Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Tell me about a complicated man, muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost. When he had wrecked the holy town of Troy, and where he went, and whom he met, the pain he suffered in the storms at sea, and how he worked to save his life and bring his men back home.” ― Emily Wilson, Translation of Homer's Odyssey

In a land of gods and monsters—of contracts and stone, of freedom and wind—one who would have been born royalty had Celestia not rewritten their stars seeks to right an ancient wrong.

We shall call her, the once-princess for once she could have been.

***

("Very clever."

"You think so?"

"Yes, very much.")

***

Her cause is a noble one but doomed. Her people were buried under frost and ice long ago, lost to the impenetrable cold of a mountain turned graveyard for a fallen dragon.

She seeks to coax back what was lost, but the once-princess is destined to die.

***

("Ooo, foreshadowing. I like it."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, bèndàn. Especially when you interrupt me like this."

"–Fuck."

"Hmm, yes."

"Hmph. It was worth a shot.")

***

The once-princess does not know this, however.

***

("Most mortals do not. Know when they will die, that is. Generally speaking."

"Ha. Neither do most gods.")

***

And so the once-princess recruits those that remain of her people, those who wish to see Celestia spurned, and those who simply do not know any better, who wish for quick and easy coin.

***

("You're talking about treasure hoarders, right?"

"Yes. You are familiar with them?"

"Yeah. Archons, I hate them. They're everywhere, like freaking roaches. I've killed my fair share in Liyue. It's a good warm-up when things are getting too quiet."

"That is. . .Quite frankly, that's awful."

"Is it really? Huh. Well, you know, I'm protecting the weak. The people who can't fight back. Surely you can see that."

"You've just admitted to committing murder because of boredom. Forgive me if I don't believe you.

". . .Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad."

"'It sounds bad,' he says. You terrible, violent man, stop interrupting me.")

***

The once-princess sends them out to retrieve the objects that will accomplish her desire—treasure hoarders who are so far in over their heads, there is no escaping their fate.

They too will be dead soon. In less than a fortnight before the sun's rays touch the earth, and yet, someone somewhere may mourn them for longer. Maybe a mother. A father. A brother or sister.

***

("..."

"Does that bother you?"

"...No."

"Does that bother you?"

"...Yes.")

***

But for a few mortals, none can see their futures, the fates the stars have dictated, and so these ill-fated thieves creep alongside the shadows, slip into the hidden rooms, spaces, and realms where precious treasures lie, and they make quick work of their schemes.

Perhaps if they had questioned her more. Had looked closer at the winged pendant given as a token of good faith, a pale mimicry of Mond's crest.

But they do not.

They do not worry themselves with the possibility of consequences sure to follow.

For who would spill blood, they ask, for a broken lyre; for golden leaves of strange paper; for a memory?

***

("You'd be surprised, my lady."

"Now, who's foreshadowing?"

"You asked for a story, did you not?"

"That I did. Now, tell me.")

Childe — known otherwise as Tartaglia, 11th Harbinger of the Fatui; her majesty, the Tsarista's Vanugaurd; one who once stared into the Abyss and had the Abyss stare back — is having a day.

A bad day, if one can believe it, although, he scarcely can.

Look. Childe simply doesn't have bad days. He beats them back with sticks, his teeth, and whatever living thing happened to be around him at the moment.

He has off days. Days where things don't go as planned. Days where the noise in his head is a bit louder than usual and he has to kill more, hurt more, to quiet it down.

He's fallen into the Abyss, for Archon's sake. He's self-aware enough to recognize that what he's gone through has thoroughly loosened and tightened certain screws in his head. That his definition of a bad day has been pulled to extremes.

For that reason, he can count on one hand the number of bad days he's had in his life, the first being the day little Ajax tripped and fell into darkness incarnate and clawed his way out months — or was it days? Time was. . . slippery there — later, something missing from the jagged pieces left of his soul, something sinuous and sinister filling in the gouges.

***

("Oh. I-I am terribly sorry ."

"Eh. Could've happened to anyone."

"Still."

". . .Still.")

***

Childe would be hard-pressed to pinpoint the exact moment it happened — he remembers so little of his time there except for the nightmares that nip on his heels on bad nights — but who's he to deny the unmistakeable poetry that is "the death of childhood innocence"?

It has a nice ring to it.

Being forced to partner with Signora that one time in Fontaine is definitely second on his list of bad days; although she would, he's sure, claim it was she who had been forced to work with him. He has little patience for the Harbingers' tendency to pull strings from the shadows, to manipulate and lie and scheme, and Signora takes the cake when it comes to the art of deception which only further cements his dislike of her.

That, and she's a raging bitch, and around her, Childe oscillates between the urge to dropkick her off the side of a mountain and restraining himself for the sake of not being impaled by her ridiculous heels.

His hatred of her is only eclipsed by his loathing of Scaramouche, who coincidentally holds the honor of being the perpetrator of his third bad day. The Sixth Harbinger's a minuscule ball of spite, and any assignment Childe has the misfortune of sharing with him helps him gain a new appreciation for the cordial and even friendly relationship he has with his own subordinates.

The Balladeer's underlings are terrified to so much as breathe in the little prick's direction. He can't say he blames them — Scaramouche' vicious.

(Childe, by comparison, can't go a day without Ekaterina finding new ways to call him stupid or question whether or not his brain cells hadn't withered in the humid, harbor air of Liyue, after all. Nadia's far more respectful, and Vlad's a supportive idiot.)

The only thing worse than Signora or Scaramouche is the both of them, and a privilege Childe truly abhors having ever experienced, as made obvious by the entire debacle being the fourth bad day in his life.

The three of them had been charged with subduing a sudden spike in the Frost Hilichurl population on the outskirts of Snezhnaya several years ago, and the less said or remembered about the entire damn thing, the better.

(Nearly three months after the fact, and Childe still can't get the smell of charred and sparking meat out of that particular uniform. He ended up burning the thing.)

His fifth bad day was relatively recent. In the beautiful harbor of Liyue, no less. The disappointment of having failed to anticipate his Tsarista's plan and being blindsided by Signora, of all people. (No, it has nothing to do with the look of betrayal on Aether's face, the decision he made to summon Osial, or the jarring realization that he'd been played by the one person he had come to– )

– Ahem.

– Much like the Hilichurl Incident, Childe decides the entire fiasco is better left in the far recesses of his mind, among the memories and thoughts he prefers not to dwell on. (Unlike the Hilichurl Incident, he finds himself struggling to succeed.)

Pointless musings aside, Childe did not plan on having a sixth bad day — especially one so soon after his fifth — and yet, here he is: standing in the main room of Northland Bank as as increasingly distressing scene pieces itself together before his eyes.

The bank vault's door swung wide open. Several lockboxes opened and overturned, mora, precious stones, and trinkets spilled out across the floor like glitzy debris. The Millelith combing through their files as an increasingly frenzied Andrei answered their questions.

The door behind him slams shut and everyone's heads snap in his direction.

Silence reigns. The Millelith pale, hands tightening around spears, and Andrei swallows audibly.

Distantly, Childe wonders what face he's making.

"Hello." He sounds so very calm, and he pats himself on the back for that even as the temperature in the room dips sharply.

"M-master Childe," Andrei stammers, stumbling forward. "As you can see, the Northland Bank's been robbed by Treasure Hoarders, and the M-milleith–"

"–Were just leaving, yes?" Childe finishes with a deceptively kind smile. "To answer your questions somewhere else, hm? Perhaps over breakfast at Wanmin Restaurant?"

Andrei opens his mouth. Closes it. Reads between the very fine lines, Childe's drawing.

Out. Now.

Andrei bows hastily and herds the Millelith out the double doors, muttering platitudes and assurances that fall on deaf ears.

Once they're gone, Childe lets his mask drop, just a little. Fury roars distantly in the back of his head, but he holds it back. For now.

"Who the hell," he demands, cooly. "Let the Millelith in here?"

The new recruits, still unused to him, shuffle anxiously.

"My apologies, Lord Harbinger." Nadia holds an ice pack to her head, looking more embarrassed than anything and avoiding his gaze. "Andrei kind of . . . freaked out. We couldn't stop him in time."

"With the way, he was screaming you would think he had witnessed a murder." Vlad snorts, arms crossed. The other guardsman's sporting a black eye. "Don't worry, Lord Harbinger. It could be much worse."

Childe smothers the violent urge to strangle him. "How?" He asks, sugar-sweet, teeth clenched. "Considering we have been robbed and the Millelith have been snooping around our premises?"

"Um. Well. You see. Ahem." Vlad looks down at his boots, no doubt sensing his murderous intent. "Lady Ningguang could know."

"Keep talking, and I'm going to give you another black eye," he hisses, and Vlad quickly bows an apology.

"Master Childe, if you have a moment?" Ekaterina calls.

"Everyone start cleaning up." He orders as he joins her in the vault, not bothering to step over the knick-knacks on the ground as he finds some perverse pleasure in the way they crunch underneath his boots. He can almost convince himself it's the sound of bones snapping and that calms him a little.

The receptionist tries and fails to hide her disapproving look. "You're in a bad mood, sir."

"Vlad's an idiot," Childe snarls. "And we've been robbed. I think I'm allowed to be a little perturbed."

Ekaterina hums and lifts the clipboard to her face. "Understandable, sir."

"Dear Ekaterina, do you mind enlightening me on how fumbling Treasure Hoarders, of all people, got the jump on Fatui-trained guardsman?" He makes a mental note to spar with them at some point. Both as punishment and out of slight concern for their apparent weakness. They should consider themselves lucky. Scaramouche would've killed them himself.

"If it's any consolation, sir, the change of the guard is the weakest point of most establishment's security." A sensible remark – the kind that will make sense if Childe dwells on it for too long, so he pointedly ignores it.

Northland Bank is hardly "most establishments."

It's a well-known secret they're associated with Snezhnaya and that a Harbinger's stationed there. Those idiot Treasure Hoarders didn't rob the bank, they robbed him, and Childe's still-healing ego refuses to suffer the insult to injury.

"Anything of importance stolen?" He grumbles, stepping a little further into the vaults. "To us, I mean?" They're going to have to replace everything, he realizes sulkily. His earnings can weather the dent, but that doesn't mean he's happy about it.

When Ekaterina fails to respond, not even a snippy aside, he looks back at her. "What?"

"You're going to be angry." She looks uncharacteristically hesitant, eyes darting to him and away from beneath her mask. "Angrier."

"Too late for that." He laughs bitterly, kicking a pair of delicate pins out of his way. He zeroes in on a comb of delicate noctilucous jade and gleaming quartz. "Out with it, then."

Ekaterina clears her throat. ". . . Several sigils of permission, sir. The duplicates and originals. Seven in total."

Childe's heart drops into his stomach, his boot frozen over the jeweled accessory, and he squeezes his eyes shut before opening them once more.

He sighs heavily, moving his foot away. "Of course, they were. Of fucking course they were."

Ekaterina excuses herself, muttering something about managing the recruits, but Childe can barely hear her over the swelling, humming whirlwind in his head.

Alone, he tries to breathe, to think.

He needs to be making a plan, he knows, for those sigils, lest the other Harbingers find out and gleefully report another one of his failures to the Tsarista. Before Liyue Qixing find out and the people of Liyue turn on him. Again.

But Childe's mind refuses to focus, to latch onto any logical thought as it calls for carnage of any kind, and he's moving before he even realizes it, leaving the vault and striding past his subordinates.

"Sir?" Ekaterina sputters after him, bewildered. "Sir, there are still things we need to–! The Millelith will be back to–! Master Childe! "

"Deal with it, I'm late for a meeting," He throws a wave behind him, pushing the bank doors open. "Don't wait up."

***

The most pathetic part of all this, Childe thinks, maneuvering past the morning crowds and crowing merchants, is that his day had started on the wrong note before he even got out of bed.

After nearly a year of living in Liyue, he had come to welcome the soft, pooling rays of the harbor's sunrise streaming in through the windows of his apartment, the most expensive the landlord had to offer and far cooler than the others. 

That morning, caught between the haze of the waking and dreaming world, he had rolled towards the middle of the bed onto his side, absently sweeping his arm out and expecting to find the warmth of another person's skin.

Only . . . he hadn't. 

No, instead, he had found cold blankets and the jarring realization that he had somehow forgotten that he slept alone now.

As he had always. Before he came to Liyue. Before, for the briefest of moments, there had been someone there, as well.

All things were as they should be, and yet Childe felt his mood sour the longer he stared at the untouched pillow and unrumpled sheets because it was like his heart was breaking all over again, the pieces crumbling even further.

His fingers had twitched, then, with the need to brutalize something — whether it be a hilichurl, treasure hoarder, or even a rock — anything to curb the humiliating weakness he'd knowingly cultivated in himself.

The mortification was enough to want to bury himself underneath his covers and scream.

Instead, he rose from the bed and bathed, dressing quickly. He had hoped that burying himself underneath piles of paperwork and tracking down those with outstanding debts to the bank would soothe the itch.

For obvious reasons, it hadn't.

"Spar with me."

The teacup pauses on its way to his mouth, and Zhongli blinks at him languidly. 

Wansheng Funeral Parlor looks surprisingly lovely that morning, nothing at all like how a place housing death and dead bodies should be and even less so with Zhongli in its midst, clad in the subtle amber, gold, and brown that adorns his suit. He looks like royalty and for the hundredth time since discovering the truth, Childe wonders how in all the world he could have missed what was so clearly in front of him.

"Good morning, Childe."

"Good morning." Childe reiterates, rolling his eyes. "Fight me."

The former archon is spacier than usual, cor lapis eyes distant, but Childe simply waits. They refocus as his words seemingly registered, and he pretends that the sudden skip in his heart is excitement and nothing more. "Pardon?"

Childe refuses to repeat himself, simply raising an expectant eyebrow. Zhongli smiles a little.

". . . Okay."

***

Something about the added risk of falling or worse along the jagged incline of Mt. Tianheng makes fighting to the deat–ahem, sparring all the more exhilarating. Childe lunges forward, water coalescing around his hands in the shape of familiar blades as he attempts to strike at Zhongli's middle.

A polearm intercepts him, jutting out, and he leaps back.

"You are angry this morning," Zhongli observes, aloud, twirling his polearm. "May I ask why?"

"No." He snarls, darting forward.

Zhongli simply hums and gracefully sidesteps him, swinging his polearm around in a maneuver that would've taken his arm off had he not jumped back once more, forced on the defensive.

It almost feels like old times. Before they had become harbinger and archon — Tartaglia and Rex Lapis — and sparring had been an easy pastime for the both of them.

Childe, whose bloodlust is never sated, and Zhongli, whose eyes gleam like a predator lying in wait every time he moves. The man never breaks a sweat, never appears to be anything less than in control. 

It's as infuriating as it is deliciously attractive.

Childe's sorely tempted to summon his Foul Legacy transformation, to see if that will make Zhongli struggle, make him try, but he's still healing—from his fight with Aether, from the debacle with Teucer and those damned Ruin Guards. The wound's an ever-present ache, healing at a snail's pace, and he will not risk it for a trivial spar.

"You were late," Zhongli continues. "And upset."

"Nothing to worry your pretty little head over," Childe grunts, swinging his blades in an effort to take said head off. "Fatui stuff. What, did you miss me or something?"

His blades shift, mercurial and ever-changing, into a spear of his own as he launches another attack, three successive strikes to the adeptus' side in hopes to catch him off guard.

Zhongli anticipates him — he always does. Twisting around him, he jams his polearm spear-first into the ground, and swings himself around it, throwing Childe off balance. 

He spins around, smiled bladed, blue eyes flinty as he assesses Zhongli's attack pattern. There won't be anything new, per se, but he likes to make sure, all the same.

Cold, yet measured. Powerful, but elegant. Nothing like the impulsive bursts of violence and ferocity with which Childe fights.

Nearly a year since they had met, and he still had yet to land a single hit on the man. Well, Archon. Former Archon. 

"Or something." Zhongli agrees, suddenly surging forward and grabbing onto Childe's spear with his own. He tugs hard and Childe stumbles forward in surprise. 

For a brief moment, they share the air between them, eyes locked. Zhongli's face is as unreadable as ever. Beautiful, too. So beautiful it hurt.

Childe swallows hard, remembering the empty place in his bed, and in a truly spectacular display of self-loathing asks, "Surely you've missed me on more than the battlefield." He lets his eyes drag up Zhongli's body before purring. "Your bed, perhaps?"

They spring apart, as quickly as they came together, and Childe wastes no time in summoning his bow, pulling arrow after arrow before drawing his blades once more and–

"I do."

–Wait, what?

Childe blinks, taken aback, his anger and frustration forgotten for but a moment. It feels as if his gears have come to a grinding halt, like one of the broken ruin guards he sends Teucer. Zhongli takes the opening, moving serpent-fast, his polearm sweeping underneath his feet and suddenly the sky fills his vision.

It's a pretty sky, all things considered.

His heart beats fast, and he squeezes his eyes shut, unsure if his words or the fall had stolen his breath from him.

"Are you okay?"

He grunts his confirmation, opens his eyes.

Zhongli appears above him, backlit in golden rays and faded divinity, so beyond Childe's reach that it surprises him every time he remembers he used to be able to. 

Reach, that is. Touch.

How many of those training bouts had ended like that? With Childe drawing him close, his lust for battle melting into something soft and velvety, and Zhongli indulging him with that little smile, amber eyes glowing.

Childe mises that. Hates that he misses that. Hates Zhongli for lying to him. For making things so complicated. 

He hates himself even more.

Zhongli's talking, apparently, "–Wordplay aside, you seemed distracted, and I have something I need to ask of you. Perhaps we can put away our weapons and engage in civil conversation? The Liuli Pavilion, as you may recall, has an excellent brunch menu." 

"Sure." Childe rolls his eyes and flips himself back onto his feet. "I could eat."

***

"It is somewhat comforting," Zhongli remarks apropos of nothing because being a literal deity didn't mean you have conversational skills. "That despite all the untruths and facades we dealt in, your inability to wield chopsticks was genuine."

