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Chapter Text

In Snezhnaya, there is no such thing as ‘warm weather’. There is blizzard and no blizzard and that is, essentially, the extent of the nation’s climate. During the times in which there is no blizzard, Mikhail and his wife Ania like to take walks, bundled up in their furs to ward off the below freezing temperatures.

Most typically, they simple bask in one another’s presence in silence, enjoying a moment to step away from the hassle of daily life and just enjoy one another. Today, however, Ania had suddenly gripped Mikhail’s arm.

“Do you see that?”

He peered through the trees, brow furrowed. “I see snow,” he confirmed, with a smile as he presumed she was simply joking. A game they played, frequently while walking. ‘I spy’, except they always chose ‘I spy something white’.

But today, Ania isn’t joking, and she grips her husband’s arm tighter. “I’m being serious, Mikhail,” she hisses. “I think there’s someone laying in the snow over there!”

Mikhail frowns, squinting his eyes as he tries to see what she sees. “I don’t–”

“Please, Mikhail, we have to check it out.”

He really isn’t seeing anything at all, but he complies and allows his wife to drag him over to the large clearing. For a long time, he really doesn’t see anything at all. But then Ania gasps and squeezes him tight, pointing to something on the other side.

He squints and it’s not until Ania takes off and begins digging at the snow that he finally sees–

“Oh shit.” He runs and tears at the snow mound. Now he sees what his wife had seen, though he has no idea how she’d spotted that small bit of ginger hair amongst the snow. The more of the man they uncover, the more Mikhail has a very bad feeling.

And then he sees the scratched pin on the man’s jacket and he swears again, grabbing Ania’s shoulder.

“Ania,” he says quietly. “Ania, there’s a Fatui base nearby.”

She pauses. “What about–” He points to the broach. Ania’s eyes go wide. “Oh no.”

“Get someone,” Mikhail orders. “Get someone here, now. Tell them…” he swallows thickly. “Tell them we just found the Eleventh Harbinger.”

……………………

Three weeks later

Dottore talks and he talks a lot. Complaints, mostly. Whines as he checks over Tartaglia, pleads for The Tsaritsa to allow him to experiment on the boy while he sleeps, because they don’t know if or when he’ll wake. It’s all fake, they know. Dottore putting on a show to pretend he isn’t just as shaken as everyone else, by the state Tartaglia was returned to them in.

But The Tsaritsa has long grown tired of the complaining, fake or no, so when Dottore begins another ranting tangent, she sits tall in her seat at Tartaglia’s bedside and boldly declares,

“You should dismiss yourself from this room, Dottore, before I dismiss you from your title.”

And her Second is stubborn, she knows that. She knows that and she loves him for that but even he knows when to bend and give in and with a quick, short, informal bow he vanishes from the room. As soon as the doors swing closed behind him, the Cryo Archon relaxes with a sigh, turning her attention back to her youngest.

“Dottore is quite enthusiastic, isn’t he?” She tells the sleeping Harbinger, carding a hand through his mussed ginger locks. “But he truly is teasing, little one, I promise.” She sighed, gaze returning to the door. She’ll need to have a word with her second, she supposes. She had not meant to be so crass , but…

Well…

“He worries,” she told Tartaglia, moving her hand from his hair to instead adjust the blankets around him. “That is all. And he attempts to cover it up with bravado. False bravado, mind, but bravado nonetheless.”

She falls into silence then. Tartaglia remains still and unmoving. Deeply asleep, with ugly purple marks flickering on his cheeks, down his throat. A painful reminder of how deeply she has failed him.

When he was fourteen—a child , who should have been sheltered and protected by his family, not cast out into the forest with not but a dull knife and no experience to defend himself—he had happened upon a rare entry into The Abyss.

From what little she has been able to learn, The Tsaritsa muses that he was down there for three months, every day a fight for his life, before he finally managed to crawl out, clutching a sharp, silver Hydro Vision. But his family did not accept how he had changed, how he had been forced to change, and thus cast him unto the Fatui.

