and-mouse chasing and being irritating, and he’s always chosen to be caught. Chosen, not wanted.
Today will be different.
He situates himself on a cliff far away from civilization. He still has his notebook and pen. His thoughts swim freely, and then he gets a burst of inspiration, but when he comes to, the sun and the shadows have shifted a bit too fast. There’s a throbbing pain in his palm, and he sees a flash of red before he sees nothing.
Recognition follows. Someone’s low voice lingers in his ear, but it disappears before he can shape it concretely, and he is frustrated once more. It was already frustrating to have not made any progress, but the frustration has quadrupled now that he is aware of the system, of the curse placed upon him. He buries his face in the snow to cool his anger, and his dear scarf gives him a reassuring pat on the head, but he can't be happy until his plan works, until everything works and Snezhnaya and Teyvat and everyone is fine.
Of course, thinking his actions could become world-saving was pretty arrogant of him. But when that's your only purpose, what can you do?
He looks around, and the wildlife is as lively as ever. The polar bear munches on snow and the Jack Frosts chase each other with snowballs. Good to know that not all lifeforms drop dead when he forms a thought.
Mitya remembers last night, and how he thought he was strong enough, but he wasn’t. He had to stare death through someone else's lidded, empty gaze. He thought it would be okay, with the knowledge that resurrection is a certainty, but that makes him even more uncertain. More hope is more despair.
He wishes he didn’t have to remember everything about the theater incident. He wishes his mind could stop thinking, stop hoping, even though he is relied on by the Tsaritsa to complete one grand mission that hasn’t come to fruition yet or been cancelled. Only paused.
Getting back up on his feet, he thanks his scarf with a high five for picking up his notebook and pen for him. Flipping to the next page, he begins to write.
--
The corner of the restaurant has a peculiar vibe today. Composed of one prima ballerina, one prima soprano, and one Fatui Armory Officer.
“We invited Mitya… but you’re more than welcome to stay,” Odette states flatly, taking a tiny nibble of her salad.
Vodanitsa gaped. “Don’t be rude. We’re all friends, aren’t we? Officer Valeriy, are you still assigned to watch over Mitya while Project Stuzha is on hold?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good. Honestly, I’m not ready to go back to the Korolevskiy Theater… although I don’t remember much, the whole thing gives me the creepy-crawlies.” Vodanitsa sighs, fiddling with her sandwich. “It will take some getting used to, but I’ve gotten permission to host performances in the plaza instead. The acoustics are pretty non-existent, but the people who haven’t been able to get tickets will be able to listen! So tell that disrespectful Mitya that he doesn’t have to come to the theater for now.”
“I will.”
Vodanitsa doesn’t say anything further, scrunching her eyes, conveying something like, That’s all you have to say? or, Maybe he’s a man of few words? Odette doesn’t speak either, nibbling on an empty silver fork as she swipes a knowing stare.
“...Is something the matter?” Valeriy states, crossing his arms.
“No… I just thought you would be with a certain someone instead of alone. Or running around all of Sneznograd to catch him.” Odette responds. With a clink, she rests her fork on the plate and pushes away her half-eaten salad over to Valeriy’s side of the table, nudging him to finish the rest. He can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a sign of comfort or some belief in not wasting food.
The officer sighs, resting his elbow on the table, adding pressure to his temples with his fingers. “I don’t know where he is,” he confesses. Those words, words that he thought he’d never say, come out mangled and hoarse. Although he wanted to say them casually, as if a phrase like that didn't matter because it's inevitable that he will fall right back into his hands, they fall heavy instead.
Vodanitsa’s eyebrows fly upwards. “What? What do you mean, you don’t know where he is?” she asks, unintentionally twisting the metaphorical knife further in. “Isn’t that your job? Well, it doesn’t really seem completely like that, judging by how you two operate, but…”
“She means that if you don’t know, then no one does,” Odette quips. “How long since your search began?”