Childe snorts, twirling the dragon-and-phoenix chopsticks around his fingers while the waitress sets down another platter of steaming plates and leaves with a brief bow. Liuli Pavilion hosts a smaller crowd in the mornings, and he appreciates the low smattering of conversation that serves as background noise, relaxing in its own right.

Yes, he's still helpless with these Archons-damned chopsticks, and yes, he should have sold, burned, or threw them back in Zhongli's irritatingly, perfect face when everything went down, but he found that he couldn't. 

He tells himself it's because, at the very least, they'll make a good weapon in a jam. 'Death by chopsticks,' sounds simultaneously humiliating for the victim and thrilling for the assailant. Scaramouche will be sick with jealousy the day Childe manages to achieve such a feat, and he simply can't pass up on such a chance.

That, and they cost him 128,000 mora. Pettiness be damned, he's not throwing those things away short of direct orders from the Tsarista.

He spears a jade parcel, and Zhongli gives him a look of such profound distaste that he laughs aloud, tears pearling at the corner of his eyes.

"My, you'd think I'd just summoned an ancient god from the depths of the ocean and attempted to drown a city full of people with that look." Childe teases, teeth bared in what could pass as either a smile or sneer. He takes an obnoxious bite.

"You're incorrigible," Zhongli huffs, bringing a piece of tianshu meat to his lips in what feels like an exaggerated display of chopstick prowess. "Tell me, are all Sneznayan diplomats as boorish as you?"

"Are all Liyuen men incapable of basic financial skills?" Childe snipes back before leaning back in his seat. "At this point, I think you keep me around because the laws of nature might actually splinter into cosmic pieces if you brought out a wallet from those sinful pants of yours."

"That's hardly true, and I don't see what my choice of clothing has to do with any of this." 

"Tsk, tsk." Childe chides playfully. "But far be it from me to object to your use of me. I am but a pawn to those Celestia deign to be above me, after all."

The joke — if Childe can even call it that because wow, perhaps he is still a little bitter about everything — falls flatter than the Jade Chamber into the Vortex. 

Zhongli's face goes blank. He mechanically brings his teacup to his mouth, and Childe admires their table. It's made of fine, polished ginkgo wood, native only to Liyue, if he remembers correctly. Another random tidbit of knowledge bestowed by Zhongli when they had indulged in each other's company and spent hours engaged in idle chatter.

Childe loves that about him. Had loved that. How the man's just as capable of regaling him an hour long tale about the glaze lilly he found in the mountains one morning as he is explaining the confusion he still sometimes feels when interacting with other humans, the Wansheng Funeral Director, in particular.

Since the Incident — as Childe has taken to calling it because no one actually died and people need to stop acting like they had — the two of them walk on eggshells around each other. Eggshells made of glass, rocks, and nails. . . or something.

Whatever. The fact of the matter was, Childe makes other people uncomfortable — a certain few notwithstanding — and being on the other hand of that, feeling unbalanced and unnerved, is no fun.

(Ekaterina had made a woefully unimpressed look when he had confided in her that one time, careful not to mention the whole secret Archon thing. 

"My lord," she had begun, sounding like she was tired already. "This. . . stalemate the consultant and you are in sounds miserable and awkward. You're adults. Why not simply put an end to all this?")

Why indeed?

Easy. Because they're both in the wrong. Because it isn't as simple as a misunderstanding or mixed messages, but a deliberate intent on both of their parts to manipulate the other, and how does one even go about fixing such a mess? When both parties were guilty?

("You've never cared before. What's changed, Tartaglia?" La Signora had said to him in the aftermath, the two of them reconvening in his office at Northland Bank. The gnosis in her hand spun lazily, golden light pulsing faintly, and Childe forced himself to look away, and she smirked. "Aw, don't tell me you've gotten sentimental."

"You bore me," He had sneered, tired of her, the day, everything in the moment. "Are we done here or not?")

Loathe as he is to admit it, Signora's right. This wasn't the first time he's had to betray those he'd befriended in order to further the Tsarista's agenda, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. 

So, what made the Liyue assignment different?

In the dark of night, his thoughts too manic to allow him rest, Childe reassures himself that had it come down to it, he would have killed Aether in the Golden House, growing fondness be damned. (Although now, with the Traveler wrapped around Teucer's finger, he can not find it in himself to not feel some relief at the actual outcome of their fight.)

He would have stomached Osial drowning Liyue Harbor and all its citizens, despite their slow, but warm acceptance of him even as the Qixing openly disparaged him. 

Childe, Tartaglia, and perhaps, even Ajax, young and naive as he was, is not a kind person. He's never fooled himself into thinking so, but even his cruelty apparently had its limits.

Signora would laugh at his softness. Scaramouche would sneer.

He clears his throat, anything to break the silence that's settled awkwardly between them. "You looked distracted this morning. Before the fight. Something up?"

Zhongli's lips twitch. "I believe that is my line."

"A contract then," Childe balances his chin on his hand, smirking. "Your troubles for mine?"

He's joking, of course, but it flies over Zhongli's exasperatingly handsome head who seems to genuinely consider his words.

"Hmm. . .It is an equal exchange," He nods to himself, and the briefest smile steals across his face, taking Childe's breath alongside it, and he quickly grabs his teacup to hide a sharp intake of breath. "Yes, this contract is acceptable."

Zhongli clears his throat, sits up straighter in his chair, and rumbles, "Thus is the contract sealed, and my word is as solid as stone. Betray the agreement between us, and you taint my blood. May the threat of my Wrath be your guide.”

He can't help but snort. "That really gets you off, huh?"

"I do it enjoy it, yes." The mood shifts. "Yesterday night, something was stolen from an Adepti shrine in Jueyun Karst."

"Oh?" Childe keeps himself deliberately still, hooding his eyes even as his interest sharpens. "What was it?"

"A . . . memory, you could say." A sad smile, eyes dimming as they stare off into the distance. This is nothing new, nothing Childe hasn't witnessed before. Zhongli walks a fine line between the past and present and sometimes he slips too far into the former, the centuries claiming him like hardening magma.

What is it like, Childe often wonders during these quiet moments, to live so long? To carry the weight of centuries of memories, heartaches, and dreams?

***

("Ha. It is. . .It is harder than you could ever imagine."

". . .I'm sorry.")

***

Without thinking, Childe touches his gloved hand, and Zhongli blinks at him, brows drawn in faint confusion before settling his gaze on where they touched. 

Childe clears his throat and pulls away, pretending to reach for the dumpling on his plate instead, face warm. 

Zhongli shakes his head as if brushing aside cobwebs, "I apologize, I'm being too abstract. Sentimentality, you see. It was a stone dumbbell. A catalyst, if we're being any more concrete."

There's a joke to be made there, about concrete and stone and the Geo Archon, but Childe feels like he's made enough social blunders to last him a lifetime, trying to drown his people and steal his gnosis, notwithstanding. 

Two thefts in one night, though. . .

That's weird.

"You can wield a catalyst?" He chooses to ask instead, genuinely curious. 

"I can wield most weapons," Zhongli shrugs, and Archons, why is that so hot? "But no, not this particular one. It belonged to an old friend of mine. Unfortunately, I've never been able to open it."

"The immortal kind, I'm assuming?" Childe asks, recognizing the bone-weary sadness that settles on Zhongli for but a brief moment, older than anything he could ever fathom shouldering alone. He blinks and it's gone.

"Yes. Guizhong." The name sounds familiar — no doubt Childe was briefed on her at some point, but he's drawing a blank at the moment — and Zhongli picks up a jade parcel and studies it thoughtfully. "The young adeptus Xiao has taken it upon himself to investigate the theft and return it to Jueyun Karst."

"Oh." Childe blinks, slightly taken aback. "No offense to him or whatever, but isn't this slightly below his paygrade. Fearsome demon slayer and all, as he so helpfully reminds me every time we meet?"

"Yes, but Xiao feels personally responsible for the theft. I assured him that wasn't the case, but . . . " Zhongli sighs, but it's a fond sound, almost parental in nature. "He was close with the original owner of the stone dumbbell, as well. I worry for him, though. My retirement has been . . . difficult for him, and I fear the amendment of our contract has set him adrift."

"Sounds like a mid-life crisis or whatever the immortal equivalent of those is," Childe shrugs. Mid-century crisis, perhaps?

"And you?" Zhongli elaborates further at his questioning look. "Your daybreak troubles."

I woke up alone, and realized I still wasn't over you, Childe imagines saying. I miss the way we used to be. I miss you.

 He would rather die. Painfully.
 
"The Northland Bank was robbed." He confides instead. "Several of our Sigils were taken last night."

Zhongli blinks, eyebrows raising. "How. . .troublesome. Sigils are dangerous in the wrong hands." 

Exhibit A.

Childe laughs. "Yeah, no shit."

They sit there, silent for a moment as the pieces of their puzzles come together. The catalyst of a former god and adeptal energy made material. Whoever stole them will be working with near cosmic amounts of divine power and that simply can not be good. 

"Childe–" Zhongli begins first.

"–Yeah, we were probably robbed by the same people." 

"Yes." Zhongli frowns slightly down at his food. "I cannot leave Liyue. Archon or not, I am the Prime of the Adepti and with Xiao gone, someone must take his place for the time being. It would, perhaps, be fortuitous if another party, one with similar goals, could aid him."

Childe hums, only half listening, stabbing his food forcefully, as he finally allows himself to imagine the blood he will spill against those stupid enough to rob him, and now, he's discovered, Zhongli. 

It's like taking candy from a baby. Granted a centuries-old, lecturing history baby with no understanding of money or social cues, but a baby, nevertheless. It's only when he looks and catches Zhongli staring at him does he register the last sentence and sift through the excessive formality to find what Zhongli was truly asking.

He snorts. "I'm sorry, you want me to help Xiao?"

"For lack of a better word, yes."

Childe scoffs. Then chuckles. And finally laughs aloud, sounding slightly unhinged even to himself. Zhongli stares at him evenly. The waitress who'd been approaching slows and turns around with an energy that exudes fuck no. 

"Hahaha, yeah, yeah, no."

"Why not?" Zhongli asks, sounding genuinely confused. "We've both come to the conclusion that the thieves who robbed the bank most likely stole the dumbbell. The two of you stand a better chance of finding the missing items together than alone. It is a mutually beneficial agreement as befitting any good contract."

"Yeah, it's all peaches and cream, except for one small, itty bitty, inconsequential fact," he leans forward like he's sharing a secret, and to his amusement, Zhongli leans forward, as well. "Xiao hates me."

"He. . .," Zhongli's brows furrow, lines appearing in his forehead, and Childe swallows the urge to reach up and smooth them away. ". . .may not be particularly fond of you–"

"Oh, my gods." Childe leans back.

"–but he certainly does not hate you."

"He's threatened to impale me. Multiple times. Last week, in fact."

Zhongli pauses, "So, he gently dislikes you–"

"Are you hearing yourself?" Childe laughs, and Zhongli's expression softens to one of fondness, so sudden, so familiar. Childe almost can't bear to look at him.

"Please?"

Childe opens and closes his mouth. He looks down at his food. The chopsticks next to his plate. "Another contract then, Rex Lapis?"

"The Traveler suggested– He, ah, told me that–" Zhongli sounds so uncharacteristically flustered that Childe looks up, surprised to find a faint flush scattered across his cheeks. "How about . . . a favor from one friend to another? The mortal Zhongli and his friend, Childe. No contracts."

It's cute, Childe thinks, to see calm and steady Zhongli hesitating. It would have been cuter had his heart not been attempting to climb out of his chest through his mouth.

"Is that what we are now? Friends?" A stupid question but one he finds himself wondering the more time he spends around him. The more he wakes up without his touch on his skin. Had he lost what they had? Did he even want it back?

"If that is what you desire," Zhongli says, and though his face is as serene as ever, there's an undercurrent of frustration in his voice, a crack of uncertainty. 

Childe swallows, unable to answer.

So, he did what he did best lately: he changes the subject.

"Lucky for you, I'm also on the trail of this would-be thief. If I happen to run into Xiao, I'll get it sorted." 

Zhongli doesn't look too surprised by his cowardice, if not a little disappointed, but that's par for the course at the moment. "Thank you. And here," he pulls a brown satchel from seemingly nowhere and slides it over. "Please give these Remedium Tertiorum to Xiao on my behalf. It'll serve as proof of my blessing on your involvement. Last I checked, he was in Guili Plains."

"Painkillers? Powerful painkillers," He amends as he pulls the satchel over his shoulder. "What for?"

"That is not my story to tell." Zhongli tilts his head. "But perhaps Xiao will confide in you. You both are. . . very similar in many ways."

Childe snorts. "Not likely," He rises from his chair. "I'll get your memory back and make those sorry bastards pay."

"Please try to keep the violence to a minimum." Zhongli hums, eyes glinting. "And be careful. The both of you. Watch out for each other."

"Until I see you, then." He turns around to leave, even as part of him screams to turn back, to finally break their stalemate. 

Instead, when he passes the waiter, he tells her to put Zhongli's meals on his tab for the next few days.

***

Childe hasn't made it too far into the Guili Plains when he finds the camp of treasure hoarders, all of them dead.

"Well, that's unfortunate." He grumbles, placing his hands on his hips. He's not even taken a half-step when a jade-bladed polearm appears at his throat.

"What are you doing here, Fatui dog?" Xiao growls, cat-pupil eyes gleaming with the promise of a long, torturous death as he came into view. 

Childe grins and lifts his hands in surrender. "Didn't realize sightseeing was against the law in Liyue. I'm pretty sure murder is though."

"Mortal rules do not bind me." The spear presses closer. "Choose your next words wisely."

The last yaksha made no secret of his hatred of Childe. Then again, neither did most of the Adepti. The only difference is that Xiao, out of them all, would probably go through the trouble of climbing through his window at night and strangling him in his sleep.

(Cloud Retainer, too, actually. Thank the Archons she's a bird because if she had hands, Childe would already be dead.)

Had it not been for Zhongli's request to spare him, Xiao would've struck him down in the aftermath of Osial and the Golden House without batting an eye, and even then, Aether had to plead his case, as well.

Childe doesn't know how to feel about the support or perhaps more accurately, how to deal with the warmth the realization induced.

Xiao inches his blade forward. "Answer me, or I slit your throat."

"Tempting," He grins, eyes curving into crescents. "But Zhongli sent me, so you can't."

"Lies." He hisses.

"Nope. Here." He slides the satchel off his shoulder and holds it out. "One Referendium Ter-whatever. Courtesy of your god. Former god."

Xiao stares at the satchel before snatching it away, quick as a viper. The bag shimmers away into whatever pocket world Adepti has access to and the blade reappears at his throat. "You've done what he's asked of you. Now leave me."

"No can do." Childe rocks back on the balls of his heels. "Zhongli asked me to help."

"No."

"Yes." Childe grins.

"I do not require aid." His eyes narrow.  "Especially from a treacherous bastard, like yourself."

"But we're on the same side, you and I, would you believe that." He skirts around the yaksha to examine the bodies. To his surprise, the wounds are cryo-inflicted, no evidence that the yaksha himself had been involved in what was quickly looking to be a massacre. "Whoever stole the adepti's precious stone dumbbell also took from me, and I would very much like to have a nice sit down with them and tell them why they should never have crossed me."

"I don't care." Xiao grounds out. "You would only slow me down."

"You would disobey your archon so easily?" Childe hums, only somewhat teasing. "Granted, he is retired. My respect for him would have faltered, as well."

Xiao sputters, face pinkening. "How dare you question my devotion to Rex Lapis–!"

"I'm just calling it as I see it," Childe shrugs. "If you truly want me gone. . ." He trails off and sees indecision war across the adeptus' face.

They're the same in that regard, Childe will admit to Zhongli: failing their gods was not an option.

"Fine." Xiao sounds like he's agreeing to have his eyelashes pulled off, fist tightening around his polearm until it flickers out of sight. He crosses his arms and looks away. "You may assist me."

"Glad we got that out of the way," Childe claps, smirking. "Now. Any leads?"

"Do you not have eyes as well as brain cells?" Xiao sneers, stalking towards the dying campfire. "Look around, Fatui. I'm sure something will click.

Childe sighs aloud. Zhongli never said this would be easy, but still.

He kneels next to the nearest Treasure Hoarder—the unfortunate man took the brunt of whatever magic had been used against them, his face frozen solid in fear and surprise. There's something clenched in his hand and Childe pries them open with some difficulty, revealing a strange crest.

He plucks it and holds it up to the light. It's a pair of wings.

"Why does this look familiar?" He murmurs, mostly to himself.

Childe nearly jumps when Xiao appears next to him, silent as a shadow. He peers at the token and his shoulders suddenly stiffen, a strange expression stealing across his face before disappearing beneath apathy once more.

"They're Mondstadtian wings. They must have been based there."

Childe frowns. Why come all the way to Liyue then? And who killed them?

"Huh," he comments aloud. "Guess we're going to Mondstadt."

"Fuck." Xiao swears, then again with feeling. "Fuck."

Likewise, Childe thinks.

Chapter Text

Long before the Rite of Descension, before the Traveler's arrival in Liyue, before the evil tentacle monster and the betrayal that came so far out of left field Childe still had whiplash, if anyone cared enough to ask–

***

("You nearly drowned an entire city. Somehow, I doubt people care if your feelings were hurt.

"Well, they should.")

***

–One day, what felt like a very long time ago, Childe had spent a lazy afternoon sprawled out across the sofa in Zhongli's office.

It was a nice sofa. Soft, brown Natlanian leather trimmed in gold and adorned with several, small fluffy pillows.

Nice enough to warrant the 2000 mora price tag? Definitely not, but that had yet to stop Zhongli, and so Childe had footed the bill when it caught the consultant's interest.

("I really should pay you back," Zhongli had complained for the third time, lips pursing as the merchant arranged for transportation in the back of his shop.

Childe had simply smirked, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "I'm hardly in need of mora, Zhongli—but if it's that big of a deal to you, we'll just share custody, alright?"

"Hm."

