Chapter Text
Childe did his best to spend the rest of his morning very pointedly not thinking about the events that transpired the day before or the poor imitation of a calendar hidden under his bed. After he emerged from his room in hopes of having a somewhat productive day, Childe headed to the dining hall where a steaming plate of fisherman's toast and a cold glass of sunsettia juice were already waiting for him.
Childe sat down, eyeing the food warily as a silence surrounded him with its stifling embrace. The mere idea of food when his throat was still raw and probably full of scratches made his stomach churn unpleasantly but he needed to eat at least a little bit – both to regain some of his energy and to make sure he wouldn't alarm the members of the staff.
Taking a deep breath, Childe grabbed the glass of juice and brought it to his lips, his free hand gripping the edge of the table. The cloyingly sweet juice felt heavy on his tongue, almost like sugary sludge, but luckily the cold temperature helped to numb some of the pain. However, the toast was another story. Eating the dry bread reminded Childe of the sharp thorns that had scraped his bleeding throat and the unbearable agony it had brought just a day before. His shaky grip on the table tightened when he gulped down another painful bite of bread.
Anger and frustration began to boil in Childe's chest. Enjoying breakfast wasn't supposed to be a painful ordeal – it wasn't supposed to feel like he was feasting on a plateful of razor blades coated in salt. Yet here he was, the Vanguard of the Harbinger, the champion of countless battlefields, being tormented by archon-damned toast.
Once his plate was painstakingly half-emptied, Childe leaned against the back of his chair, expressionless gaze on the ornamental ceiling and torn mind feverishly trying to decide what to do next.
He should go outside – take a walk around the block and pretend that everything was fine. Each second spent inside the hotel made the Knights more restless and suspicious, and Childe couldn't let his existence trouble the unfortunate Fatui agents stuck in the city any more than necessary.
However, the simple, childish truth was that Childe didn't want to do that. He wanted to stay inside, in the relative safety of the hotel and away from the reaches of those scrutinizing eyes that followed his every moment like starving wolves. Away from those hungry gazes that would strike the moment they sensed a weakness.
And after everything – the stinging betrayal and heartbreak, the blue roses that flourished at the expanse of his flesh and blood – Childe could no longer trust that his fractured mask of composure was able to conceal the festering weakness and tiredness hidden within.
Unfortunately, the truth was that the time for dallying was over. A humorless smile appeared on Childe's face as his fingers brushed against his bare throat. The touch was as light as a feather and yet, a painful shudder coursed through his entire body. His time in the land of the living was ending soon, and there were still so many things he still needed to do before his death.
The desires and wishes of a corpse masquerading as a living being didn't matter.
Keeping that thought in his mind, Childe forced himself to stand up.
Once he was outside, Childe completely ignored Amber and her poor attempts of stealth and quickly made his way toward the bustling markets of the city. Blue eyes jumped from one attraction to another, swiftly analyzing everything that happened to catch his interest; like the brilliantly crimson feather in a woman's cap. The azure gems glittering under the sunlight. The soft purple flowers blooming on a nearby windowsill.
He wasn't searching for a dot of rich browns and amber amidst the sea of green and gray hues, Childe told to himself. He wasn't – and if he was doing something so foolish, then he would be doing it just to be certain that he couldn't find it. After all, Zhongli had agreed to stay away – it was a good idea to double-check that the other man was not breaking the contract he himself has created.
(No matter how hard he looked, no matter how desperately he tried to spot a certain someone clad in earthy browns and brilliant amber, no such figure appeared in Childe's field of vision. The heavy lump that settled in his stomach was that of relief, he tried to convince himself even as the faint echo of Zhongli's goodbye continued to torment his thoughts.)
Swallowing down the sour feeling that most certainly wasn't disappointment, Childe's wandering eyes swept the street until they landed on a particular spot that made him freeze.