And though she is pleased to have him at her side, to have him as the Eleventh of her most loyal children, there is no mistaking the anger she feels at the thought of the scorn and abandonment he was forced to face first.

And now here he lies, trapped in the throes of that monstrous place once more, far beyond hers or any other Archon's reach. Though his body lays in stasis before her, kept breathing and alive by a surfeit of Dottore’s potions and serums, his mind is deep below the Earth and ground, far from any help.

She is an Archon, Goddess of Love, and all she can do is sit helplessly while her littlest suffers right in front of her.

………………………

There is always someone at his side. She does not, will not, allow Tartaglia to remain alone. If she cannot be with him, she sends another Harbinger in her place. Today it is Scaramouche and she is pleased when the small puppet nods and concedes without argument. 

Of course, she had not been expecting him to argue. They all care deeply for one another, after all. Still, it warms her heart to see how they will step in without hesitation when another of them is in need.

“I shouldn’t be long,” she tells him as he gets comfortable in the seat she had vacated, indigo eyes staring down at Tartaglia. “I simply owe Dottore an apology for earlier.” And there are, unfortunately, several other things she may need to check on, but perhaps Pierro can handle that in her stead.

“Dottore needs no apology,” Scaramouche told her, but the words are clearly for show and there’s a hollow expression on his face as his eyes do not leave the figure on the bed. The Tsaritsa simply leans down to press a tender kiss to Tartaglia’s forehead.

“I will return when I can,” she tells both of them. With a final glance to her Sixth and Eleventh, she slips from the room and heads to the basement where Dottore’s lab resides. The further down she goes, the colder it gets, and it makes her raise an eyebrow to curiosity.

Dottore hails from Sumeru, one of the warmer nations, yet refuses to allow them to install heaters down closer to his personal chambers, resulting in his own rooms being some of the coldest, almost enough to rival even her own.

She approaches the doors and knocks lightly. Dottore answers within seconds. Or rather, one of his segments.

“I’d like to speak with Dottore, please.”

The segment doesn’t say a word, just steps aside and lets her in. she heads directly to Dottore’s office, a small room crammed into the back corner. It’s a mess, papers strewn everywhere and empty cups of coffee littering the deks.

He looks up but drops his gaze swiftly enough, when he sees her. “Majesty.”

“I shouldn't have threatened you with demotion,” she tells him. “I hadn’t meant it. I was simply stressed. But that does not make my response to your stress fair, especially when I know you were only joking.”

“It is not a matter I should have joked about,” Dottore said calmly.

“It doesn’t matter.” She gingerly perches herself on the chair on the other side of his desk, the only non covered object in the room. “It was your way of relieving stress. I’m sorry.”

Dottore didn’t say anything for a moment. The Tsaritsa allowed the silence. After several long moments, he softly said,

“May I…tell you something?” He glanced up at her. “My professional opinion, as Tartaglia’s physician.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think he’s going to wake up.” He swallowed thickly and dropped his gaze again. “At all, I mean.”

“He isn’t dead.”

“No, but…comatose. And The Abyss, it…Majesty, it was some form of a miracle that he survived that experience the first time.”

“You don’t think he’s strong enough to survive it this time?”

Dottore sighed, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “But in my personal, professional opinion…I don’t think he’s going to wake up.”

The Tsaritsa nodded. “How long do you predict until–”

“I don’t think he’s alive anymore,” Dottore admitted. “I think it’s just his body going through the motions, now.”

“How long until that stops?”

“Hard to say,” Dottore replied. “I wish I could though.”

“Should I inform the others?”

Dottore thinks for a moment. “No,” he finally decides. “Let them have this. Let them have the belief that he’s going to wake up.”

“They’ll hate you when they find out.”

“Once Tartaglia stops breathing," Dottore murmured. “I think we’re all going to hate me.”