Darting a glance towards the staff room, he had stepped in close and lowered his voice to a purr, "We can even make sure it's stable enough for more . . . strenuous exercises."

"I'm not especially knowledgeable in the stability of furniture craftsmanship," Zhongli had tilted his head, confusion in the draw of his brows, before smiling gently. "But you are always welcome in my office, Childe.")

Oh, Archons, he was cute. He was dimmer than a flickering lantern but he was cute.

Fast-forward a week or so, and Childe had taken him up on that offer.

The office-crashing, that is. Not the hot, wild sofa sex part, unfortunately. At least, not yet.

"Hey, Zhongli," He had been tossing a small knife above him when he spoke—flinging it away by the hilt and snatching it out of the air before the point dipped to close his chest. Self-impalation was not the way he wanted to go, thank you very much, but it kept insufferable monotony at bay.

"You're basically a walking encyclopedia, right?" He continued.

"I hardly consider myself a book, Childe," The consultant had replied, scrawling away on whatever paperwork the young director had him working on, brows slightly furrowed. "I just happen to know more than most."

"Which is to say, everyone." Childe teased. "Enlighten me, oh, knowledgeable one: what do you know of Mondstadt?"

"The land of the absentee archon?" Zhongli's quill pen briefly stilled before resuming its journey. "May I ask why?"

"Just curious." Childe shrugged as best he could while lying back and attempting not to accidentally stab himself. "Maybe I'm looking to spend those vacation days the Tsarista owes me."

In all honestly, he had received a letter from Ekaterina that morning that La Signora was due to arrive in Mondstadt any day now. The Fair Lady had allegedly managed to locate the Anemo Archon's gnosis and was closing in after several weeks of wayward dragons and freak storms had weakened Mond's defenses.

Childe had no such luxury. The Rite of Descension was still some months off, and until then his only orders were to integrate himself and Northland Bank in Liyue Harbor and learn all he could about the oldest Archon.

All in all, it was busywork. Meandering tasks to ensure that he didn't burn Liyue to the ground before the Tsarista could obtain Rex Lapis' gnosis.

Which . . . fair.

Still. For Signora to be the first of the Harbingers to achieve the Tsarista's goals . . . She would be unbearable after the inevitable ego boost. Well. More unbearable than usual which means Childe would have to try even harder not to rip her face off when she stuck her pompous face in his business.

"In that case," Zhongli tapped the end of his quilled pen against his chin, deep in thought. "One could argue that Mondstadt is Liyue's polar opposite. Diametrically opposed in all manners. Where we are the Harbor of Stone and Contracts, Mondstadt stands as the City of Wind and Freedom. They do things . . . differently over there, for lack of a more nuanced explanation. If I weren't so occupied, I would gladly give you an in-depth illustration of our cultural differences."

"Freedom, oh?" Childe had never given much thought to the Anemo Archon's domain before the Tsarista's plan.

He only knew what everyone did: that Mondstadt was a peculiarity among the seven nations. The only land whose Archon didn't impose direct rule over his people. It was off-putting to even think about, he who worshipped the Tsarista and had been blessed to be in her presence several times over in his lifetime.

"Like–What does that even mean?" He wondered aloud, confused. "They just do . . . whatever they want?"

"That seems to be the intention, yes."

"Oh. Well, that's. . ." He thought, then asked. "Does one have the freedom to challenge knights to a duel? Ooo, how about a fight to the death with the Grand Master?"

Zhongli made a considering sound. "Last I heard, Grand Master Varka had left Mondstadt on an expedition of some sort."

"Oh," Childe had frowned briefly at the ceiling. "The Acting Grand Master then. Whoever that may be. Think they'd take me up on it?"

"I imagine they would have the freedom to refuse." Zhongli had chuckled, and Childe had sworn the room grew brighter, the sun's afternoon rays casting a warm, golden glow across everything it touched, Zhongli included. "For a diplomatic envoy, you certainly have a lot of inclinations that threaten the peace."

"Who me?" Childe played at innocence. Well. As innocent as one could play while twirling a blade between their fingers.

He rose smoothly, the kife disappearing as he stretched his arms up up up and pretended not to see the consultant's eyes wander to the sliver of skin beneath his jacket before darting away. Languidly, he crossed the room. On Zhongli's end of the desk, he perched next to scrolls, paper leaves, and a set of ink quill pens Childe vividly remembered buying some weeks ago.

"Fine, yes." He conceded with a sigh, playing up the theatrics of it all. "But I thought you liked that about me, xiansheng?"

Zhongli shook his head—fondly, Childe hoped—golden eyes crinkling around the corner as he eluded the question. "You have a job, Childe. As do I. I would hope there are better ways to spend the seemingly abundant free time you have."

True. Shirking his duties, Ekaterina would have admonished disapprovingly, had she seen him there. But Wansheng Parlor had been on his way to the debtor's house anyway, and what kind of terrible person would he be if he didn't pop in to check on his boyfriend.

For the sofa, of course.

"Perhaps the City of Freedom is better suited to you," Zhongli noted idly, seemingly to himself, and Childe stared in confusion until he remembered the subject of their conversation. His next words sounded odd, almost stiff in their reluctance to form. "More than Liyue with its unbending rules and binding words."

"Aww, don't tell me you're jealous." Childe chuckled.

"I most certainly am not." Zhongli scoffed with uncharacteristic harshness, rolling his eyes. "Liyue is objectively better than a city of drunk bards and flighty archons."

"Still. You have no need to worry. I do not desire freedom from the Tsarista." Childe continued thoughtfully. "And all joking aside, leaving me to my own devices sounds rather unwise wouldn't you agree?"

He dropped his mask (or maybe he donned it—he couldn't tell the difference anymore) and felt his smile unhinge slightly, knew his eyes had darkened further. "It would be a travesty to leave a weapon such as myself unwielded."

A lesser man would have looked away, terrified out of his wits for reasons he couldn't articulate. He'd reduced debtors to bawling children with this dead-eyed stare, and yet–

–And yet Zhongli simply looked up at him, his expression serene, his cor lapis eyes molten. "You are more than a weapon, Childe. I hardly regard you as such, and I–I wish you did the same." The stutter was new. A soft blush tinting the tips of his ears, and Childe felt an answering flush creep across his face.

"That's because, for all you do know, my dear encyclopedia, your immeasurable smarts seem to fail when it comes to me." Childe drank in the sight of him—golden and good—and then flicked his glance away. He felt self-conscious, all of a sudden—overly aware of the darkness that stained him inside and out. A little quieter, "I'm no good, Zhongli. Everyone but you seems to know it."

Why he still entertained this dalliance, he had no idea. He should've put a stop to it long before this point—before the work hour crashing, sofa buying, and planning of trips to Mondstadt.

Melodramatic as it was, their relationship was doomed to end in disaster. Either Childe would rip Rex Lapis' heart out and Zhongli would hate him forever on his Archon's behalf or he would see Childe for who he was—all the broken pieces that didn't fit—and he would leave.

He didn't know which would be worse.

Scrape.

No sooner had Zhongli's chair suddenly dragged across the floor than a gloved hand was at his chin, pulling his gaze back.

Their eyes met and then . . . Just quiet.

A silence loaded with unvoiced worries and lurking fears, but somehow comfortable, all the same.

And for a brief, blissful moment, Childe forgot about his assignment. About Signora arriving in Mondstadt, the Rite of Descension in Liyue, and his Tsarista's war on Celestia.

Was this the freedom the Anemo Archon promised?

He certainly felt free like this. Next to him—his airheaded, know-it-all funeral consultant, an art in contradictions. He always had.

Childe tipped forward, and Zhongli closed the remaining distance between them, fitting their lips together, the warmth of his mouth as enticing and addicting as the first, second, thirtieth time they'd kissed.

He parted his mouth, reached for his waist, and–

–Bam!

The door behind them slammed open.

"Aww!" They flinched apart. "How cute!"

"Director Hu Tao," Zhongli sighed against his lips, and Childe beamed. "What have I told you about knocking?"

"And what have I told you about getting distracted during work, hm?" Childe peered over his shoulder where the girl in question had her hands balanced on her hips, flower-pupil eyes twinkling mischievously. "I'm not paying you to make out with your boyfriend during business hours."

"I'm more surprised that you pay him anything at all," Childe snorted, and Zhongli huffed, a pout curving his lips as he looked away.

"I should be going now anyway. Don't want my clients to get too comfortable." He slid off the desk at the same time Zhongli sat and dragged his chair back to its original placement. "See you at dinner?"

"Of course," He murmured, glancing up from beneath his lashes, and Childe felt his heart swell. "We'll finish up our discussion. A trip to Mondstadt one day, as unrefined as it is, sounds lovely. If you would have me, I would love to accompany you."

***

("What's with that face?"

"Hm, oh. Nothing. Just. Morax wasn't always so thoughtful, believe it or not."

"Oh?"

"It wasn't his fault. It was a different time. He was a different man."

". . . How different?"

"Very and yet not at all.")

***

"Me too." Childe smiled and turned around before he could do something stupid like blush, giggle, or declare his undying love.

"Oh, off to work, then?" Hu Tao grinned widely, darting out of the doorframe. "Here's a couple of coupons! Aww, you're blushing!"

He pulled her hat over her eyes and she gave an indignant squawk.

The journey to Mondstadt is nothing short of mental torture, something Childe blames wholeheartedly on Xiao and only a little on the bloodlust withdrawals that sporadically trickle through him.

Teleporting's fun and all—even more so after the fourth time when Childe finally succeeded at not falling on his face to Xiao's obvious annoyance—but it means that more often than not, they're steering clear of slimes, hilichurls, and the occasional treasure hoarder camps. I.e. Things to kill, and kill quickly.

Only several hours have passed since sparring with Zhongli that morning, and yet, the thrumming in his blood's back, stronger even.

He takes a deep breath and tries to focus. Waiting it out rarely turns out well, but maybe this time Celestia will have pity on him. (Doubtful. Very doubtful.)

He looks around to distract himself. As always, Zhongli had been right. The nations of Geo and Anemo are as different from one another as Natlan was from Sneheznaya.

The shift from Liyue to Mondstadt is slow and gradual until it isn't—misshapen rocks and jagged cliffs, umber yellows and airbrushed oranges dissolving into rolling emerald hills and teasing breezes, fields dappled in bright blues and pinks.

(Fight, the wind seems to hiss. He kicks a rock shaped like Scaramouche's head instead.)

The nation of freedom is, admittedly, beautiful, if not a bit too storybook picturesque for Childe's liking, and he says so to Xiao.

"I told you not to speak to me." The adeptus growls.

"Sorry," Childe lies, skipping forward a little. "Just trying to make conversation."

(Hurt, the rustling trees giggle. He scratches his nose rather roughly.)

Childe doesn't quite know how to describe it, but Xiao somehow feels. . . less.

At first, he thinks the lack of murderous intent is because the adeptus is softening around him, willing to trust him—definitely not the case if the way Xiao nearly ran him through earlier for trying to lean an arm on his head was any indication.

Perhaps, it's because he's so far from Liyue. Zhongli mentioned once how connected the adepti were to the land of the Geo Archon—to him, Childe has long since realized, how could he have been so stupid—so it makes sense that Xiao's normally nigh-omniscient presence is less suffocating here where the water flows like liquid noctilous jade and dandelion's dance on the breeze.

(Peaceful. Boring.)

All that is to say, Childe can needle him with only the almost immediate threat of death, instead of the actual thing.

"Conversation?" Xiao scoffs, disbelieving. "No, what you are trying to do is test my patience, and I will not fail Rex Lapis over someone as insignificant as you."

"Oh, you sweet talker, you," Childe winks at him. "I see why Zhongli keeps you around."

(Kill, the birds chirp. He squeezes his hand into a fist then shakes it out.)

"I will leave you stranded here."

Childe rolls his eyes, but silences himself, if only for a couple of minutes so he can get his head back on straight. The more inanimate objects tell him to lose control, the more he wonders if he should be worried.

Quite frankly, he wishes he didn't have to rely on Xiao's weird teleporting ability to move across the terrain, wishes he could use the waypoints scattered across the land instead, but they appear to only respond to Aether's touch and whoever's with him.

If there was ever a reason to study the Traveler, that was it, if only for the sake of his feet and sanity. The next time they meet, Childe will beg him to bottle up whatever let him do it and lend it to Childe.

"Hey–" He begins again when a particularly cute squirrel-looking thing chitters, Blood.

"Archons above–!" Xiao exclaims, looking up at the sky like it had the answer to all his woes.

Childe pays his words no heed. "–Why do you think the mystery thieves stole the things they did? The sigils I get, they're powerful -"

"–Why we even allowed you to keep them is beyond me–"

"–But a catalyst?" He inches a little closer, the closest Xiao has let him stand since the beginning of their trip. "One that's not even active?"

"The Memory of Dust is not just a catalyst," Xiao snaps, looking annoyed to be having the conversation, but he isn't teleporting away or lopping Childe's head off so that's a good sign. "It is the remnants of Lady Guizhong's power."

"Zhongli's ex-girlfriend, right?" Childe hazards and judging by the pinched look on Xiao's face, he hit the nail on the head.

At some point during their journey, his briefing—very brief, near outdated by Zhongli's standards, although everything was when held up to the oldest Archon—on Liyue had come back to him, and he still isn't sure how he let it slip.

One would think he would remember the ex of his, well, ex.

***

("Are we truly exs, as you say, if we've never broken up?"

"Pettiness doesn't become you, my lady.

"Neither does bitterness suit you.")

***

Although, in his defense, he'd been under the impression for quite some time that Guizhong was the ex-lover of Morax, martial god of Liyue, the Groundbreaker—not the loveable, ditzy funeral consultant who knew more about the properties of shiny rocks than he did of basic finances.

The most he knew of her came from Dottore's obsession with the Guizhong Ballista. His fellow Harbinger had told him to acquire drawings and diagrams of the ancient war machine, but Childe simply . . . hadn't.

There is simply no reality in which he likes the idea of giving another Harbinger—Dottore especially—access to what could easily be modified into some sort of armageddon device.

No, thank you.

"Tell me about her," Childe demands. "Am I living up to her legacy? Was she prettier than me? She wasn't, was she?"

***

("I am."

"Eh. I guess I can see the appeal.")

***

Xiao's scowl grows with each successive question, the temporary goodwill—if having a conversation without the threat of disembowelment counted as goodwill—between them dissipating like ice underneath a white sun.

Childe raises his hands in surrender. He seems to do that a lot around the adeptus. Like they both don't know he'll draw his blade at the first sign of an actual confrontation with a bloodthirsty grin.

"Lady Guizhong," Xiao growls, turning partially around. "Was Rex Lapis' consort and confidante. He was her promised, and she was his. Their union was sanctioned by Celestia itself."

Childe raises an eyebrow, careful to maintain a mask of indifference even as a fissure of something ugly splinters beneath. "And me?"

Xiao's ensuing scoff is dry, the closest thing to a laugh Childe's heard from him in their something hour trip. "You, Harbinger, are an indulgence. You're not the first my lord had taken, nor the last, but you certainly are the most foolish."

Childe knows that. He does. Zhongli's 6000-years-old, for Archon's sake. It would be inconceivably stupid to believe there's anything special about him. He's but a footnote in the life of an immortal who will live long after Childe's siblings' children's children have died and then a couple of centuries on top of that. His heartbreak—and he gags a little every time he refers to it like that—is nothing, will mean nothing in the future.

And he knows that. Obviously.

Or so he tells himself as he feels the last threads of his control fray and snap.

(Fight. Kill. Hurt. Fight. Kill. Hurt. The noise blackens the edges of his thoughts, making it hard to think straight.)

Had he done this on purpose? Entertained a conversation he knew would rile him up? One that would remind him why he hated Zhongli so?

Self-loathing or subconscious cunning?

He finds he doesn't care much as he absently summons hydro to his fingers and shapes a small knife. Xiao's cat-pupil eyes track the motion, but otherwise, remains unmoving, like Childe's pulled out a sunsettia instead.

"Ouch. You wound me, Demon Conqueror," Childe sidesteps Xiao, careful not to break eye contact just yet. "Strong words considering . . .Well, you know."

"Considering what?" Xiao snarls quietly, eyes narrowing as the air darkened around him. There was a challenge in his voice, a silent dare.

(Yes yes yes yes fight fight fight.)

"Considering I am but a lowly vision-bearer, hardly worthy of Celestia's attention," Childe grins wolfishly, lining up his final strike even as he turns his back. "And yet, I am still here. Whereas the honorable Lady Guizhong is long dead and go–"

***

("Well, that was hardly necessary."

A shrug. "Most things I do aren't.")

***

The heartbeat before Xiao actually attacks, Childe feels the shift in the air, suddenly charged. He somersaults sideways, just barely evading the polearm blade where his chest had been.

He bounces back on his toes, his knife elongating into a familiar blade. Its counterpart swirls around his other hand, the rippling edges seemingly humming with the same wild energy ripping through him.

Where Xiao's snarling face had been, now sits a fearsome mask.

So, this is the Vigilant Yaksha.

Childe bares his teeth. Fun.

He slashes forward, aiming a flurrying of strikes at his chest that are all—annoyingly, excitingly—parried by long sweeps of Xiao's polearm.

Childe doesn't know what he's expecting as their blades clash, watching as his hydro projectiles are ripped into delicate droplets by violent gusts of anemo.

Xiao doesn't fight like Zhongli—the man's a lesson in brute force lined in elegance, or perhaps, elegance dressed as brute force. No one fights like him.

No, where Zhongli lives and moves like the embodiment of the Geo element, Xiao fights like a bladed breeze, sharp and unyielding in a way Childe rarely sees anemo wielded. He moves with near blinding speed, jumping between the spaces Childe doesn't see and attacking where he can't turn fast enough to parry.

Long story short, Childe's getting his ass handed to him.

Annoyed, he tightens his grip on his blades, drawing them together into a polearm. As fun as this is, the hunger in his blood has calmed, and he's slowly but surely recognizing the amount of shit he'll get into if Zhongli or the Traveler find out he mangled their precious yaksha.