6 hours ago. They first started in the city, extending to the Armory Palace, Zolnyy, Druzhna HQ, and outwards to Merospok. There were sightings of “a flying figure” much earlier in the morning, but no clear direction, pattern, or motive. Valeriy has exhausted all his men available to him, but he knew he had to be the one to catch him-- he’d slip out of anyone else’s grasp.
No motive. He doesn’t know why Mitya left. He thinks back to last night’s report, and how everything was written as normal. How the only unusual thing was having a few extra minutes to himself. The memory of something amiss has burnt away completely, turning to ash and scattered in the wind.
Valeriy groans. He thought he could read Mitya rather well, but he can’t even remember what they spoke about the last time they saw each other.
“Don’t worry, Valeriy. I don’t believe someone as smart and… perceptive as he is would find himself in real danger. Mitya’s probably enjoying his freedom after getting let off from all that troublesome work, y’know?. And if he’s not, I have no doubt that your army of Fatui will drag that fool by his feet!” Vodanitsa chirps. Sensing that the conversation was over, they all stand to leave, Valeriy having footed the bill in advance.
But he can’t help but feel a sense of dread. Like leaving the stove on, or the water running in your home without knowing, and coming back far too late to stop the consequences.
--
In a haze, Mitya continues walking.
“Mr. Energy Scientist.”
Mitya, freshly appointed to the Fatui Energy Commission and waist-deep in the week’s work, opens his mouth wide at the new company he’s received today.
“Officer Valeriy. I have been appointed as your… bodyguard, per the First Harbinger.”
Despite the lighting in the basement levels of the Armory Palace being rather dreary, Mitya’s eyes sparkled, as if someone set off ten thousand strobe lights at once. “So you’re my personal assistant then? That’s great! Just call me Mitya. Nice to meet you~! Wow, where do we begin~ These stacks of notes, can you--”
“Ahem. Mr. Mitya. I apologize, but I’m no researcher. When I reviewed the responsibilities of this position, I saw no mention of assisting you with anything regarding Project Stuzha. I don’t have the necessary clearance to do so, even if I wished to.”
Mitya doesn’t stop smiling, but his unique scarf seems to respond for him. As if alive, its happy sway deflates like a balloon, sinking to the floor and dragging itself on the ground.
“Oh. Too bad, then. These notes are super duper interesting, too! But if you’re not here to help with the nitty-gritty, then you can go back to Pierro and tell him I can watch over myself.”
Guard himself? From Valeriy’s somewhat extensive military eye, a build like Mitya’s would never make it to even the lowest ranks of a deployment. Unless he stuck to a strict training regimen, with a proper diet…
Mitya could tell that some strange gears were turning in Valeriy's head. “Don’t believe me? Looky here,” he says with a bit too much pride, waving his robes aside to reveal the Stellar Linchpin wrapped around his thigh, glowing with an iridescent sheen that was a bit different from a normal Vision or delusion. Mitya hitched his leg over a box, making sure the overhead light was hitting himself and the Linchpin at an alluring angle. “I’m not only a vision-holder, but I got the special one on me! The one that’s made from the remnants of the-- hey, stop! I’m sorry! You’re choking me!!”
Surprisingly, the scarf not only was sentient, but knew well when to shut the Energy Scientist’s mouth.
“So you’re not only a physical liability, but a liability in information leaks as well?”
“A rare slip of the tongue. Maybe your presence is messing with me?”
“This only convinces me more that you shouldn’t be left to your devices.”
Mitya pouts, slapping away the scarf as it moves back to its limp state. “Hey! If you wanna be ‘protecting’ me,” he voices rather dramatically, “you should be getting the clearance to be around me too. And then you can help make some progress happen, even if it’s grunt work!”
“You’ve got it wrong. I don’t have a strong desire to do this either. However, protecting you is what I’m assigned to do.”
Mitya’s voice turns serious, removed from the banter they had just been throwing around. “Mister Valeriy, head of the Armory Palace, leader of the First Battalion, don’t you have better things to do? I know we’re both well aware of what bodyguards mean in this place. And I simply don’t like being looked over my shoulder like that, as if no one trusts me to do my job. It’s no fun.”