With no reply to that, The Tsaritsa let them drift into silence.

…………………………..

Six months later

“I suggest we celebrate when he wakes up.” Dottore didn’t look up from his notes at the comment, but Pantalone was not a man easily swayed by lack of reply. He simply continued to brush Tartaglia’s hair as he said, “He dislikes parties, but I doubt he would decline if it was just the ten of us.”

“Hmm.” Dottore set his papers down and leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands together in his lap and staring blankly at Tartaglia.

“What do you think? We could have his favorite foods, Columbina and Scaramouche could decorate. I would, of course, financially support everything.”

“ You would part with your mora?” Dottore raised an eyebrow. “That’s a surprise.”

“Well, it would be to celebrate Tartaglia’s recovery of course,” Pantalone replied. “I suppose I could bear to spend some of it.”

“And yet you wouldn’t give me anything for my project last month.”

“Your project was stupid and expensive,” Pantalone replied sweetly. “I’m a banker, Zandik, not an idiot.”

Dottore scowled at the use of his real name, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head away. Pantalone just rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses further up his nose before turning his attention back to Tartaglia.

“What became of his family?” Dottore glanced over. “His mother and father and siblings.”

“His siblings are well cared for by Arlecchino,” Pantalone replied.

“And his parents?”

“His father committed multiple points of treason.” The banker’s eyes flashed as he glanced up. “He won’t ever see the outside of the royal prison again.”

“And his mother?”

“She claims she never struck Lia, but never did anything to stop her husband when he did,” Pantalone replied. “She’ll spend at least the next fifteen years in prison.”

“And after that?”

“Indentured servitude to the elite, for the rest of her life.”

“What of their assets? Money and home and property.”

“All have been seized and placed in Lia’s name until his older siblings can be found and contacted. After that, property and objects will be dispersed amongst them.”

“And finances?”

“All will go to Lia, as per protocol. Financial compensation and all.”

“His siblings won’t be happy.”

“He’s a Harbinger. I’d like to see them try and tell him no.” Dottore nodded. He stared down at their youngest. Finally, Pantalone picked up on his dull mood and he straightened up. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a bad liar, Zandik.”

Dottore sighed. “He isn’t going to wake up.”

“How can you say that?”

“It’s been six months since he was found. We don’t know how long he was down there. We don’t know how long he was in the snow when he came back.” He looked up at Pantalone. “He’s not waking up.”

“How can you say that?” Pantalone demanded. “How can you have so little faith? He’s breathing , Dottore. His heart beats.”

“I didn’t say he was dead,” Dottore pointed out. “I said he won’t wake up. We’re keeping his body alive but sooner or later, it’s going to give in. He hasn’t had proper food or water since before he fell. Eventually, his body is going to collapse.”

“Get out.” Dottore complied without a word. Pantalone glared after him, then turned his attention to Tartaglia, gently brushing a lock of hair from his closed eyes. “He’s wrong,” he murmured. “You’ll wake up. Sooner or later, you’ll wake up. Because you don’t give up that easily. I know you don’t.”

Chapter Text

“You haven’t missed anything,” Scaramouche said, feet kicked up on the bed and hat propped unceremoniously on his chair. “No one has really done anything at all. We’re taking turns spending time with you. Other than that, not much is happening. I think Pantalone is doing the most. He’s the banker, he has to pay everyone. Plus he likes being busy.”

The Sixth sighed, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers beneath his chin, resting his elbows on his knees and staring intently at Tartaglia’s sleeping form.

“Dottore made an announcement in our meeting yesterday,” he said. “He said you’re not waking up. I punched him in the face. I think Pierro wanted to too. We’re all pretty pissed with him right now. Feels like he’s giving up. What’s the point of him if he can’t fix you.”

The door opened. Scaramouche twitched and glanced over. “May I join you?” Capitano asked softly.

Scaramouche just hummed in reply. “Knock yourself out,” he muttered. “Not like he’s much entertainment.”