There, partially hidden in the shadow cast by a nearby bakery, was a small toy store. Its quaint storefront was adorned with whimsical colors and decorations designed to attract children the moment they happened to glance at it. The store window was filled with a variety of toys ranging from simple dolls to mechanical animals that whirred faintly when they moved their paws. The kind of store that would send Teucer into a feral frenzy if he ever got the opportunity to visit.
That thought was enough to squeeze the breath out of Childe's lungs. Right. After the chaotic storm of everything else that had happened, he completely forgot about the souvenir package for his family. He still didn't have anything for it – not even a box in which to put everything.
Childe did the quick math in his head. If he managed to get the package to the post office within the next two days or so, it would take roughly around eleven or fourteen days for it to arrive in Morepesok if he was lucky. The Snezhnayan postal service wasn't exactly known for its trustworthy consistency – such were the problems of living in an unforgiving snowy wilderness where the travel routes were often attacked by people and monsters alike – and long delays were as common as getting the post in time.
In other words, it was up to the whims of the gods to decide whether it arrive before or after the news of Childe's death reached his family – and to be perfectly honest, he still didn't know which scenario he would prefer and for that he was grateful. The heavenly powers would surely use their celestial might to ensure that Childe's wishes never came to fruition.
The flowers that were blossoming underneath his skin were a testament to that.
Blue eyes flickered back on the toy store. Well, guess he found his activity for the day, Childe mused dryly as he crossed the street and entered the store. A jingling bell announced his arrival and after giving a brief nod to the only employee in the vicinity, Childe started examining the wares. The interior of the store was as cheerful as the exterior; the brightly colored walls were adorned with paintings of cutesy critters and the high shelves were stacked full of toys and curios alike, guaranteed to keep children entertained for hours.
He needed to mention this place in his letter, Childe decided as he gently prodded the cheek of a criminally soft teddy bear. In case his family would finally do that trip to another country his parents had been dreaming about for years.
Choosing souvenirs wasn't that difficult for Childe – after all, money wasn't an obstacle, and after spending years out in the big wide world, his eye for gifts had been honed to perfection. So it didn't take long before Childe's attention settled on a grand toy boat located on top of a shelf; one that was expertly crafted down to the smallest of details and clearly designed to be durable enough to withstand even rougher play sessions. Judging by the price tag, it was obviously not meant to be an everyday gift.
Childe's lips quirked upwards as he pulled the boat out of its hiding place. Funnily enough, it also bore a striking similarity to the ship that had whisked his younger brother away from his little sojourn in Liyue, and hopefully, Teucer would one day realize that and remember those days with a smile. Remember Childe.
It was a surprisingly comforting thought, Childe realized as he tucked the toy boat under his arm. He just needed to hope that the toy survived that long; Teucer wasn't exactly blessed with a gentle touch when it came to his toys and plays, which, now that he thought about it, could be thanks to Childe's chaotic influence. Perhaps he should get something extra nice for his parents as an apology. After all, it would be the last time he could ever get to do that.
Next, he needed to find something for his other younger brother.
Anton was a bit trickier to shop for. He was slowly reaching that tumultuous age where things like toys and playing were both seemingly childish and uncool, and still an itching temptation that an oh-so mature boy just had to endure; but fortunately, the store had high shelves filled to the brim with various board games from all the four corners of Teyvat, both familiar and foreign. Eventually, Childe settled for a classical chessboard with beautifully crafted pieces that resembled the many monsters roaming the realm.
Perhaps he should get a book about chess strategies as well, Childe mused as he approached the cashier with his pickings. When it came to any type of competition, Anton had never been what one could call a graceful loser, and soon Childe wouldn't be there to coax him out of sulking after Tonia won a supposedly friendly game of cards. Besides, Childe needed to visit the bookstores of Mondtstadt anyway to find something for his younger sister and father, who were the avid bookworms of the family.
Yeah, that sounded like a plan, Childe nodded to himself as he placed the items on the counter.
The rest of the day was spent browsing all sorts of goods the city could offer. By the time the sky was a canvas of dark purple and orange, Childe's feet were sore and his wallet much lighter than it had been just that morning. It was peaceful. Ordinary.
And so utterly boring.