Valeriy frowns. He wants to say something along the lines of, No one said anything about trust, but it would probably sour Mitya’s mood even further.
“Why don’t you go back to your real post? I’ll write a convincing excuse for the Jester, and you won’t have to deal with me by tomorrow. Promise.” He faces away from Valeriy, returning to scribbling on the chalkboard as if he were forcing the conversation to an end.
And the whole scene would’ve been convincing if Valeriy didn’t notice that Mitya was writing some obvious bullshit numbers right next to the crude doodles clearly made out of boredom.
Valeriy sighed, stretching his neck while debating his next move. It’s clear Mitya wasn’t keen on having a bodyguard, but the First Harbinger made it clear how important he was to the Fatui, to the Tsaritsa’s goals, to the fate of Snezhnaya. Valeriy, too, had his doubts about pivoting to watchguard work instead of continuing on the field. It wasn’t that he thought such work was beneath him… but that he didn’t really know if he could protect a singular person from harm, rather than create contingency plans for a whole army.
But something, beyond his orders, beyond his self-inflicted duty to follow order, was pushing him in Mitya’s direction.
Interest.
Mitya, out of anyone he’s met so far in the Armory Palace, beyond the Harbingers and even the Tsaritsa… was interesting.
Valeriy, in that short conversation, can tell that his loyalty to the Tsaritsa was undeniable. Mitya has proven to be capable of leading research of the Tsartisa’s design. But his lifestyle was nothing that the Fatui or Valeriy himself endorsed, a life that prioritized a day of leisure over productivity in his pursuit of science. A man walking a path of contradictions, failing to meet any efficiency benchmarks while enjoying humanity, yet shackling himself to the most important work that alters humanities fate.
There was a third branch tying those contradictions together. One that Valeriy couldn’t decipher, but could tell was present in the scientist’s small and… lonely shadow.
Who is he? And what does he want to see?
“...”
“...”
“Agh, you’re supposed to have walked out by now!” Mitya stopped writing his quintessential number and gave the Major a quick sideglance. “Do I have to spell it out for ya?”
“I told you, I’m just following orders. You don’t have the authority to ask me to leave.”
“And I told you that having another person breathing all over me is going to mess up my research mood!”
Valeriy let out a light chuckle. “And cakes, opera shows, and nightlife contribute to that mood?”
Mitya gaped at the same time that Valeriy clamped his mouth shut, biting down on his lip. Well. I didn’t actually mean to say something that was out of line. Valeriy was about to scold himself internally and think of a quick apology, but he could see the scientist suddenly warm up, his face turning as red as a tomato.
“Ha…”
Valeriy kept a cool face. Fuck, does he have some hidden anger issues?
“…hahahahahaha! Oh, wow. You did your homework. Why am I laughing?” Mitya covered his face with his sleeve while shaking in laughter, and his scarf companion gave him a few whacks on the back as if it thought he was choking on some spit.
“...I didn’t mean to scold you by saying all that.”
“What are you acting all stiff for? You got some humor, even if it’s super dry. Pierro doesn’t say it as kindly as you do.” Mitya exhaled a deep breath, readjusting himself. “Ok, I get it. I really do. It’s your job, or whatever, so you don’t need my permission to keep your eyes on my pretty face. But--”
Mitya closed the distance between them, flashing a wide grin, and suddenly the strobe lights were all turned on again. Like Mitya was a flipswitch to the morning sun.
“--I’m going to keep doing my thing, so keep up, alright?” To seal the deal, Mitya threw out a convincing wink. “If you can, I’ll gladly call you my bodyguard.”
Valeriy wonders what his expression was like at the time. The day that his life, his fate, had grown a new branch.
A roll of film is tampered with.
"Mr. Mitya."
"What~ We already reviewed the agreement, like, four times. I'm doing a lot to cater to your bureaucratism..."
"Not that. Did you scrape your hand? It's..."
"It's? Why did you stop speaking------"
Mitya raises his left hand, sees the truth, and wakes up.