Not that he's making much headway on that front either, but still. There are, unfortunately—infuriatingly—more important things that need his attention, and the longer they stand here the more likely it grows that the sigils evade his grasp.

He moves backward, creeping toward the edge of the hill, giving Xiao less open space to work with. He bends his knees, waiting, watching—there!

He anticipates the jump before it happens, catching the streams of green and black energy flickering in and out of existence. Jamming his polearm into the soft earth beneath him, he kicks himself off the ground and swings his body the same way Zhongli had several hours ago. (It's hard to believe it's still the same day.)

When Xiao reappears, Childe's already there, throwing him off balance in his haste to avoid getting kicked in the head.

That should be the end of it. Keyword: should.

Only. Childe didn't really think past getting Xiao away from him. Nor did he consider how he planned on keeping himself from barreling off the hill once he did.

The hill's edge doesn't appear too far off the ground, but Childe tries to catch himself, regardless, tripping over his feet and rising to his toes to maintain his precarious balance–

–only for Xiao to suddenly slam into him, sending the both of them careening off the edge of the hill and into the terrain below.

The next couple of moments are a blur of blue and green and blue until he comes to a stop in some prickly bushes. Childe groans, stumbling to his feet and tugging his sleeve free from a wayward branch.

Xiao's already upright because of course, he is. He probably landed on his feet like the feral cat he pretends he isn't. His mask is in hand, and for an incredulous second, Childe wonders if he's going to start fighting him again, in which case, damn what Zhongli or Aether will think, he will find a way to kill him.

But no. Xiao simply sighs and hangs the mask back on his waist. He looks more perturbed with himself than anything, the wisps of dark energy nowhere to be seen.

"Are you injured?" He asks gruffly, eyeing Childe warily. Was he actually worried? How cute.

"Fine," Childe wipes the blood from his split lip, wincing a little. The ache for blood's abated some, sated with their fight. The black noise has faded into a distant drumbeat, there but manageable. "That was fun. We should do that again sometime."

"You baited me." Xiao deadpans, confusion drawing his delicate brows close even as he frowns. He shakes his head with a sigh and looks away. "There's something wrong with you, Fatui."

"Tell me something I don't know." Childe laughs humourlessly. "You're the second immortal I've fought. Or, third. I'm still not clear on how old Aether is." The first was Zhongli, although, that had been before Childe realized he was an Archon. Good times all around.

Xiao's yellow eyes dart to him, then away, unease creeping its way into the set of his shoulders.

Childe squints, increasingly bewildered by his companion's behavior. "Something you want to share with the class, Xiao?"

The adeptus opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "I– You–"

"–Jumpy Dumpty, go!"

Childe barely has time to make sense of what seems to be a war cry when an explosion shakes the ground violently.

"What the fu–!?" He swears, catching himself from falling on his face again. Xiao hasn't been moved but he looks just as perplexed.

They exchange looks and run in the direction of the blast.

Childe's not sure what he's expecting when he breaks through the underbrush, but it certainly isn't a little girl in a red coat, several fumbling Favonian Knights, and a man wearing what looks to be a dead Abyss mage on his shoulder.

He is, ironically, locked in battle with a live one, expertly slashing forward and leaping back to avoid its jagged icicles. At the last minute, the vision on his waist lights up a cool blue, frost rushing across its small limbs and hardening into ice. With a sweep of his hand, the Abyss mage shatters.

Compared to the other Favonian Knights, tripping over themselves to avoid getting frostbitten, burnt to a crisp, or bludgeoned by a hilichurl, Fur Coat's the only competent adult on the field.

The other is a little girl throwing bombs and giggling gleefully.

Between the two of them, the others aren't in any real danger, but it's amusing to watch.

"Their form is terrible," Xiao's face is scrunched up in disgust. "At least the Millieth is somewhat capable of handling themselves."

"We should help," Childe suggests, summoning his blades. This would chase away what lingered of his bloodlust, ensure he could focus for the rest of their mission.

"Wait, we can't just–!"

He leaps into the fray, his muscles groaning with the reminder of his fight with Xiao and subsequent fall. The adrenaline flooding him at the moment currently offsets the nightmare that's sure to be his body when he comes down from his battle high.

There are startled yells of surprise at his appearance, but he ignores them, cutting through hilichurls in a tempest of shifting blades and thrown arrows.

At some point, Xiao also jumps in, making quick work of the ones he leaves behind.

In the aftermath, he pants, the red tinting his vision clearing until everything looks normal again. The hunger in his blood settles down to almost nothing. Present—always present, always calling—but calmed.

"Well, then," Fur Coat becomes Eye Patch when he turns around, his remaining blue eye gleaming with interest. "What do we have here?"

Childe snickers in reply and looks around, still coming down from his battle high as he takes stock of his surroundings. He doesn't care much for the baffled knights eyeing Xiao with a mixture of fear and awe, choosing instead to focus on the little girl in red who'd brought them there to begin with.

She's small, nearly Teucer's size, with blonde hair gathered in pigtails that part over elf ears and hang beneath a cute little hat.

She's engrossed in conversation with the stuffed animal hanging from her backpack—something about a Mr. Fluffball blowing up? Adorable, Childe decides.

When Red finally looks up, visibly unfazed by the carnage she's exacted, she smiles brightly at him and waves excitedly.

"Hi, stranger!"

He waves back, feeling his withered husk of a heart swell. Archons, he misses his siblings—the younger ones especially. Teucer, Tonia, and Anton. He should really write to them more, maybe send a kamera so they can take pictu–

–The hairs on his neck rise sharply, suddenly, and he blinks.

In her enthusiastic greeting, Red doesn't see the Abyss Mage rising from the bushes behind her, lifting its staff to attack.

Eye Patch inhales sharply. "Klee–!"

Childe moves without thinking, drawing his Foul Legacy form over him like a painful, ill-fitting glove. He blinks out of existence–

–and reappears at her back, spearing the Abyss Mage through the chest and throwing it for good measure. It breaks apart into dust against a tree.

"Woah!" Red—Klee—gapes."You're a robot-monster-looking thing!"

The threat gone, he folds back into himself and feels more than sees his vision nearly white-out in pain.

Stupid mistake. He still hasn't recovered from battling the Traveler and saving Teucer. Foul Legacy is less a secret weapon and more of a debilitating weakness at the moment.

He sways, expecting the ground to meet him, and is surprised when it's Xiao instead.

"Aw, how kind of you." He grins toothily, feeling out of it, his mouth full of cotton. "Your father would be so proud of you."

Xiao scowls and promptly drops him. A shorter fall, he supposes, but still. He groans. "I don't know why I even try."

"Apologies for the interruption," Eye Patch walks over, Klee tucked into his side with a gloved hand resting protectively on her head. "But it seems thanks is in order. For a lot of things."

"There's no need." Xiao grouses.

"Uh, plenty need," Childe complains, feeling his edges blur and melt. His body feels so very heavy. "I'm about to pass out."

"Oh, fu–freak." Was the last thing he heard before the world went black.

"Sir? You have a visitor outside the cathedral."

"No."

"Um. P-pardon?"

"You're mistaken." A familiar voice states bluntly. "I am unfamiliar with nearly everyone in this city save the idiot mortal on that cot. How could I possibly have a visitor?"

"He, uh, said, you would say that. He also said, there's some almond tofu and a song on a Dihua flute waiting for you if you join him."

". . ."

"If you're, um, worried about your friend, he's almost completely recovered. Sister Barbara is the Church's best healer, and she'll be popping in soon to finish up the recovery process."

"He's not my friend." A sigh. "Have someone alert me when he wakes."

"Of course, sir. I'll escort you out."

***

Childe painfully cracks his eyelids apart and immediately regrets it, groaning as the light streaming from stained glass windows and spotless white walls assault his senses.

"Careful, sir," A soft voice cautions. "Take your time."

He isn't dead. That's good. Being alive is good even if it feels like his skull is going to split open if he ever opens his eyes again.

"My name is Barbara, and I'm a deaconess of the Church of Favonius. Can you tell me your name?"

"Ugh," his thoughts slowly piece together. Ajax? No. Not for a long time. "Childe."

"Nice to meet you, Childe." Barbara sounds nice, if not a bit nervous. "I'm going to begin the last cycle of your healing, ok? Tell me if anything hurts or if you want me to stop."

"Sounds good, Doc." He braces himself for a stinging throb of electro, recalling Scaramouche's particular brand of healing with an internal wince. Instead, a gentle coolness begins to seep into the places that still ache, and he makes a soft noise of surprise.

His headache dims into nothing and when he opens his eyes again, he finds he can stand the brightness of the room. An infirmary, he deduces with a quick scan. The other cots are empty save for a kid who's fast asleep, a bandage wrapped around both arms, his white hair stuck out in tuffs.

He looks to the girl at his side—Barbara can't have been older than 16—and watches as light blue whirlpools swirl around her hands and floating spellbook. Her pale blonde hair falls in coiling pigtails, framing large blue eyes, and she wears a white frock open at the shoulders with blue frills and a large bow in front.

The hydro energy that glitters and sparkles at her command is far gentler than anything he will ever have the capacity to wield. Where his vision is used for bloodshed and carnage, hers looks like it's only ever been meant to mend and soothe.

She reaches his chest and suddenly frowns, the hydro around her hands faltering.

"How long do I have left?" He smiles lopsidedly, only semi-teasing.

"Oh, sorry. You're nearly set, it's just–" Barbara shakes her head, biting her lip in confusion. "There's a wound that I can't reach. It's almost like it doesn't exist at all, but I can feel it."

The Foul Legacy.

Well, that checks out. Celestial energy can't touch what the Abyss creates, they're the antithesis of the other.

"Your diagnosis?" He asks when she finally pulls away.

"Hm, well the good news is that you are technically healed." She places her hands on her hips and gives him a surprisingly stern look. "As for that mystery wound, it is healing, albeit slowly and weirdly. The best I can tell you is not to aggravate it any further. It feels. . . really bad."

She shudders almost unconsciously.

So, long story short: only summon Foul Legacy on pain of death and even then, don't

"Cool. Great. Good advice," He sits up, stunned to find all his lingering aches and pains truly gone. He feels like he can take on several Ruin Guards and then some. He's almost tempted to try. Maybe a rematch with Xiao. Speaking of–

"Hey, was there someone in here with me?" He quickly laces up his boots. "Um, small, green hair, yellow eyes, gave off murdery cat vibes?"

"Yes!" Barbara claps her hands. "He had to go meet someone, but the Acting Grand Master said she'd be glad to give you an escort to him after she's spoken with you."

Childe stared at her blankly. "The Actin– Did she mention why?"

"No, but you're so lucky to get to speak with her," she sighs disappointedly, tugging on a curled lock of hair, and seemingly oblivious to Childe's bewilderment. "I'm too busy managing Church affairs and trying to keep everyone calm."

About what, Childe wonders. Nevermind that. Could he sneak out? Maybe jump out a window? Anything to avoid another diplomatic incident in Mondstadt. Damn Xiao for leaving him alone. Damn Signora for jumping their Archon.

"There are some knights waiting to escort you outside," Barbara informs him brightly, mistaking the annoyance on his face for confusion.

He tries not to show how unhelpful that is, rising to his feet. "Thanks."

Sure enough, two armored men stand outside the door.

Childe could overpower them and make a break for it, but somehow that feels like it would make matters worse. So, he simply smiles and makes small talk as they lead him to a room down the hall.

He can hear the murmurs of hushed conversation before the door even swings open, revealing a blonde woman at the head of the table, a lady clad in purple, and Eye Patch.

"Acting Grand Master Jean, we've brought the prisoner."

Prisoner? Childe raises an eyebrow, and the blonde—Jean—looks slightly embarrassed, but nods.

"Yes, thank you." She waves a hand. "You are both dismissed. Please stand guard outside."

They salute sharply and spin out the room, the door closing behind them with a soft thump.

"Prisoner?" Childe asks aloud, and the purple lady snickers.

"I apologize. There seems to be a rumor going around that we've captured a Harbinger," She glares at Eye Patch who makes a, 'who me?' face. "I assure you that's not the case. Although, I do have some questions about what a high-ranking member of another Archon's military is doing in Mondstadt."

". . . Understandable." He admits, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. "Ask away."

She looks briefly taken aback but quickly schools her expression into one of cool professionalism. "First, a formal introduction. My name is Jean, and I'm the Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. This is Captain Kaeya and Librarian Lisa, my second and third. And you are?"

"The Eleventh Lord Harbinger," He grins, and then a bit more diplomatically. "But everyone calls me Childe."

"Oh, how quaint," Kaeya purrs, setting his chin on the back of his hand. "I guess I'll ask the question on everyone's mind: why's another Fatui Harbinger gracing our fair city?"

"For no reason as nefarious as my colleague, I assure you." He soothes, affecting the diplomatic cadence he hasn't used since arriving in the Harbor. He's a little rusty but doesn't think he sounds too deranged. "I'm actually here on behalf of Liyue. A couple of thieves stole some treasures of national importance and I was tasked with recovering them with one of their adepti."

"National importance, you say?" Jean muses thoughtfully. She exchanges covert glances with her advisors, and Childe wonders what he's missing.

". . . We've recently found ourselves in a similar situation," Jean begins, then cuts herself off when Lisa delicately clears her throat.

"Do forgive my rudeness, dear Jean, but should we really be trusting a Fatui of all people?" She winks at Childe. "No offense, cutie, but the Archon of Liyue was recently announced deceased. How do we know you didn't have anything to do with it?"

Because he didn't. Not really. Well. Kind of.

But ultimately no.

Saying any of that out loud, however, is a one-way ticket to getting committed or sent back to the infirmary to be treated for insanity.

To his surprise, Kayea comes to his defense. "I don't know anything about dead gods, but I do know he helped me and my team out in the woods. He also protected Klee."

Jean makes a small noise and Lisa appraises him a little less suspiciously. "In that case, we've recently had a break-in at the cathedral—someone trying to steal the Holy Lyre der Himmel."

"Trying?" Childe sits forward, interest spiked. "They failed?"

Jean grimaces while Kaeya snorts. "More like the lyre's hardly a threat in the condition it's in, but Barbara and the Church are still up in a tizzy about it."

"We can't afford to dispatch people to find it at the moment, not with the increase in Abyss attacks around Mondstadt, but if you happen to stumble upon it during your search..." Jean trails off meaningfully. 

"I'm not Signora," Childe says helpfully. "And Sneznaya has no business or agenda in Mondstadt as of now. I'd be happy to return your lyre to you if we stumble upon it."

Jean's face relaxes, the tiniest bit of warmth creeping into her blue eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And if it's a matter of trust, you can trust my companion, if not me."

"Ah, yes." Kaeya agrees, drumming gloved fingers against the table. "The adeptus. He's entertaining our local bard at the moment."

"Oh?" For some reason, Jean's shoulders loosen further, and a small smile blooms across her face. "Well, that makes me feel a lot better."

"Should it though, love?" Lisa asks, and Jean seems to seriously ponder the question before shaking her head. She rises from her chair and the others do the same.

"Nevermind that. Sir Kaeya, please escort Master Childe to his companion."

"It would be my pleasure," The captain grins.

"May the winds bless your travels!" Lisa flutters her fingers in salutation before slipping them into Jean's, tugging her out of the room and leaving him alone with Kaeya.

"Thanks for the assist," Childe says, following him out of the office and then the front door of the Cathedral. The Anemo Archon towers in the center of the courtyard, his wings outstretched protectively, and Childe briefly wonders what it'd be like to fight someone who could fly.

"Of course. Keep it in mind the next time I need a favor, though." Kaeya suggests slyly. In the light of the setting sun, the captain's dark blues and blacks look out of place. For some reason, Childe is uncomfortably reminded of the other Harbingers.

"What favor could a Harbinger possibly offer a calvary knight?" He inquiries lightly, raising an eyebrow.

"You see any horses in Mondstadt, Lord Harbinger?" Kaeya's smile is full of shadows and secrets. "I make do with what I have."

Before Childe can press any further, a blur of red darts towards them from around the corner and slams into Kaeya's legs.

"Kayea!" She exclaims, her voice familiar. "Klee's bored."

Kaeya laughs, shedding his role like a well-worn coat. "I know, but I'm busy right now. Weren't you supposed to be playing with Timmie today?"

"Yeah, but he's still mad from that one time I blew up his stupid birds." She rolls her eyes dramatically

"Hmm," The captain kneels to her height. "How about you go and find Noelle and spend time with her, ok? I'll come find you when I'm done."

She grumbles under her breath, then peers at Childe from beneath her bangs. Recognition takes a second, but then her eyes light up like fireworks.

"Hey! You're the monster-robot man!"

Childe grimaces at Kaeya's snort but smiles kindly. "Hey, there, Red. You know, I do have a name. It's Childe."

She giggles and tilts her head questioningly. "Why's your name Childe if you're bigger than Klee?"

His heart swells so much he almost squeals. She reminds him of Teucer so so much. "It's my code name," he winks.

"Oh, like my code name? The spark knight?" She brightens further. "Or, or burgeoning arsonist!"

Childe laughs and decides to add her to the very small list of people he would die for if needed.

"Go on now, Klee." Kaeya stands back up. "I'll help you write your next letter to Albedo tonight, okay?"

"Okie dokie," she finally relents with a smile. "Bye, Kayea! Bye, Childe-man!"

"Your sister?" Childe asks after she's disappeared in the direction of the Favonius Headquarters.

"A colleagues'." Kayea amends, moving across the cobblestone streets with long strides. The sun had set some, painting the sky a lovely orange-pink that set the gray stone aglow. "He's rarely here so it falls to a select few of us to watch her. Myself included."

"She's sweet," Childe says, his mind already miles away in frost, in ice, in a small village by the name of Morepesok.

"That she is," Kaeya swings open the door of a tavern called Angel's Share and waves Childe in with an elegant flourish. All the talk and yells and raucous laughter reminds him a little of Wanmin Restaurant in the evenings. Behind the bar, a fire-headed young man watches the chaos blankly but glowers at the sight of them.

"He looks like he wants to kill me," Childe observes with a thrill. "Think I could take him?