Capitano took a seat on the other side of the bed. “How is he?”

“Same as he’s been for the last eight months.” Capitano just nodded. He stared down at their youngest. Scaramouche blinked, then quietly asked, “Haven’t you been to The Abyss?”:

“I have.”

“So what do you think?” He glanced over. “What are his chances of waking up? Seriously, I mean. Dottore says he won’t, but I don’t believe him.”

Capitano hummed. “It’s hard to say,” he replied. “The Abyss corrupts.”

“Yeah, but he made it out fine when he was fourteen.”

“Not… fine ,” Capitano confessed. “He returned with a gift.”

Scaramouche frowned. “Gift?”

“He bears a powerful beast, learned through heretical teachings,” Capitano replied. “He calls it The Foul Legacy.”

“Whose Legacy?”

“He never did say.”

“Wait, do you think there’s someone down there?” Scaramouche sat up a little higher. “Like, a living person? Not just monsters?”

“I suspect so, yes,” Capitano confirmed. “Based on what I’ve learned from Lia, from Pulcinella, from the agents he worked with, he behaved differently after his first fall. I think someone down there taught him to fight and survive. I think that’s the only reason he made it out alive, that first time.”

“Wouldn’t they help him now?”

“I don’t think.”

“Wait, but if he has this power…that should save him. Keep him safe, from the corruption of The Abyss, shouldn’t it?” 

“Maybe. I don’t think how it works.”

Scaramouche sighed, running his hands over his face. “Do you think we could get down there?”

Capitano cocked his head to the side. “To The Abyss?”

“Yeah. Maybe we can find whoever gave him the Legacy or whatever, see if they can help us.”

“It’s not easy, to find an entrance to The Abyss.”

“Lia did. Twice .”

“An impossibility that I do not understand,” Capitano confessed. “And not something we could recreate, I’m afraid.”

“That’s so…” Scaramouche swore in Inazuman, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re Harbingers . There has to be something we can do! Someone we can threaten or blackmail or buy . There has to be someone who could find a way to fix him!”

“I can’t think of anyone.”

Silence fell over the room before Scaramouche’s eyes went wide and he murmured, “I can.”

……………………..

The Tsaritsa suspects her Harbingers are doing something she won’t like. Both Capitano and Scaramouche requested to take a two months vacation and with nothing pressing needing them at home, she’d complied.

But they were the two least likely to ever take vacation and for that reason, she was wary and suspicious. They were up to something, surely. And no matter which of her other Harbingers she spoke to, the answers she got were all the same.

“I don’t know where they’re going.”

“Maybe they’re trying to cope with slowly losing Lia.”

“They never take breaks, they deserve it.”

She doesn’t think the others are lying per se, but…she suspects they know more than they’re letting on. Even Pierro, her first, gets a bit squirrely around the topic when she asks.

“I don’t want to lie to you, Majesty,” he tells her, when she calls him to her chambers and asks. “But…I won’t get your hopes up either.”

“My hopes.”

Pierro sighed. “They might know how to wake Tartaglia up,” he confessed. “It’s no guarantee, of course, but…well, we’re all hoping.”

“Who knows where they went?”

“None of us.”

“And that’s truth?”

“Yes ma’am. None of us know where they went.”

“But you know they’ve gone seeking something to try and wake Tartaglia.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She sighed. “Very well then,” she murmured. “But you’ll alert me as soon as you know?”

“I will. I promise.”

…………………………

“We’ll kill him if it doesn’t work?” Columbina says, braiding flowers into Tartaglia’s hair. “If he doesn’t fix Lia, we’ll kill him?”

“Of course,” Sandrone confirmed, seated at her little brother’s side. “Brutally.”

“Do you think he’ll come?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Lia won’t be happy.”

“Lia will be alive. Perhaps he can put his frustrations aside long enough to revel in that.”

Columbina asks, “What if it doesn’t work?”