"Diluc Ragnvindr," Kaeya rolls his eyes, looking tiredly amused. "The uncrowned king of Mond. No, I don't think you could take him."

"C'mon," Childe pokes. A Ragnvindr had carried a delusion on him once, according to some of Dottore's files. Childe wonders if Diluc still has it on him. It would be quite the fight if he did.

"Maybe I should make myself clearer, Lord Harbinger." Kaeya's smile had disappeared, the good humor gone. "Not, if you want to deal with the both of us. I assure you it's a fight you won't win."

Childe, despite the veiled threat, feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. "Well, we can't have that."

"No, we most certainly couldn't." The lazy smile's back. "Excuse me while I go fill him in." Kaeya bows lowly at the waist then spins with a flutter of his waistcoat. "Your friend's around here somewhere."

As he strides away, Childe thinks about the best ways to get into a fight with Diluc. Although he appears less than thrilled to be talking to Kaeya, at the moment, Childe's willing to bet he has the same unexpected protective streak the cavalry captain sports.

Maybe throwing something at the back of his head. . .?

Yanking his Abyss Mage shawl off his back. . .?

He's not even taken a step forward when Xiao is suddenly at his side, startling him.

"Hey–!"

"Don't even think about it." He says brusquely, manhandling him toward and up the stairs.

"Xiao!" Childe smiles at him, plans of starting a bar fight on hold for now. "Miss me?"

"Like the plague." The adeptus replies dryly and sits them down at a table near the back with several empty bottles of wine scattered about and another person seated across from them.

"So this is whom you ditched me for." Said person titters. "And here I thought I was becoming a bore."

"Wait, is this the mysterious confidant you have in Mondstadt?" Childe asks, giving the boy—teenager? He seems to be around Xiao's age which isn't very helpful because of a pesky little thing called immortality—a once-over. "A bard?"

Xiao looks simultaneously pained and flustered. "Childe, this is Venti. A . . . friend."

Childe blinks at him in surprise. For some reason, it never occurred to him that Xiao had friends that were not the Traveler, talking animals, or his inner demons.

(He doesn't count Zhongli because the man was essentially the adeptus' father and Ganyu, his sister. Which makes Child their step-father– And whoa. Woah. Too weird to think about, moving on.)

Especially a friend like . . . him.

Where Xiao is muted purples and subtle greens, dark colors, his companion looks pulled right out of a storybook—clad in a frilly white top and a teal cape held together by a deep blue and gold bow. The leg Childe can see wears a white stocking, propped up along the chair next to him.

The bard laughs, a sound like wind chimes on the breeze.

The cecilia on his hat can't be anything less than freshly picked, and his light green eyes gleam with an innocence tinted with mischief. He absently strums a lyre, plucking out a song that sounds vaguely familiar.

"Friends, are we?" Venti twirls one of his aqua-tipped braids around his free finger. "It certainly didn't feel that way when you last said goodbye to me."

He's teasing, smirking, and Childe waits for Xiao to tear his head off. Verbally or physically.

Only. . . Xiao doesn't do either.

In fact, Xiao, to Childe's disbelief and dawning glee, flushes a light shade of pink and looks off to the side, instead. He clears his throat roughly.

Visibly pleased with himself, Venti turns his too bright gaze on Childe. For the briefest of moments, it's almost like he looks through Childe, eyes otherworldly in the way Zhongli's could be sometimes.

He blinks, his eyes dim, and Childe wonders if he'd imagined it.

"Childe, you say?" He tilts his head. "I think Paimon's told me about you."

"All good things I'm sure." Childe snorts.

"Never when she's involved," Venti laughs, eyes curious. "What's a Harbinger doing with an Adeptus of Liyue? And one who's earned the wrath of the fearsome Paimon, no less?"

"Oh, you know." Childe stares at him. Really stares. Something pings in the back of his head, distantly. "Have we met before? You know, you look really famili–"

"–We're following a lead," Xiao interrupts sharply, sliding the talisman across the table. 

Venti picks it up and frowns, a slight downturn of his lips. "Where'd you find this, dear adeptus?"

"Must you with the rhymes, Venti?" Xiao rolls his eyes. "Can you help us or not?

Venti opens his mouth and squawks in surprise when Diluc appears at their table, red eyes aflame with annoyance.

"I didn't even do anything!" Childe protests when Xiao shoots him a suspicious glare.

"Believe it or not, I'm not here for you, Fatui." Diluc sneers. He seems vexed with that particular fact but then swings his fiery gaze to the bard. "Venti–"

"–Wait! C'mon, Diluc, you big meanie–!"

"You've been here all day. Before we had even opened, in fact, don't think I've forgotten about that!"

"Ehehe." Venti giggles sheepishly.

"Out, bard." Diluc crosses his arms and pins him down with his stare. "And pay your tab before I never let you in here again."

Silence ensues and Xiao raises an eyebrow at Venti. "Well?"

". . ."

"You're kidding me."

"Hey!" Venti makes an indignant noise. "I'm sorry my lifestyle doesn't attract mora like a certain blockhead, but there's no need to be so rude."

Childe's already reaching for his wallet when Xiao drops a leather pouch onto the table without warning.

"Is this enough?" He demands Diluc.

Red eyebrows dart upwards. Childe looks at Xiao and feels an uncomfortable sense of kinship. Venti beams, absolutely delighted.

". . . Yes." Ragnvindr looks nonplussed, and Childe empathizes.

"Let's go." Xiao orders, rising. "The longer we delay, the colder our trail becomes."

"Right. Right!" Childe scrambles up and flashes a grin at Diluc.

"Tell Kaeya I'll see him around, 'kay?"

"No."

"Bye, Diluc!" Venti sings over his shoulder, skipping down the stairs after Xiao. "See you tomorrow!"

"Archons, have mercy." 

Outside, dusk having chased the sun away, cool air nips at their faces. Compared to the noise of the bar, the quiet stillness of evening is almost too silent. Venti twirls along the cobblestone, humming to himself.

"Do you remember the last time you were in Mond, Xiao?" He asks suddenly. "I do. I believe the Windblume Festival was in town around then. We spent the entire day together." 

"The talisman, Venti," Xiao says, seemingly ignoring him. "You recognized it, no?"

"We had climbed to the top of the Anemo Archon statue near the end of the day, remember? Sitting in his palms and just. . . watching the people below with their families and lovers." A wistful tone creeps into the bard's voice. "It was really nice."

Xiao's next words sound like they're being forced between clenched teeth, like they're causing him physical pain. "I did not come here to reminisce with you." 

A sharp laugh as Venti suddenly whirls around and levels an assessing gaze at the yaksha. "You don't come at all." 

Xiao's skin visibly flushes, but he simply raises his chin slightly and stares back in challenge. "I'm busy." His voice is chillingly even.

Silence. Toe-curling, painful silence.

If this was what Ekaterina went through every time Childe encountered Zhongli on one of their errands, he would have to look into getting her a raise.

He clears his throat. Claps his hands. "So. This is weird. And as fun as it is being caught in the middle of . . . whatever this is, we really do have better things to be doing. Xiao?"

"Of course." Venti's smile is back like it never left. "Let's move this conversation somewhere else, hm?"

He pulls his lyre out from wherever it had disappeared to and strums a few strings, the wind picking up around them. It's only then that Childe notices the anemo vision at his waist.

If Xiao's teleportation was quick, Venti's is breath-stealing. He feels his body dissolve into the wind itself, his limbs becoming as light as dandelions on the breeze. All too soon, he's being pieced back together.

When everything's calmed, he's on solid ground once more, his parts in all the right places. He takes one step . . . and immediately pukes.

As he heaves, Xiao sighs heavily. "Venti."

"Sorry, sorry." Venti chirps with a sheepish laugh. "I forgot how sensitive people are to that."

"I'm fine," Childe rasps, wiping his mouth. His vision clears as he takes in the tree that towers above them on the hill they've found themself on. "Just. Need a minute."

"Here," Xiao shoves a piece of bread into his hand alongside a flask.

At Childe's blank look of surprise, he scowls. "It's water. Eat and drink before you pass out again."

"Where even–?"

Xiao rolls his eyes. "Adeptal energy may be weaker here, but I can still manipulate it to some degrees."

"Oh. Then. Thanks. . ." He accepts the offering warily. 

"When did the Vigilant Yaksha become so kind?" Venti laughs, gently, and Xiao glares daggers at him.

"The talisman, Venti. Explain."

The good humor tapers off as the bard sighs. He sits on the grass, legs crossing. "It's the seal of the people of Sal Vingandyr."

"Who?" Xiao asks while Childe takes a swig of water.

"A forgotten nation." Venti strums some discordant notes on his lyre, unnervingly eerie. "Before the venomous dragon fell and Dragonspine yet named, a people their home in the mountain Vindagnyr proclaimed. Though their realm was one of wind and ice, no god did they serve, and thus paid the price."

Venti stops plucking, eyes faraway. After a stretch of quiet, Xiao's brow knit together, something akin to concern in the curve of his frown. "Venti. . .?"

"Sorry." The bard shakes his head lightly and sets aside his lyre. "Some of their descendants survived the fall of their kingdom and were welcomed to Mondtadst City."

His glance flickered to Xiao. "Much like how the people of Sal Terrae were welcomed to Liyue after the Salt God died."

"But. . . ?" Childe prompts. "There's a 'but' in here somewhere because content people don't normally steal god catalysts, sigils, and magical harps, right?"

"But Celestia set the fall of their kingdom into motion," Venti shrugs. "As such, a few of them rejected the Anemo Archon of Mondstadt. Some never let go of their kingdom. Some are desperate enough to do something about it. I'm guessing your thieves fall into the latter group."

Childe snorts, bread finally polished off. "And they're trying to what? Raise a lost civilization that's been gone for thousands of years? That's impossible."

". . ."

". . ."

"Ok. Reassuring this silence is decidedly not." Childe quips with a tired roll of his eyes.

"The sigils, memory, and lyre. . . " Xiao murmurs to himself, eyes narrowing in thought. "The amount of power such a feat would require is not only dangerous to create but impossible for mortals to wield. Surely they are aware of this."

"Who knows?" Venti shrugs, oddly carefree with the idea of an ancient kingdom rising once more in Mondstadt. "You guys should really stop them." 

Xiao tsks, arms crossing. "You've known about them for a while, haven't you? I would ask why you haven't stopped them, but foolish questions beget foolish answers."

"You know me so well." Venti grins impishly. "Use Venessa's tree to make the jump to Dragonspine. It should lend you enough concentrated anemo energy so you won't have to exhaust your own reserves."

"I'm assuming we can't count on your help?" Childe confirms, although he's not sure how much help an alcoholic bard would be in battle.

"Unfortunately, no," Venti replies, and then adds thoughtfully. "Perhaps, you'll find allies among the frost of Dragonspine."

"Doubtful," Xiao remarks dryly and starts for the tree.

As he walks away, the wind picks up some, faint chimes heard on the breeze. Venti stares after him, a tired kind of sadness clouding his features, then turns to Childe, gaze probing.

"He's right, you know. Humans can't survive concentrated Celestial energy." He raises an eyebrow. "And our dear Xiao is strong, but even he has his limits. How exactly do you plan on stopping them before everything takes a turn for the worst?"

Childe opens his mouth. Closes it.

"We'll. . . figure it out." He settles on. That sounded confident. Like he had a plan.

***

("You didn't though. Have a plan, that is."

"No, shit. It's why I'm here. Dead."

"Oh, you're not dead. Only. Kind of dead."

"Reassuring, my lady.")

***

"Would like some free advice, young Childe?" The bard hums, his teal hair glowing faintly. "Everything has its opposite. Anemo and Geo. Cryo and Pyro. Teyvat is a world of balance. Even out the scales, and you will prevail." 

Nonsensical riddles aside, for a brief window of time, Venti seems infinitely older than he looks. Not unlike Zhongli.

Wait a minute–

Then, Venti smiles at him, the gravity that surrounded him gone like it had never been.

"I like you a lot more than I thought I would, Childe." He admits candidly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do me a favor: Take care of Xiao for me?"

"Why does everyone ask that?" Childe demands, eyes turning skyward. "He can take care of himself. I can too if anyone cares."

Still. He doesn't refuse, either.

He doesn't know why.

"May the Anemo Archon protect you," Venti calls after them, and Xiao gives a strange little snort, setting his palm against the bark. Turquoise streams of energy start to rise from the tree, the vision on Xiao's wrist glowing brighter and brighter.

Venti turns around, his cloak fluttering, and Xiao stares back at him with such naked longing that Childe feels uncomfortable looking.

The wind whips around them, spinning faster, obscuring their surroundings, and when it finally dies down–

–A lonely wind howls down the slope of Dragonspine.

Chapter Text

Dragonspine is frigid, lonely, and bitingly cold. Unwelcoming and inhospitable.

And yet, there is a familiarity that Childe can't seem to shake.

Few people realize that being a Harbinger means more than leading Snezhnaya's military, than being one of the Tsarista's advisors. No, being a Harbinger is kicking and clawing your way up the ranks and then being dispatched to the seven corners of Teyvat at a moment's notice, a living embodiment of Sneznaya's will in the different nations.

Because the Tsarista's grievance with Celestia is not one without forethought. It's a war that's been centuries in the making since the day the Cataclysm shattered the Cryo Archon's heart and froze the pieces into her bitter resolve.

Childe missed Sneznaya, of course. Misses. There are days when he's sick with longing for the cold, the perpetual winter winds, and unforgiving frost.

He supposes he's lucky.

The other Harbingers like to jest that the Tsarista's had a soft spot for him—her young, spitfire Vanguard; made not for ice courts, but frostbitten battlefields—and perhaps there is some truth to this. Childe doesn't exactly keep tabs on his colleagues, but he's the only one he knows of to have gotten the number of leaves he's received to visit his family.

(Quite frankly, he had always assumed the others had murdered their families. Signora used to have a lover, he thinks. The last person who mentioned it nearly got their face burned off.

Scaramouche doesn't talk about his past, but sometimes Childe thinks he sees the semblance of something human flash across his face as he turns a cherry-red maple leaf over in his hands.)

And don't get him wrong—he's grateful. Anytime he's allowed to see his family—the village he grew up in, the memories made there—is more than welcome.

But–

–But his parents don't understand him. Not really. Not for the longest time. Not since he fell. And his older siblings are wary, having picked up on the dissonance he carries within him. They're old enough to have their own families now and though they are kind to him, they keep their distance.

It's for that reason that the younger ones are such archonsends: Anthon, Tonia, and Teucer.

To them, he is not an unsolvable riddle, a son who got lost in the woods for three days and came back strange and different. He is not a damaged younger sibling who leaves in the middle of the night and comes back with hands stained in the blood of whatever creature had been unfortunate enough to stumble upon his path.

He is their big brother. The one who's away from home for long stretches of time, but always remembers to send back letters and gifts and candies.

He misses them. More than anything.

But–

–But home isn't Sneznaya anymore. Not completely. He doesn't know when it happened. It just did.

Home isn't Liyue either, strangely enough. Not entirely, anyway. It could be, he thinks. It's already so close. He loves the harbor, loves the golden colors that paint its landscape, loves its inhabitants of commerce and trade—or perhaps just one inhabitant, in particular.

Loved.

(Childe tells himself that home is not the Abyss. The hell that calls for him in his sleep in the shape of nightmares that lurk and wait and sing, and he's terrified to reply. So scared he can hardly breathe when he finally wakes.

Home is not the Abyss. He refuses.)

Dragonspine is frigid, lonely, and bitingly cold. Unwelcoming and inhospitable.

He's never set foot here a day in his life, and yet–

–And yet, it reminds Childe of home. This frozen hellscape of rage and regret, of dead kingdoms and fallen dragons.

How sad. How utterly pathetic.

It's only fitting that his concept of belonging is as fractured as his mind and soul, he thinks, an acidic smile twisting his lips.

An especially crisp breeze startles him out of his musings, and he takes the reprieve to bask in the cold, savors it even as a small, traitorous part of him yearns for the warmth of Liyue.

Shaking his head, he tries to dislodge the bitter thoughts which have taken root. He's not usually this self-pitying. Too busy fighting, chasing down debtors, and pestering Ekaterina to worry about his mental state or lack thereof.

He blames the invasive quiet of Dragonspine, smotheringly oppressive. Liyue, Mondstadt, and even Sneznaya were always bustling with noise, with life. Save for the crunch of ice beneath his boots and the howling banshee cries disguised as the wind, there is nothing but silence.

(He is not good with silence.)

Childe makes a special effort to direct his attention outward, anything to prevent another fruitless spiral. The sky above them is darkening, he realizes, the threat of a storm threading the air. Nothing to worry about, for now, so he presses on.

Xiao is the only other interesting thing for miles.

The yaksha is, unsurprisingly, light on his feet, seemingly unaffected by the chilly air and swirling snowflakes. Where Child stomps his boot prints into the snow beneath them, Xiao scarcely leaves the faintest imprint.

He's both impressed and annoyed.

"So," He begins.

"No." Xiao interrupts. They pass a smoldering ruin brazier, and Childe lingers for a heartbeat before forcing himself to move.

"I haven't said anything in the past thirty minutes!" He points out, nose crinkling. "Give me some credit."

"Make it thirty centuries, and I'll think about it."

"Where are we even going?" He complains, ignoring him. "Now that I'm thinking about it, Venti didn't give us actual directions. Dragonspine alone is nearly as large Liyue."

"Sal Vingandyr, Fatui." Xiao replies briskly. "Surely you have wits enough to remember a conversation held not even two hours ago."

"Right." Childe drawls, nearly rolling his eyes. "Ancient ice kingdom smote by Celestia for daring to not serve an archon. Prickly little bastards up there, huh?"

***

"Yes."

***

Xiao's face tightens slightly. "Stop talking."

"You know, speaking of Venti," He continues, ignoring the ensuing hiss of irritation. (He's gotten pretty good at that during their trip.) "I didn't know you had a thing with a Mondstadtian bard. Didn't know you had a thing with anyone, to be honest."