Sandrone stroked her thumbs over Tartaglia’s knuckles. “Then we kill him, as decided.”

Columbina looked down at their youngest. “Lia’s so pale.”

“He’s always pale. We all are.”

“Other than Dottore and Pantalone.”

“They self-tan. They don’t count.”

Columbina hummed. “He got color, in Liyue,” she remarked. “He’s lost it now.”

“Pale suits him better,” Sandrone decided. “I was worried he got sun-sick, from how tanned he came back.”

Columbina smiles, though it falls quickly. “When will Scaramouche and Capitano be back?”

“Soon.”

“With or without–”

“We’ll know when they arrive, I suppose.”

…………………….

Two months later

“Majesty, we think we have a way to wake Tartaglia up.”

The Tsaritsa eyed the two Harbingers standing before her. Two months, Scaramouche and Capitano had been gone and now here they stood before her throne, declaring that they had potentially found a way to wake her youngest up.

“I presume this is the reason you’ve been gone for so long?”

“Yes, your Majesty,”

She doesn’t think so, but she has to ask. “You didn’t go to The Abyss–”

“No Majesty.” Capitano’s firm confirmation assuages her fears, somewhat. “Nowhere near it.”

“Good.” She leans back. “So what solution have you found?”

They share glances and she knows she won’t like the answer. “Liyue has–”

“No.” She’s firm in her command. “Send him back.”

“Majesty–”

“I said no.”

“He is the oldest Archon–”

“ Was the oldest Archon. He gave that up to live life as a mortal. We must respect that.”

“He was willing to drop everything when we told him about Lia.”

“I don’t care.”

“He cares about him.”

“I said no, Kunikuzushi.” Scaramouche’s eyes go wide at his true name. “Send him home. That’s an order.”

Her Harbingers share glances, but nod and leave the room. She narrows her eyes. There’s no doubt in her mind that they’re not going to listen to her. With a sigh, she rubs her forehead and leaves the room.

Perhaps she can let their disobedience go, but only if they’re right.

Only if Morax can , in fact, wake Tartaglia up.

Chapter Text

Zhongli eyes the claymore in Capitano’s hand. “Is that…necessary?”

“We have a bat,” Scaramouche offered. “Would you prefer to be brained instead?”

The Adeptus stares at the Harbingers gathered around Childe’s bedside. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand the hostility.”

“Oh my, that’s our bad,” Pantalone said sweetly. “Allow us to explain.”

“Fail to fix him and we kill you,” Dottore deadpanned. “Simple as that.”

Zhongli blinked. “I see,” he said eventually. “I understand now. Thank you for clarifying.”

“What should we do with his corpse?” Columbina asked Sandrone.

“Turn him into an automaton.”

Zhongli cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It might be,” Pulcinella corrected. “You haven’t fixed him yet.”

Zhongli eyed the Harbinger on the bed. “The Abyss is not a corruption so easily cured,” he explained. “And given that parts of it are so intricately interwoven into his DNA–”

“You know about the Legacy?” Capitano asked.

Zhongli glanced up at him. “I suspected,” he replied. “I am old. I can sense Abyssal taint, no matter what form it takes. I had surmised that he must’ve had some sort of exposure to it, from the very moment I first met him.”

Capitano just hummed. Zhongli, unsure of whether or not that was a good sound, turned back to Childe.

“It will take time for me to wake him,” he replied. “This… Legacy you speak of. It’s very deeply entwined within him. I will need to move carefully, to avoid tearing it apart.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Arlecchino demanded. “Fix him.”

Zhongli hesitated only a moment longer before carefully sitting upon the bed and getting to work.

…………………….

No matter what name he has gone by—Zhongli, Morax, Rex Lapis—he has never often frequented the mind of others. Yet he knows enough to know that the darkness and electric, twisting purple that surrounds him within Childe’s is not right.

The Abyss corrupts. He recalls someone telling him, centuries ago. He cannot remember now who it was. But it is a fact that has remained with him for years. A fact that is apparent now, as he stands within Childe’s mind.

It’s unsettling, being here. It’s clear he has forced his way in, as he can feel the Harbinger’s subconscious attempting to push him out. But he steadies himself and stays his ground, taking careful steps forward as he moves towards where he can feel the strongest of the Abyssal Corruption residing.

The sound of a deafening footstep behind him makes him stop. Slowly, he turns, and though he may have never before seen this Abyssal Legacy Childe bears, there is little doubt in his mind that it is the very thing standing before him.

“I mean him no harm,” he said. “Nor do I mean harm to you.” Even if every aspect of his being tells him to destroy this thing and cure Childe of the Abyss once and for all. No, that is not his purpose here today. Even as he knows that keeping this thing cuts Childe’s lifespan more than in half, that is not why he has been summoned.

And if the Harbingers don’t kill him for being rid of it, Childe definitely will. It stares him down, and Zhongli wonders if it is this tall in reality or if this is simply how tall Childe believes it to be.

Or perhaps it’s a defense mechanism, making it appear larger than it is, in Childe’s mind, in order to protect him. Or itself.

It stares him down for another minute, then two. Then, slowly, it points towards the brightest spot of purple, in the far distance. The source of the Abyssal Corruption keeping Childe unconscious, Zhongli presumes.

“Thank you.”

The Legacy doesn't speak. Perhaps it can’t. Perhaps it doesn’t actually have any sort of mind of its own and this, instead, is simply a personification of it here inside the deepest depths of Childe’s mind.

Zhongli heads in the direction it pointed, well aware that this could very much be a trap. The closer he got, the sharper the sting of Abyssal energy was. He shuddered, feeling unwell. Rolling his shoulders, he resisted the urge to summon his polearm. Under no circumstances did he want to be perceived as a threat.

He needed to find and draw Childe’s consciousness back to the surface and the Abyss would not let him do it if it thought he was dangerous. This task alone was already going to be hard enough.

He didn’t need to make it harder.

Approaching the epicenter, Zhongli drew in a careful, measured breath. A throne of clear Abyssal taint was placed in the center and upon it, Childe sat slumped, decked out in the torn and bloodied attire of his Harbinger uniform.

Thorns of corruption wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and neck, drawing blood and keeping him in place. But what truly drew Zhongli’s attention, was the small and frightened child sitting at his feet, bloodied and bruised and clutching a dull knife in hand, staring up at Zhongli in terror.

Carefully, gingerly, Zhongli approached. “Hello little one.”

“St–stay away!” The child cried, a Snezhnayan accent thick on his tongue as he scrambled backwards, pressing himself into Childe’s legs. “Don’t hurt me!”

Zhongli got down on his knees, holding up his hands. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’m here to take him home.” He gestured to Childe.

The boy’s eyes welled up in tears. “B–but–” he stammered. “What about me?”

Zhongli frowned. “What’s your name?”

“A–Ajax.”

“Ajax is who Childe used to be, before he fell the first time.” Zhongli whirled around, eyes narrowing at the woman who approached.

“Who are you?” He demanded, on his feet and prepared to defend the two gingers behind him.

“Merely a personification of the woman who kept him alive the first time. And a personification of the Abyssal infection he returned with the second time,” she replied. “You’re here for Childe?”

“I am.”

“Take him then.”

Zhongli frowned. That was too easy. “What’s the catch?”

She smiled sweetly. “No catch,” she replied. “You want Childe. So take Childe.”

But there is a catch, Zhongli can tell. “What happens to Ajax?”

“He stays here, with me.”

“And what’s the effect of that?”

She sighed. “Clever, clever,” she murmured. “Very well. You have to choose. If you take Childe, Ajax will remain here and he will lose his humanity. Everything that makes him human , that still tethers him to Teyvat. It will be gone and he will become nothing but a being, hellbent on battle and destruction.”