"There is no thing between Venti and I!" Xiao snarls, whipping around fast enough to startle Childe to a brief stop. "Speak again, and I cut out your tongue."

Childe doesn't know when he realized it: the more violent Xiao's threats are, the more buttons he's succeeded in pushing. This might certainly be the fastest he's done it, though.

He waits for Xiao to turn around and gives it thirty seconds, before continuing, "He seems nice. A bit light on mora, but who isn't, nowadays. Bit of a drinker, though. I don't think Zhongli would approve of his child courting an alcoholic."

"Your tongue, Harbinger."

"Oh, c'mon," Childe nags, navigating around a glowing red crystal in the ground. It gives off its own heat, the area around it cleared of snow.

"With a jagged rock."

"I know you wanna talk about him."

Xiao scoffs. "I most certainly do not."

Childe glances at him out of the corner of his eye and knows he's lying. Something about being around Venti's softened the yaksha's sharp corners—his shoulders are more relaxed than Childe's ever seen them and there's a slight spring in his step. The drama brewing between them aside, Xiao is better for having seen him, that strange bard.

He attributes his tongue still being in his mouth to this peculiar contentment that's settled over the yaksha.

"Tell me about him," Childe demands, nudging his shoulder slightly, and Xiao must really be in a good mood because the most he does is level a venomous glare in his direction. "This silence is driving me insane, and it's either you entertain me or I go find something to kill and slow us down further. Your choice, yaksha."

A sharp noise that Childe recognizes a beat later as a laugh. "I have met children who conduct themselves with more maturity than you, Harbinger. Why your order lets you roam without supervision is beyond me."

Childe graciously ignores the insult. "What's he like, this bard of yours?"

After a second, Xiao mutters grudgingly, "He is not mine."

"Not answering the question," He sings.

A heavy sigh. "Venti is. . ." He seems to look for the words in the graying sky above them. "Carefree. Fickle. He refuses to be weighed down by anything—worries, responsibilities, . . . people. It's one of the things I admire most about him."

Xiao admiring anything about anyone save Zhongli and maybe Aether on a good day is mind-blowing enough to make Childe nearly miss the frustration that darkens his features.

"But it's. . . He's. . ." His voice trails off, hesitant.

"Shitty boyfriend material?" Childe offers, remembering the tension strung between them like a too-tight bowstring. He considers the yaksha's pinched expression then amends, "Ex-boyfriend material? Believe me, I know what that's like."

"We're not–! We were never–!" Xiao cuts himself off, face glowing a rosy shade of pink. He inhales audibly, then exhales slowly, his breath steaming in the cold air.

"I have known Venti for. . ."—another huff of laughter, bittersweet this time—"some time. I know his inclinations, his patterns. He's flighty at best and noncommital at worst. He's fallen in love before, and it's always the same thing: he composes love songs and poems by the dozens, showers them in kisses, and then he leaves."

A joke sits on the tip of Childe's tongue but he finds he can't get it past his lips, not with the way Xiao's shoulders have drawn slightly close, the way his eyes gleam with hurt even as his words remain even and unaffected.

"He isn't malicious. It simply isn't his nature to be anchored," Xiao continues, the brief show of emotion melting away like it had never been. "I may indulge him at times, but never to the extent he enjoys implying. I caution you against taking him too seriously."

"Oh." Childe thinks back to the look on Venti's face when the yaksha's back had been turned, full of heartache and longing, something a lot like love dancing in between the mischief and weariness of his light green eyes. He thinks, perhaps, Xiao has it wrong.

Still.

He lets the conversation thread slip away, deciding to drop the subject. Oddly enough, Zhongli dances across his thoughts. He finds himself wondering how the consultant is doing. Whether or not Hu Tao is driving him crazy. (Probably.) If he's managed to drive his tab at Lulli Pavilion up to bank-breaking amounts in the hours since his left. (Childe wouldn't put it past him.)

They find a stone path nearly hidden in snow, and Childe's thankful for the more stable ground. Still, he nearly trips on his next step when Xiao speaks to him unprompted for the first time since they began traveling together, "When you saved the child earlier today. . . You've been touched by the Abyss, no?"

"Uh, yes?" His brows draw together, confusion wrinkling his features. Foul Legacy is one of the best-kept secret weapons among the Fatui. The fewer people know about it, the better, technically speaking, but Childe's never been a stickler for the rules all that much, anyway.

Xiao's face is unreadable when he glances at him. "When?"

"Why does it matter?" Childe asks, feeling his hackles raise slightly. He's being defensive, he knows, but the judgment radiating off of the yaksha could not be more obvious if he had painted it across his face.

"It will be the end of you, fool Harbinger," Xiao snaps. "You hack years off your life with every transformation. Your soul–!"

"–Wow, Xiao, I didn't know you cared so much." Childe plasters a sickly-sweet smile across his face as he stomps past him. "You were saying earlier about a jagged rock and my tongue. . . ?"

"Do not mistake my warnings for concern, Fatui." Xiao's back at his side like he never left. "I could not care less if your soul was consumed and your body broken, but it would be cruel to make Rex Laps grieve your death before he truly has to."

Childe sneers at him. "Because Zhongli would know about being cruel, right?"

Xiao rolls his eyes. "If you're referring to the Rite of Descension and all that came after, there were forces at work beyond your comprehension. The adepti were not even aware of our lord's plan until everything had been set in stone. And as for cruelty. . ." The look he shoots Childe is a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "Had you known everything beforehand, would that even have stopped you from summoning Osial? From completing the Tsarista's mission?"

Yes. No. Maybe.

He never got the chance to make the choice, now did he? And perhaps that, above all, was what hurt him. That Zhongli hadn't even given him the option to prove him right or wrong. A pawn on a chessboard.

"Enough about me," Childe sniffs, flippantly steering the conversation in another direction. "Have you popped your pills, yet? I was under the impression they were important, but I haven't seen them make an appearance yet."

Xiao looks painfully unimpressed with him, but at this point in their relationship, Childe would probably die of a heart attack if the yaksha ever showed him any positive regard, so he only raises an eyebrow in response. The yaksha blows out a breath that steams and crosses his arms, looking away. "I will be fine."

"What are they for?" Childe can't help but ask, curious.

"Why does it matter?" Xiao parrots back, the muscles in his jaw working, and touché.

"I thought we were bonding!" Childe exclaims, throwing his hands out and nearly smacking one against the mountain's side. "I mean, c'mon. How many other people know about your sorta-but-not ex-boyfriend other than like, Zhongli or Aether?"

Xiao scoffs but says nothing.

Fine.

Fine.

"I was 14," Childe reluctantly admits, refusing to look away from the path in front of them. "I had run away from home for whatever archons-forsaken reason and got lost in the woods outside our village. The universe must hate or love me—take your pick—because I managed to find a crack into the Abyss. I fell."

Forever, he doesn't say. I fell forever before I hit the bottom.

"I was stuck there for a couple of days,"—or months, he can't remember, he doesn't know—"and then I was free again. Afterward, I was different." He tacks on the end, a bit quieter, "You've seen how different."

Xiao is quiet for so long, Childe's starting to think he either didn't hear him or did and is ignoring him, regardless.

So, he's startled when a gruff voice concedes almost gently, "Think, Harbinger. They're painkillers."

"You're hurt?" Childe hazards a guess, confused.

"Most of the time." A small, bitter laugh. "All of the time. It is nothing I cannot endure on my own, but Guizhong disagreed, and so, Rex Lapis did, as well. Hence, the Referendum Tertiorum."

Oh.

***

"Do you think me naive?"

"Yes. But about what specifically?"

"Ha, ha, ha. You're a riot." A thoughtful pause. "I hadn't realized immortals suffered from the same things humans did. I should have, though."

"Oh?"

"The stories say the Tsaritsa's had a broken heart for centuries now. I don't think gods would choose to feel that kind of misery if they didn't have to."

"That's the cruel irony of it all, isn't it? Of being eternal? Morax's memories slip through the cracks of time, the fierce Golden-Winged King shoulders neverending pain, and the Cryo Archon nurses a broken heart."

The god reaches for her teapot. Fills the cups on the table once more.

"Immortality only means we're free from death. And even that is never a given, dear Childe."

"No offense, but immortality's kind of a bitch."

A snort of humor. "Finally. Something we can finally agree on."

***

Out loud, "Oh."

"Oh." Xiao parrots snidely, lips twisting into a faint scowl.

"But why?" Childe continues, confusion screwing up his face. "Are you sick or wounded or–?"

"It is my debt to pay for eons of slaughter." He replies, his voice carrying the weight of what sounds like years of exhaustion.

"For Morax?" Because he can't imagine Zhongli—the Geo Archon's latest vessel—asking Xiao to hurt a fly on his behalf unless it's for the good of Liyue, and even then, he's probably watching from the sidelines, waiting to help if needed.

Perhaps it's because Childe's own identity has been splintered so that he struggles to reconcile all the facets of the Geo Archon. In his mind, Morax is the war god; the Groundbreaker who pinned gods beneath stone spears. Rex Lapis—may Celestia receive him, etc, etc.—was the benevolent ruler of Liyue, God of Contracts and Commerce.

And Zhongli. . . Zhongli is the funeral consultant who knows a little too much and yet, nothing at all, who's more likely to regale someone a tale from centuries ago in Old Liyuen than have any amount of mora on him.

"Yes and no." Xiao's expression has gone carefully blank. "My previous master was cruel, and so, I was cruel. I pay the price of that cruelty, as well the karmic burden of those who fell beneath my spear on the orders of Morax."

"And you just take it?" Childe asks, brows knitting together. "Don't get me wrong: Zhongli's a stand-up guy when he's not breaking my trust and robbing me blind–"

"–it's hardly robbery if the other party consents and encourages the behavior–"

"–but I don't think I would subject myself to eternal pain just because he asked."

"But you would for your Tsarista?"

Childe opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks.

Xiao glances sidelong at him and tsks. "Rex Lapis killed my former master. Instead of punishing me for my crimes, he freed me. He made me a yaksha, one of his adepti, gave me comrades-in-arms, and Guizhong–"

He breaks off suddenly, jaw clenched. The silence continues as they pass several bare trees and climb up and over several rock shelves in their path.

"And Guizhong?" Childe nudges once they're on smooth ground again.

Xiao hums, yellow eyes distant and soft, and Childe feels strangely uncomfortable witnessing vulnerability where there's usually none. "And Lady Guizhong was kind. She was kind in a world where kindness could not survive for long. Even though I was. . . Even though I had hurt and killed–"

There's a jarring shift in tone here and Childe observes his companion with, to his surprise, a bit of worry. Xiao's shoulders have drawn up, his face is stormy. If Childe squints he can almost see the way the air has darkened around Xiao, tendrils of darkness slowly materializing.

"Haven't we all?" Childe broaches hesitantly. He's not sure what he's doing—he wasn't made a Harbinger for his bedside manner, that's for damn sure—but he wants to do something, to beat back the self-loathing that oozes off of Xiao like poison made airborne.

"Hell, wasn't Zhongli a martial god before all this began? I wasn't led to believe that the Guyun Stone Forest was there for decoration."

"You–" Xiao makes a frustrated sound. "You don't understand. You kill because you enjoy it, because you revel in chaos. Perhaps you were not always like that—I am inclined to believe that the Abyss perverted what remains of your soul—but I did what I did willingly. And so, I pay the price. Always."

Right. Different approach then.

"You're right," Childe agrees brightly, visibly starling the yaksha. The darkness around him wavers. "I don't understand! And it's because I don't understand that I think you're wrong. You're a prickly bastard, and hell, if I know what exactly Venti sees in you, but you don't deserve the pain. No one does."

Xiao's face is, annoyingly, hard to read, feline eyes scrutinizing Childe with a ferocity that feels like the yaksha is looking straight through him and to his soul.

"Also I'm sorry about the Guizhong slander earlier. She sounds like she was pretty amazing." Childe clears his throat roughly and looks away, feeling embarrassment creep up his face in a red flush. This is why he avoids sincerity. Being a good person makes him feel all weird inside; like he's exercising muscles that haven't been used in a while.

"Tch." Xiao suddenly says, whipping his head away. "How little do you think of me to believe that I need apologies and reassurances from a Fatui dog?"

His words lack their usual bite, though, and Childe feels a smile tug on the corner of his lips. The flickering, verdant darkness is nowhere to be seen.

"That being said," Xiao's reluctance speaks volumes. "I. . .suppose. . .it was not my place to cast aspersions on the relationships of my lord."

"Former." Childe corrects even as he grins at the attempted apology. "Former relationship."

Xiao snorts. "Sure."

"You know, if I didn't know better, I would say that you almost sound fond of me." Childe's eyebrows waggle, and Xiao makes a noise of disgust. "Are we best friends, now? Can we paint nails and talk crushes?"

"We're done speaking." Xiao teleports several yards ahead of him, and although he is within jogging distance, Childe stays behind. It's probably the more courteous thing to do.

Frost-touched wind nips at his face, and moments like this make him wish he was a pyro wielder. He lingers near a brazier briefly before going on his way.

Alone, no Xiao to distract him, his thoughts turn over to Guizhong.

It's funny. She didn't matter much when Childe was actually dating Zhongli—mostly because he still hadn't realized he had a fricking Archon in his bed—but now she lives in the back of his head. Lingering, an unspoken confession. A painful realization.

He was her promised, and she was his.

There is a sorrowful churning in his chest that tightens his throat and makes his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, and Childe wonders if this is jealousy.

It's a different texture than what he's used to. Nothing like the irritation that sliced through him when someone would bat their eyes at Zhongli or let their hands linger on his arm until a very pointed smile made them scurry away, faces pale with fear.

That was hot and bitter, full of resentment and possessiveness, but this? This is cold and achingly lonely. As lonely as the frozen wasteland around him. The realization that despite all the lovers Zhongli has taken, he's never felt the same for them as he had for his once beloved.

It's selfish, he knows, this desire to be the one he remembers centuries from now when Childe's siblings' children's children have died.

But he's human, and isn't that what being human is all about: to want more, to reach for more, and always be left wanting?

Archons. He sounds like fucking Dottore.

Childe is so lost in his thoughts, he doesn't hear the noise of alarm Xiao makes until the ground beneath him trembles and he looks up to see a Frostarm Lawachurl charging down the side of the mountain, bursts of cryo exploding in its wake whilst streams of familiar darkness trailed behind.

For the briefest of moments, he wonders if summoning Foul Legacy will kill him before the lawachurl bludgeons him to death, and then he's being thrown roughly out of its path.

"Move, idiot!"

He skids to a stop against the snow-covered cobblestone and summons his blades to block another volley of cryo landmines. They do the job, but he's forced to drop them when the permafrost races towards his hands.

It takes a lot more energy out of him than he likes to admit to keep his blades malleable—they can only last so long in the Dragonspine cold and the Frost Lawachurl makes it worst with the cryo energy it gives off it in sporadic pulses. Childe wonders if it's his imagination, or if this one is more aggressive than normal.

"Fuck!" He swears when he loses another pair of blades. He has to somersault backward to avoid getting his head taken off. "Of all the places to be a fricking, hydro wielder."

"You are somewhat adept in archery, yes?" Xiao asks, darting around in flashes of green. Keeping the lawachurls' attention off of him, Childe realizes. "Perhaps you can make use of that particular talent before you tire yourself out being a mindless, attack dog. "

Childe makes a noise of offense. "Rude."

"Keep it off balance," Xiao orders, his polearm materializing in hand. "It is my responsibility and so, I will dispatch of it."

"How– Oh." That explained the creepy, dark aura then.

The lawachurl barrels towards Xiao, roaring, and the yaksha feigns a strike forward before disappearing and reappearing elsewhere, blinking in and out in green flashes of light. It's the strangest game of cat and mouse he's ever seen.

"Why do you get to have all the fun?" Childe sighs but summons his bow. He looses arrows in quick succession, keeping the monster from grabbing his footing. When it gets too close, Childe sends a wave of hydro across the ground and watches it freeze instantly, taking the lawachurl's feet from out underneath it. It's probably the closest he'll ever come to being a cryo wielder.

"You know, we're kind of a good team," Childe calls to Xiao when he appears above him, perched a tree whose roots gripped the mountainside precariously. In front of them, the lawachurl tries and fails to get up. 

The yaksha rolls his eyes, "Celestia spare me."

There's an enraged roar, and he jumps at the same time Childe rolls out of the way, sending the lawachurl headfirst into the rock.

Childe goes to lift his bow again when the lawachurl sweeps his hand out and slams into him, throwing him back, hard. He hits a tree with a thud and groans.

"Damnit." He hears Xiao growl. He stumbles to his feet, trying to shake off the shock. "Fatui, are you–?"

"–To dust!" A familiar voice shouts.

Golden stalagmites erupt around the lawchurl, and Xiao takes the opening, slicing through what little remains of the creature's defenses. In the meantime, Childe turns around and grins at their savior. Pretends he hadn't been getting his ass kicked by a hilichurl on steroids of all things.

"Why, hello there, Traveler. Fancy seeing you here!"

Chapter Text

Contrary to what the rumor mill likes to churn out, Childe actually likes Aether.

If he's being honest with himself—and Archons know how much he loves that—he probably shouldn't.

After all, the Traveler is a person of unknown background with strange abilities roaming the land of Teyvat in search of his female body double; not to mention, an unexpected and worryingly persistent snag in the Tsarista's plan.

It doesn't take an astrologist to see that whatever's going to go down in the future between the Archons and Celestia, Aether's going to be in the center of it, and chances are he won't be on Childe's side of the battlefield.

It would be easier if Aether wasn't so much. . . himself.

Kid's the human equivalent of sunshine—and hell, if he actually is human, nothing would surprise Childe anymore—with a streak of infuriating goodness that somehow manages to comes across as endearing rather than vomit-inducing.

His smile's as distinct as his golden braid, always sincere (always a little sad). And though Childe's heard him complain about commissions and the errands he has to run, for the most part, Aether's always ready to lend a hand to whoever asks.

(The savior of two nations, now, and he still finds time to read poetry to hilichurls and save Reckless Pallad for the third time that day, whoever the fuck that is.)

Childe looks forward to their figh–ahem, sparring matches. Sporadic their respective schedules may be, they're fairly consistent when it comes to this. He can't go all out with the Fatui beneath him without worrying about permanent brain damage and going toe-to-toe with Zhongli always leaves him a curious combination of angry and aroused—something he doesn't have to worry about with Aether, thank the Archons.

He hadn't been lying when he said their fight in the Golden House wasn't anything personal. The only real consequence was proving La Signora's initial assessment of the Traveler wrong. It was crystal-clear, now, that Aether was a threat in the making.

Still.

Threat or not, Childe finds he prefers his company to that of his colleagues. Ironically, he doesn't have to worry about being stabbed in the back. Or front. Or sides. Or his face. (Cough Scaramouche cough.)

Had life been different, had he not given what remained of his soul to the Tsarista, perhaps he would have joined him on his search for his sister. As it is, he's happy to make do with what they have.

Their last encounter, some several weeks ago, went a little something like this:

"So how are things going with Zhongli?" Aether had called to him, deftly dodging the hydro wave Childe sent crashing towards him.

"Easy. They're not," Childe grunted, darting forward to slice across his chest. "And we don't talk about him, remember? This is supposed to be my safe space."

Aether sighed tiredly, launching backward, "I don't know what's sadder: the fact that your safe space is literally just a place where you get beat-up or the fact that it doesn't surprise me as much as it should."

Childe attempted to pat him sympathetically with his hydro spear, only for a gust of swirling anemo to force him back.

"Why?" He had asked afterward, laying back on the grass, muscles burning pleasantly.

"Hm?"

"Why'd you ask? About Zhongli?" He tried not to sound too hopeful, aiming for nonchalant and missing by several miles when he continued. "Did– Did he say something to you? Not that I care. Or whatever. Ahem."

When Aether hadn't immediately replied, he'd rolled over on his side to look at him. The Traveler sat cross-legged, leaning back on his hands, surveying him with an uncharacteristically piercing gaze.

"What?" He wiped his face haphazardly. "Do I still have blood on my face?"

Aether shook his head, an unbearably smug grin stealing across his lips. "Nah. Just thought you didn't want to talk about him, that's all."

He huffed. "I don't." 

Aether raised an eyebrow.

"I don't." Childe rolled back over, throwing an arm over his eyes. "I'm an enemy agent wanting information on a former target. It's purely professional."

"Uh huh."

"Ugh. Shut up."

A soft snort.

And then, a jolt of understanding. ". . . He didn't actually say anything to you, did he?"

And if Aether's snorting laughter turned into a screech after a hydro whale came to life above him, then no one but Childe needed to know.

Presently, Aether waves at them warily, a confused little smile tugging the corner of his lips up. His little fairy creature floats around his head making a fuss about a picnic basket he had apparently dropped in his haste to get to them.

It takes a minute, but she finally recognizes their presence, as well, exclaiming, "Childe?! What the heck are you doing here?"

Childe shudders from the force of shriek and almost wishes she hadn't noticed. He'd forgotten how high her voice could go. He glances over his shoulder in time to see Xiao jump down from the Frostarm Lawachurls's corpse, its remains crumbling to dust. "And with the Vigilant Yaksha?"

"We're on vacation," Childe grins, lopsided, and Xiao flips him off.

"Right," Aether's sword disappears from his hands as he bends down to pick up his basket. "That's not suspicious, at all."

"If anyone's suspicious it's you," Childe points out, amused. "Having a picnic? Up here? In those clothes?"

Aether flushes pink, indignant as he wraps an arm around his middle. "Shut up. And no. And, shut up!"

"Paimon told you, you need to get a coat." Paimon half-giggles, half-scolds. "You're the only weirdo who comes up here dressed like that. If you're not careful, you're gonna catch a cold and die!"

"If it means I don't have to hear you nagging anymore, I'll take my chances," He snips back, and Paimon crosses her arms, scowling.

"Fine, then! Be like that! Paimon's sick of hearing you whine about how can't get a dat–"

"– What are you doing up here, Traveler?" Xiao interrupts, gaze sweeping their surroundings one last time before settling. "Last one heard, your search had taken you to Inazuma."

"That's the plan," Aether's smile is like summer, bright against the snowy backdrop of the mountain, and he rocks back on his heels slightly as he talks. It's refreshing, the restless energy the Traveler effortlessly carries, a welcome difference to the mania that claws underneath Childe's skin.

"We're waiting for Captain Beidou to make some final preparations and decided to visit a friend in the meantime."

"Oh, is that what this is?" Paimon grumbles, and shrieks when Aether swipes at her, a sudden blush staining his cheeks. "You crazy person!"

"Perhaps, you'll find allies among the frost of Dragonspine," The bard had grinned, Childe suddenly remembers, a knowing gleam in his seafoam eyes.

Huh.

"Hey, did anyone else know you were coming up here?" He asks, just to make sure. "An alcoholic bard, perhaps?"

Aether lets go of Paimon's leg and blinks in confusion, tilting his head slightly. "I don't think so? I mean, I said hi to some of my friends, but no one really asked, so I don't remember telling anyone."

He's tempted to brush it off as a coincidence, but Aether's being there feels too intentional to be anything less than partially orchestrated somehow. Childe's beginning to draw his own conclusions on how long Xiao's truly known Venti.

"I do not see why this matters," Xiao gripes, exasperation coloring his tone. "We waste time with pointless musings."

He's not wrong. Unfortunately. Annoyingly. Childe shrugs and sets the realization aside to puzzle over later.

Aether looks between the both of them, brows knitting together as dark golden eyes assess them, "Honestly, I feel like I should be the one asking questions. What are you guys doing here? Together?" His eyebrows draw together further, "Should I be worried? Is Liyue in trouble?"

"Again?" Paimon groans. "It was fine when we left!"

"Do not jump to conclusions," Xiao growls, yellow eyes flashing. "Liyue remains under the protection of the adepti and Liyue Qixing."

"Well, that's a relief." Aether smiles reassuringly at Xiao, and Childe can almost see his metaphorical hackles lower. Leave it to the Traveler to have taming feral adepti down to an art form. "You wanna tell me why you're here, then?"

"Tch."

Aether's voice is wry, lined in obvious fondness when he says, "I forgot how much I've missed our conversations, Xiao."

"Think what you like." His companion mutters, but then grudgingly adds, "I . . . am reluctant to admit a similar sentiment."

Aether brightens, and Xiao glances away.

"It's a long story," Childe offers when it looks like Xiao actually has no intention of explaining their mission. "I don't suppose you have somewhere warmer for us to tell it?"

Aether shivers as if suddenly remembering his lack of appropriate clothing and the temperature which seems to be dropping the darker the sky gets. "Sounds interesting. I have just the place."

There's a waypoint nearby that lights up as soon as Aether nears, and then they're approaching a campsite tucked into the side of the mountain in a small cave.

Two lit braziers glow at its entrance, warming Childe down to his toes as he steps in and glances around.

There are several shelves, each filled haphazardly with books, and worktables that hold beakers and vials of glowing liquid. He accidentally kicks and then picks up one of the crumbled pieces of paper scattered across the ground, revealing the half-finished sketch of a cryo whopperflower.

Tucked into the back of the cave, almost like an afterthought, is a tent, the flaps pinned back slightly to reveal a neatly made cot.

It's a lab, Childe suddenly sees, the pieces coming together as he steps over a warming bottle.

A campfire crackles silently in the center of it all, casting a warm glow across everything—including the boy at one of the workbenches, seemingly indifferent to their arrival, if he's even noticed them at all.

"Uh, Aether?" Childe attempts, taking a startled half-step back. "Who–?"

"–Albedo!"

Ah.

Albedo is probably the only one amongst them dressed for Dragonspine's cold, donning a long, white hooded coat and tall boots that rise to his shorts. His ash-blonde hair sways gently in the slight breeze, pulled away from his face in a braided half ponytail, and when Aether calls, startling, pale blue eyes stare back at them blankly.

"Hey!" Aether skips forward and lifts the picnic basket onto a semi-cleared table. "I got the ingredients."

Albedo blinks, turning his gaze from them to Aether, his face easing into a minuscule smile. "For the sunshine sprat? Thank you."

"It was no problem. Happy to, um, help!"

While they talk, Childe looks around for Xiao and finds him leaning against the cave wall closest to the flames, his cat-like eyes turning metallic as he stares at Albedo with the strangest expression, his mouth set in a hard line.

"What?" Childe asks when he's close enough, casually turning over another leaf of paper as if he isn't ready to draw his blade at a moment's notice. 

"Nothing," Xiao replies, frowning.

"That face doesn't look like nothing. It looks like the opposite of nothing."

Xiao's gaze glints with annoyance, and Childe smirks, "A peculiar aura surrounds the Traveler's companion. That is all."

"Like me?" Childe glances at the boy who can't be but a few years younger than himself. "Abyssal energy?"

"No. Different." Xiao refuses to elaborate further, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, "This is for Barbatos to deal with, idiot poet."

Childe rolls his eyes—he thought they were past being cryptic for no reason, but he guesses not—and approaches the other two, catching the tail's end of their conversation.

Paimon and Aether are tripping over themselves trying to talk to their friend, Paimon coming out on top through sheer volume alone, "–hard to catch at first but then we figured it out. And then there were some hilichurls to deal with and a hypostasis cube, but it turned out all right and–"

"–Paimon, let me get a word in!"

"But you're always talking to Albedo. Paimon feels left out!"

Albedo's pale eyes dart to Childe and then Xiao, and he clears his throat delicately. There's a tattoo of a star there, Childe notices. "I hate to interrupt the both of you, but do you mind introducing me to your companions?"

His voice, soft and even, sounds faintly amused even as his face doesn't shift from that strange tranquility. His expression teeters on the fine line between polite indifference and complete boredom.

Aether blinks, flushes, and then smiles shyly, "Right. Almost forgot. Albedo, these are some friends of mine: Childe and Xiao. Guys, this is Albedo, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius."

"Nice to meet you," Childe grins, throwing him a casual salute. "I hadn't realized that academics could be knights, as well."

"That's because you haven't turned a book in late." Aether shudders, horror stealing across his face briefly.

Albedo doesn't seem to have heard him, or Childe for that matter, a peculiar gleam lighting up his eyes from the inside as he studies the pair of them, Xiao, in particular.

"Xiao. . .That name sounds . . . You're an Adeptus, aren't you? One of the illuminated beasts of Liyue?"

The adeptus in question eyes him warily but gives no reply.

"Fascinating," Albedo continues anyway, head tilting. "Xingqui told me a little about your order, and Aether filled in some details, but there's still so much I do not know. Tell me: do you prefer a humanoid form? Do you have an animal one? And if so, can you switch freely between both?"

"Tch." Xiao glances away dismissively. "That does not concern you, Alchemist."

Childe can't help but snort, amused by Xiao's discomfort. "Probably a feral cat or something."

His laughter catches in his throat when Albedo's gaze snaps to him, a strange chill crawling down his spine as pale blue eyes dissect him.

"And you. . . I've never known a human to have as potent a connection with the Abyss. You haven't merely been touched, you carry a piece of it in you. That your mind isn't tearing itself apart is a scientific miracle. Or maybe. . ." He trails off, eyes flickering across his face, reading him. "How are you still sane?"

Albedo's interest is clinical, lacking the mania that often accompanies Il Dottore's prodding questions, but it is no less unnerving in its intensity. Childe resists the urge to lean away. Instead he bares his teeth in a sharp smile, partially to scare him off, partially in genuine curiosity, "Who said I was was?"

Albedo pauses, expression turning thoughtful. "Fascinating."

"Albedo," Aether interrupts gently, sounding rather used to this side of the alchemist. "Remember what we talked about?"

Albedo blinks owlishly at Aether, almost like he's coming out of a trance. "Hm?"

A silent conversation passes between the two of them, nothing but a series of slight eyebrow twitches and looks Childe can't decipher. Finally, Albedo sighs and looks away. The nearly unhinged curiosity is gone, replaced by a calmer, unclouded gaze.

He takes a step back from where he'd been leaning over his table and bows his head slightly, "My apologies. I tend to get ahead of myself."

He doesn't sound too torn up about it, but Childe appreciates the effort to play nice. For some reason, he's reminded of the times Zhongli has had to talk him down from brawling in the streets. It didn't take much—a slight press of his palm against the small of Childe's back, a raised eyebrow, the gentle tug of his chin back to him.

In Aether's indulgent smile he sees the echo of Zhongli's and feels the bruises of his heartache once more.

Ugh. Was there nowhere in Teyvat he could be free from this?

"Would you all like something warm to drink? Dragonspine gets quite cold in the evenings, and there seems to be a storm brewing."

"That sounds great, thanks!" Aether beams, already heading for the campfire. "While you do that, I'll get started on dinner and our stowaways can finally explain what they're doing out here."

"It does not concern you, Traveler," Xiao says. "I thought I made that clear."

"I know, but we're friends, remember?" Aether sets the basket down and grabs a nearby cauldron. He hangs it above the flickering flames.

"That's right!" Paimon chirps, a sunsettia in her small hands. How she's still afloat when it probably weighs half her body weight is a mystery to him. "And friends share things."

Xiao grumbles something out and rolls his eyes, but Childe doesn't miss the small smile the curls the corner of his lips. Nor the way he eventually concedes, "Explain it to him, Harbinger."

"Say the magic word." Childe teases, collapsing across from Aether.

"Explain it to him, Harbinger, or I gut you in your sleep."

Aether snorts.

"Charming." He says drily, but because he's a far kinder person than Xiao, he continues. "We're on the trail of some of the descendants of Sal Vindagnyr. They've stolen a few trophies on their journey and we need them back."

"Oh. The people who used to live on Dragonspine, right?" Aether's tossing things into the cauldron with one hand and fending Paimon off with the other. "I think Venti's mentioned them in one of his stories. What'd they steal?"

"Nothing too important," Childe sighs, counting them off of his fingers. "The Sigils of Permission, the catalyst of a dead god, and a broken, magical lyre."

Aether freezes and even Paimon stops in her pursuit of food to stare at him.

"Are you–? Is this a joke? Are you joking?"

"I would not travel with a Fatui Harbinger for a joke," Xiao can't sound anymore disgusted if he tried.

"We think they're trying to raise ice zombies," Childe explains, getting to the gist of it all.

"Restore their lost civilization." Xiao amends when the Traveler glances at him.

Aether's eyebrows have been climbing steadily higher during the explanation and now nearly disappear into his hair. "And that's . . . possible?"

"In theory," Childe doesn't jolt, but it's a near thing. Albedo hands Aether a wooden spoon and passes steaming cups to Childe and Xiao. The adeptus makes a face but takes it. "It'd require quite a serious amount of divine energy, an understanding of the ley lines, and some fairly advanced alchemy."

Childe takes a cautious sip and is immediately warmed by the taste of hot apple cider spiced with cinnamon. It has nothing on Snezhnayan firewater, but he nearly moans aloud. "Alchemy you could do?"

"Of course." He'd admire the easy confidence if it was there. Instead, his tone is matter-of-fact,  inflection nowhere to be heard.

"Could you. . .stop it? Er, stop someone else in the process of it?"

Albedo makes a small noise before sitting down next to Aether, legs crossing beneath him. "Maybe. Most likely."

Childe considers that and then shrugs, "I'd gamble on maybe and most likely."

"You would." Xiao scoffs.

Aether's stirring the cauldron with a slight frown, "This all sounds really dangerous. Maybe Paimon and I should come along."

"Your presence is hardly necessary–" Xiao begins, and Childe's tempted to agree for once. More people means more people to look out for when he inevitably loses control again, ideally in the direction of the thieves. Barbara's healing powers aside, exhaustion looms in the distance, held at bay only by leftover adrenaline and flimsy self-control.

"I agree with Aether," Albedo interrupts calmly. He's uncrumpled one of the papers lying around, and Childe catches a glimpse of a windwheel aster. "You'll need help navigating the Starglow Caverns to get to the Entombed Palace—the former capital of Sal Vingandyr—and neither of you wields geo visions. I do, and Aether can resonate with the element."

He continues, "Not to mention you'll need an alchemist's help to avoid the ley lines that have become volatile, as of late, as well as defusing the equivalent of an alchemical bomb."

"You would do this with. . .Khemia." Xiao says, face unreadable. It's not really a question, but Childe can't help but feel like he's searching for something.

He raises a finger in askance, "I'm sorry, but what's Khemia?"

Instead of replying, Albedo brushes his fingers across the paper in his lap. The lines light up like liquid moonlight and then the flower's in his gloved hand, glowing faintly. He considers it thoughtfully before handing it to Aether. The Traveler takes it slowly, a pink flush spilling across his cheeks.

"Simply put, it is the art of creation. It is incredibly likely that the descendants of Sal Vindagnyr are using a perversion of this alchemical branch to achieve their goals," Albedo finally answers. "I'll need to use Khemia to counter them. Will that be a problem, adeptus Xiao?"

Xiao's narrowed gaze is as heated as Albedo's impassive stare is cold, the tension between the two of them palpable.

Aether plays nervously with his hair, glancing at Childe questioningly, and he shrugs, just as confused. Xiao isn't the nicest person, sure, but he didn't pick fights for no reason. Something about Albedo had put him on edge. 

"Uh, Albedo and I can handle ourselves," Aether interjects cautiously, gaze darting between the two. "You don't need to worry about keeping us safe, and with the four of us, we'll be in and out in no time. Right, Childe?"

"Yes. Right," Childe clears his throat and claps. "Sounds good to me. Xiao, comrade?"

"Do not call me that." The yaksha breaks his staring match to glare at him, glance at Aether, and then finally away, "Fine."

Outside, the wind howls fiercely, and Albedo peers past the braziers into the swirling snow. "Snowstorms rarely last long around here, although with the ley lines as tangled as they are anything is possible. I suggest we set off during the next break in the storm."