“He already enjoys battle.”

“But would kill even those he swore to protect. He would kill his own siblings, just to experience the sensation of their blood splashing upon his face.”

“Childe wouldn’t do that.”

“The Ajax side of Childe wouldn’t do that,” she corrected. “But Childe would.”

“And if I leave Childe?”

“Then you take Ajax. But everything that Childe has experienced and lived through since he was fourteen would be forgotten. He wouldn’t know how to fight or use his Vision. He would have no memory of being a Harbinger.” He smiled. “He would have no memory of you .”

“That isn’t fair.” Zhongli shook his head. “Don’t make me choose.”

“You have to.”

“No.”
“Then you leave them both.”

“Why can’t I take both? Childe came out of the Abyss the first time, with both.”

“He had me the first time,” she explained. “This time, he was alone. He wasn’t strong enough.”

“That’s a lie.” Zhongli stood tall. “Childe is not weak. He can withstand more than you think. More than you know . He came out alive, one way or another. Both times. There is no reason that both sides of him cannot come out alive this time.”

She was silent for a moment. “He still won’t be the same,” she told him. “This venture into the Abyss, regardless of if you take Childe and Ajax, will have scarred him. He will be different.”

“But he’ll be alive.”

“Yes. He will be.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

She sighed. “Fine then. Take them home, Morax.”

Zhongli’s eyes went wide, but she had already turned and disappeared before he could say anything. Behind him, he heard a quiet voice murmur,

“Zhongli?”

He turned. Ajax was gone, but Childe remained. No longer dressed in the tatters of his Harbinger uniform, he wore the familiar attire he’d donned during his time in Liyue.

“Childe,” Zhongli said, hurrying to his side. Childe groaned, lifting his head and tilting it back against the throne. The thorns had vanished from his body, but bloody lines still remained.

“What happened?”

Zhongli hesitated, unsure of what to say, before smiling and replying, “I’m here to wake you up.”

Childe sighed. He opened his eyes, staring up at Zhongli for a moment before murmuring,

“Yeah. That sounds…nice.”

…………………….

Childe is awake before Zhongli is. It takes the god a few moments to ground himself before he steps back from the bed and allows the Harbingers to flock around Childe, Dottore shouting at them to give him space so he can examine the boy.

Childe glances over at him at some point and for a second, Zhongli sees hatred. He grimaces. They never did talk after that day in the bank. Childe had refused to see him. But the hatred doesn't last long, Childe’s expression softening to something more…human.

Something more like Ajax.

Someone calls to him from behind. A glance over his shoulder shows the first Harbinger approaching him.

“Her Majesty wants to talk to you.”

Glancing at Childe once more, who has just shoved Scaramouche off the bed, Zhongli turns and follows Pierro.

………………………..

“I owe you both thanks and apology, Zhongli.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do. You saved my Harbinger from death,” The Tsaritsa argued. “And an apology is owed as well. I did not know Capitano and Scaramouche were going to retrieve you or pull you from your retirement.”

“I’m glad they did,” Zhongli admitted. “I’m happy I could help him.”

“I am as well. For your reward–”

“Him being awake and alive is reward enough,” Zhongli insisted. “That’s all. I don’t need anything else.”

She eyed him. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“There’s something else you want. But it’s not in my power to grant.”

“And what is that?”

“His forgiveness.”

Zhongli sighed. “I don’t deserve it.”

“But you want it nonetheless.”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “I cannot convince him. I won’t interfere.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

The Tsaritsa was silent. “Send him a letter, when you return home,” she instructed. “Give him time to wake up and the Harbingers to fuss. Then send him a letter. He deserves an explanation. From me as well as you. But I think he needs to hear yours first.”

“I will.”

“He’s stubborn and hardheaded,” she told him. “But I do think he misses you too.”

Zhongli smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And you, Zhongli. Safe travels, my friend.”

“Thank you.”