"Good idea," Aether jumps to his feet, stretching his arms above him. The windwheel aster's been tucked into the tie at the end of his braid. Perhaps eager to keep the peace he asks, "Xiao, do you mind giving me a hand with one of my commissions before we go? There's this boar nearby that's been kicking my ass lately, and I need to stock up on meat."

Xiao grunts but pushes off the wall, setting his cider aside.

"Thank the Archons, I've been so bor–"

"–No." Xiao interrupts. His gaze darts to Albedo meaningfully. Watch him, it says. "Conserve your strength for later, Fatui."

Childe groans. "Fine. Whatever. Don't say I don't do anything nice for you."

"Tch." Xiao disappears in a flash of green.

"Don't stray too far," Albedo advises, gracefully rising to his feet. "I'd hate to have to pause my experiments because you got blown off the face of the mountain. Again."

Paimon huffs, cheeks glowing. "That was one time and not at all Paimon's fault!"

"Your concern warms the heart, Kreidprinz," Aether teases over his shoulder, and Albedo waves him off, his attention already turned to something else.

Abruptly alone and bereft of anything to kill, Childe tries to pass the time by watching the alchemist, using the wooden spoon Aether left behind to eat whatever he'd been preparing. 

Albedo moves about the cave methodically, sifting through his shelves until he finds the book he's looking for and cracks it open at a table. He flips through the pages, glances at something, then begins measuring and pouring some sort of chemical into a vial, swirling it around and adding various powders.

He's not Il Dottore, Childe has to keep reminding himself, but he's similar enough that he finds himself wondering what Zhongli had seen in him, in this strange academic knight to gift him a geo vision.

Perhaps it's too early to cast judgment, but Xiao's reaction to him aside, something about Albedo is just. . .off. His movements are too precise, too fluid, his features too perfect, almost inhumanly so, and not in the adepti or archon sense.

(He almost reminds Childe of–

–But that doesn't make any sense. Right?

But there are these moments, he suddenly remembers, when he's not actively making the people around him miserable, and there is something off about him, something old, and Il Dottore made a joke once–)

"Are you busy?"

Childe blinks in surprise, drops the spoon back into the cauldron. "Uh, no–?"

"–Then hold this." He thrusts the container in his direction, already reading another page, and Childe notches an eyebrow before rising to his feet. He takes the beaker, startled by the cold that leeches through his gloves.

Albedo flips through a couple more pages and slams the book shut. "Follow me."

Childe does to another worktable where he begins anew with new beakers and vials.

"How'd you know?" He finally asks, needing something other than the crackling flames to fill the silence. "About the abyss thing?"

"Hm?" Albedo doesn't even spare him a glance. "Oh, that? The exhaustive response is difficult for the common person to understand, but simply put, the ley lines react to you oddly."

"Did you just call me stupid?" Childe asks then shakes his head, "Wait, no. Conversation for another fight. First, the ley line thing. Don't they always do that? React to things?"

"Not exactly. Normally, their flow is static." Albedo takes the beaker from his hand. "They typically strengthen near vision wielders—they light up like dying stars in Aether's presence for reasons I have yet to discover, but I digress. When other forces are interfering, they even have a tendency to tangle themselves up."

"But with me?" Childe urges.

"But with you, they're repelled. Like they can't exist in the same space as you. If I were poetic, I might even liken the phenomenon to the ley lines being scared."

"Well, they should be," Childe aims for flippant and misses it by several yards. He presses on regardless. "I am the Tsarista's Vanguard, after all."

"Hm," Is all Albedo says mixing his concoction. The liquid bubbles and froths a worrying gray before Albedo squeezes a couple of drops of something clear into it, and then it settles into the color of sea-foam, gold lights blinking in and out of existence within its depths. 

"Pretty. What's it do?"

"Ideally, it'll allow pyro whopperflowers to maintain their shape in the cold long enough for me to conduct some experiments with Aether."

Childe blinks at him. "This– This has nothing to do with our mission, alchemist."

"I don't recall ever saying it did." Albedo reaches for a cork and shoves it in place with surprising strength. "Did you have another question for me?"

"I. . .If you weren't being poetic," Childe begins haltingly. "What would you say was wrong with me?"

"I don't know you." Albedo replies, dryly. "Nor am I a doctor. If it is a medical examination you want, the Deaconess of the Church are suitably compete–"

"–Try." Childe interrupts. "C'mon. I know you're a little curious. I saw that look you got before Aether talked you down. Given the chance, you would have dissected me in a heartbeat."

". . .I would have asked permission."

(Il Dottore would not have.)

"The unknown is. . .captivating," Albedo continues after a beat. "As a scholar of science, I cannot help but be drawn to it."

Aether, Childe doesn't say. He's the embodiment of the unknown.

"I do not know you," Albedo repeats, but finally looks away from his worktable to stare at him, those pale blue eyes reflecting the cave like glass orbs. "But if demanded to make a hypothesis, I would hazard a guess that you've gained the ability to tear yourself apart and reconstruct your form around abyssal energy. It is only natural, that with time, some parts will no longer stick or become contaminated. This will most likely manifest in abyssal tendencies even when you are not actively drawing on its power." 

The bloodlust. The itch beneath his skin.

"You'll lose control one day," Albedo says suddenly, and for the first time since meeting him, Childe thinks he sees a sliver of emotion in his face. Sympathy.

Childe feels colder than cold. "Maybe."

"Maybe." Albedo repeats.

Chapter Text

The Starglow Caverns, Childe must admit, are hauntingly beautiful.

Small blue flowers sprout from frosted grass, ghosting their surroundings in a hazy azure that straddles the line between calming and sinister. Glowing, blue stalagmites cast harsh shadows across the walls and rock formations that hang from above even as they light their way. True to the their words, Albedo and Aether prove useful, opening passages in the stone where none had been before and bridging gaps between jagged cliffs with golden, geo constructs that fall apart soon after. 

Looking back on it, Childe really isn't sure how he and Xiao planned on getting through or navigating these caves between their hydro and anemo visions. 

He picks up one of the glowing rocks scattered from Aether's rather random destruction of the blue shards—something about needing the materials for weapon enhancements or whatever—and studies it, almost laughing when he holds it up to the frail light to reveal a sapphire blue shard veined with gold.

In spite of himself, he pockets it, turns around in a slow circle to take in the cavern's quiet beauty, creepy as it is. Zhongli would love it here. Would stay for hours, if he could, Childe knows, and lecture on the properties, the origins, the uses of the minerals here.

And Childe would understand only half of the words that came out of his mouth, would interrupt and tease, and fall in love a little more with every indulgent smile sent his way.

"I still can't believe they didn't mention anything wrong when I was in town," Aether is complaining as he drops a geo construct onto several jagged stalagmites, shattering them into sparkling pieces that Xiao blows away when a few get too close to taking an eye out. "I spoke with Kaeya, for goodness sakes!"

"On purpose?" Albedo asks, his tone faintly incredulous. 

"Oh, be quiet," Aether waves at him dismissively. "Like the two of you aren't best friends."

Childe snorts.

Albedo looks absolutely baffled which is to say his eyebrows raise slightly. "We most certainly are not, and I resent that you and nearly everyone in Mondstadt have bought into that lie. May I remind you that Sir Kaeya has the unfortunate tendency to spread falsehoods as he breathes: often and irritatingly."

"What were they planning on doing anyway? The Sal Vindagnyr descendants, I mean," Aether continues, seemingly moving on from the subject of the calvary captain with an easy smile. "It's not like no one's going to notice snow zombies marching into Mondstadt."

"My guess is that they would have tried to overwhelm our forces," Albedo muses as he swiftly traces the outline of a glowing flower onto the wall in front of him. "With Sir Kaeya and the Knights preoccupied with the recent Abyssal attacks, and Lisa, no doubt, concerned with the ley lines around the city, they'd be entirely defenseless in the face of a sudden attack. "

"You give the thieves too much credit," Xiao grumbles."The Knights of Favonius give me the impression that a group of particularly angry squirrels could have done the same."

Albedo doesn't rise to the bait, his face as smooth as the surface of a lake in Snezhnaya as he mutters something and pushes a hand forward. The flower sigil pulses with light then surges forward, carving a new path in the stone.

Aether snorts, eyes glittering with amusement as he strides forward. "I think you would get along great with Diluc, Xiao."

"Oh, we've met!" Childe grins, skipping forward to nudge Xiao with his elbow. "And his little bard friend."

"Oh?" Aether throws Xiao a sly smile over his shoulder. "How was it?"

Xiao's golden eyes turn flinty, "We spoke. And then we left. There is nothing more to discuss."

"Yep, totally," Childe draws the word out to see the irritation play across the adeptus' face. "We're just going to ignore the fact that he couldn't say two words to you without your face turning into the equivalent of my hair color."

"I will murder you, Harbinger," Xiao threatens, voice tight with menace, and Childe just laughs. 

"So when you say you spoke with him. . ." Aether grins, and Xiao looks like he would murder him too had he not decided Aether was not worth it months earlier.

Funnily enough, it's Paimon who comes to his rescue when she gets her tongue stuck on one of the icicles in the opening up ahead, "Aever! Helf, helf!"

"Paimon, I told you to stop licking random things!" Aether jogs over to her, nearly tripping over Albedo who's laid out on the ground drawing something in the frosted dirt.

"Wha–? Albedo, why didn't you help!?"

"Hm?"

A small sigh. "Nevermind."

"So, real-talk, do all the adepti know about your little crush, too?" Childe asks, only partially rhetorical. The grass crunches beneath his boots as he walks. "Because I genuinely want to know what Cloud Retainer thinks of him."

"Tch."

"That's not an actual word, you know."

"Hmph."

"Neither is that," Childe grins, and Xiao shoots him a dark look before turning his head away.

With nothing to do, Childe absently summons one of his hydro swords, letting his vision's energy soothe the raging, abyssal waves crashing inside him. Albedo's words haunt him, and though he doubts there's a direct correlation since they left the alchemist's little campsite, he's felt that ancient, feral hunger claw at his insides once more.

He aches for a fight, for blood to spill and stain white snow red. He wants to hurt, to main, to let this darkness spill out from between his fingers and-

"Harbinger," Childe blinks and looks at Xiao who watches him, hand poised over his mask, slightly. "Are you well?"

"I–"

"Have I offended you somehow, adeptus Xiao?" Albedo suddenly asks, appearing between them silently, and Childe nearly decapitates him out of shock.

"Archons, Alchemist." Childe releases his sword and rubs his face. "A little warning would be nice."

Albedo spares him a brief glance that Childe pretends is at least slightly apologetic before turning back to Xiao.

"Have I?" He asks again.

Xiao's eyes narrow at him. His hand lifts from his mask as he crosses his arms.

"Ah," Albedo says, even though he hasn't said anything. "I make you uncomfortable, don't I? It's a common sentiment among carbon-based life forms, but I had never considered the inhuman in my observations."

Wait, what?

"You are not human," Xiao says.

"Neither are you," Albedo says.

"Wait, what?" Childe asks.

They both ignore him, holding one of the strangest stand-offs Childe's ever been witness to.

It didn't seem to bother him, he suddenly notices, the cold. He'd dismissed it before as him being dressed warmly, but it's more than that. In fact, Childe doesn't think he's seen his breath steam once since he began talking, hadn't deemed it necessary to look past the way his shoulders and chest moved. But. . .if he had been faking it. . .

"If my existence is distasteful–" Albedo begins when Xiao interrupts sharply.

"–I am not one of the Four Winds of Mondstadt, Alchemist. What happens in this nation concerns me little nor do I care to stop you from practicing the distasteful magic you call alchemy," Xiao pauses then, his gaze shifting to where Aether argues with Paimon. "But understand me when I say Aether is kinder than most, even when this world has been cruel to him. Know I will not hesitate to strike you down if you prove a threat to him or any of those close to me."

The threat lingers between them, and then, to his surprise, Albedo smiles. An honest-to-archon smile that raises the hairs on Childe's arms slightly even though there's nothing particularly wrong about it. Nothing obvious, anyway.

Xiao blinks, visibly taken aback, before his expression hardens into one of understanding. And Childe is so confused; feels like he's on the first page of a book that Xiao's already read and Albedo's annotated.

"Thank you," he says, sincerity threading his words, and then he turns around, leaving to return to his work.

"Strange fellow," Childe breaks the silence between them first, and Xiao grunts.

"I don't suppose you're going to explain what it means that he's not human?" He attempts, not very hopeful.

Silence.

"Yeah," he sighed, rocking back on his heels. "That's what I thought."

A couple of yards away, Albedo pulls Aether's braid over his shoulder, tugging his attention from his little friend, running gloved fingers through the ice that had settled in his hair. He says something, quiet, and the traveler's face is set aflame as he stumbles through a reply.

"Well, he can't be too bad," Childe smirks, letting his hand settle on his hips. "They're in love. Just like you and that little bard."

"Shut up," he mutters mutinously. "Like you have any ground to stand on."

The barb pulls a laugh out of him, his guard lowering in the face of Xiao's rare acknowledgment of his (former) relationship with Zhongli, so he's taken by surprise when the heaviness from before settles on his chest like a physical weight, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

He thinks of warm eyes, gentle hands, darkness, and mouths filled with too many teeth, and he shakes his head sharply, only semi-aware of the concerned(?) look Xiao sends his way.

"Harb– Childe?" He hazards, and yeah, that's concern in his voice, clear and startling as ice. Childe only wishes he could acknowledge it, could tease him for it, but Albedo says something about the ley lines and surges and Childe–

–What he would give for a moment's respite from his damned thoughts, from his damned feelings–

Without thinking, he kicks a rock across the cavern and watches it strike the far wall with a sharp crack.

Not two seconds later, the ground begins to shake.

"That wasn't. . ." Childe falters slightly when everyone's eyes snap to him. He resists the urge to raise his hands in surrender. "Was that me?"

"Alchemist?" Xiao growls, drawing his polearm.

Albedo frowns, his eyes tracing patterns only he can see. "Something's happened. The ley lines are surging, weakening the already delicate fault lines in place."

He begins to draw something complicated in the air, golden lights streaking up the walls and forming flower sigils that flicker and shatter with each subsequent tremble. 

"What are you–?" Aether begins, then stumbles. Paimon rushes to stead him.

"Using my solar isotoma to stabilize the cavern," Albedo replies, hands moving quickly. "Unfortunately, the further I spread my power, the weaker my hold."

As if to punctuate his point, a chain of flower sigils shatter into golden pieces, and the rock behind them fractures, raining jagged stone onto them.

Xiao moves faster than Childe can blink, knocking away larger pieces, anemo whipping around him in green strands.

"Get us out, Alchemist," He strikes another rock with his polearm. "The Harbinger and I can handle the rest."

"Hell, yes," Childe grins, summoning his swords, his blood humming. He needs this, needs to imagine bodies falling to stay focused, stay present.

Xiao holds his gaze briefly before sliding his mask on. The message is clear, the last mantra running through his head: stay in control.

"Albedo?" Aether asks, his sword already drawn. Gone is the playful boy from before, a hardened warrior taking his place with an ease that has never not unsettled Childe slightly.

"Keep me steady," Albedo orders, the hand that isn't maintaining the cavern's integrity is starting another solar isomata on the closest wall, preparing to create another opening.

Childe channels the electric energy of his delusion, this time, lets purple, light wreathe his movements as he matches Xiao step for step, dashing stalactites into shimmering pieces and keeping his companions from being impaled.

And it's working; Albedo is making a progress, getting ready to do something when–

–when Xiao lands at the same time a particularly vicious tremor shakes the cavern.

–when Xiao stumbles slightly, loses his footing.

–when Xiao doesn't see the stalactite above him dislodge with a bone-chilling groan and plummet toward him at a speed that turns Childe's stomach, that sends pure panic across Aether's face because he knows.

He knows he can't get there in time. Not if he's protecting Albedo, not if he's the only one responsible for the golden glow keeping the ground beneath the alchemist's feet steady.

So.

Childe moves. 

His delusion gives him the boost he needs to get there, electro energy setting his nerve endings on fire, as he maneuvers smoothly around falling debris and shattered rock.

He shoves Xiao hard, at the same time Albedo carves a new opening into the rock, and the adeptus slams into them both, sending them all through.

Good, Childe thinks. Then, wait.

The golden, flower sigils above him shatter, Albedo's concentration broken with his fall, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Childe did not think this through.

Xiao's the first person up, surprise breaking his face open in a way Childe has never seen, and he looks so young at that moment. Confused. And isn't that a funny thought because the adeptus has centuries on him.

Take care of Xiao for me, Venti had asked.

Watch out for each other, Zhongli had said.

Childe wonders if this is what either of them had in mind.

He smiles shakily, gives a two-fingered salute. Xiao opens his mouth, his brows furrowing–

–And the cavern collapses between them, blocking him from view. 

Dust rises in the aftermath, threatening to choke him, and he might actually die if he does what he's planning to do, Barbara's warning ringing in his ears, but it's either that or be crushed to death.

Foul Legacy comes with the gentlest tug like it had been waiting to be used or better yet to consume. The hunger nearly incapacitates him, his vision feels so distant, its song so far away.

The cavern gives one final shake, one last death throe, and Childe uses what remains of his mind to reach, reach, reach–

There.

The Abyss opens beneath his feet–

–And he falls.

***

"Well, fuck."

"You said it, Lady."

A delicate laugh. "Pardon my language, but to be honest, Ajax, I am. . .surprised."

"What, you thought I'd let the kid die?"

"I didn't know what you would do."

"People rarely do. It's what makes me dangerous." A baring of teeth that pretends to be a smile. Or maybe it's the other way around.

The cups are shuffled. The god offers a small cake on a crystal plate rimmed in gold.

"Thanks, I'm starving."

"The Abyss, then." A small sip of tea, warm and fragrant. "You told me this was where everything changed, yes? How you came to find yourself here with me?"

"Yes, and no," A thoughtful pause, a disbelieving chuckle accompanied with a slight shake of his head, ginger waves tousled in an invisible wind. "So, I open the door into the Abyss, right? I normally use it to teleport during battle or whatever but never to stay there. Ever. But that's not the point. The point is this: I meet Aether's fucking sister."

" . . .Who?"