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The bustle in Angel's Share was in full swing; the smell of alcohol permeated the air like a dizzying cloud, so thick and strong that it could make a sober man see stars. Six-Fingered José was performing in his usual spot by the door, regaling his nighttime audience with serenades of forlorn love and jolly ditties that made the building shake with the patrons' roaring cheers and applauds.
Usually, Venti could be found in the heart of all that merry chaos, reveling in the unruliness until Diluc threatened to kick them all out but today, he was sitting quietly by the bar counter with only a glass of dandelion wine keeping him company. Of course, people had tried to tempt him into participating in their drunken tomfoolery but, after the third rejection, they, fortunately, seemed to have gotten the message.
“So, should there be any need for caution?”
“Hm?” Venti lifted his gaze to Diluc, who stood on the other side of the counter and cleaning a glass with a vaguely sullen expression.
Diluc jerked his head toward the glass of dandelion wine that was placed in front of Venti. “Your wine. It's been an hour and you have barely touched it.” There was a pause before he spoke again, voice lower than before, “So I ask again, is there something we should be concerned about?”
It took Venti a moment to unravel the hidden meaning behind Diluc's words before the realization dawned on him. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he sighed with a dispirited wave of a hand, “Just feeling the repercussions of my hubris.” No corrupted dragons hellbent on destroying the city or other immediate threats, he wanted to add but held his tongue. Better to save such words for a time when they were alone and not in the eye of the drunken hurricane that anyone could use for their advantage to eavesdrop.
Diluc raised his eyebrows, skepticism written all over his face, “Right...” he let his voice trail off before turning his attention to a pair of drunken patrons who were quickly approaching the threshold of his patience.
Left alone accompanied only by his thoughts, Venti sighed and gently tapped his glass of dandelion wine. His day had been... not great. Well perhaps that was a bit too pessimistic, as nothing had really happened – Venti had spent the day dragging Zhongli to all four corners of Mondtstadt, feverishly trying his damndest to lure his friend's thoughts away from the heartbreak and pain. They had gone to Springvale to see the artisans, visited the Thousand Winds Temple, and – with little help from the Wind – had flown to the top of the grand statue of Barbatos in the city, and while Zhongli's interest in anything he was shown had been genuine, it would have been impossible to miss the way those amber eyes constantly wandered to the horizon, toward the direction of Liyue.
Just thinking about that wistful gaze tore open yet another bleeding fissure in Venti's soul. After all, he had once been freedom incarnated, to shackle Zhongli – who was his comrade, confidante, friend – here despite his wishes to leave went against his very existence.
If Venti wanted to do something, he needed to do it now.
Venti took a sip of his wine, barely tasting his favorite drink as Diluc returned to his spot behind the counter, grumbling something under his breath as he grabbed another dirty glass and scrubbed it with more force than necessary.
Unfortunately, no matter how much he would prefer to run away from the whole situation, there was only one thing Venti could do to get some answers; talk to Childe who had made it very clear what he would do if he was approached by Zhongli – and by extension, Venti as well – ever again.
Leaning heavily against the back of his chair, Venti stared at the well-lit ceiling of the tavern with a frown as guilt gnawed his insides. It didn't feel right to do this, to bother Childe after the man had explicitly told them to stay away, but Zhongli's potential happiness outweighed Childe's momentarily discomfort. Venti just needed to live with the burden of this guilt for the time being, at least until he managed to confirm if there was even the slightest chance to salvage the situation.
Unfortunately, Venti's own feelings on the matter were just drops in the ocean of issues he still needed to overcome. Such as the location where he should contact Childe.
Any public place within the city walls was out of the question; mortal or not, Childe was still a dangerous man whose scarred hands could cause unimaginable destruction. While Venti hoped that the Harbinger wouldn't attack him in broad daylight, the risk still existed and he refused to gamble with the lives of the innocent citizens of Mondstadt. So he somehow needed to lure Childe away from civilization where the only one in the harm's way was Venti.
Great. Just great.
Another problem he needed to consider was the matter of the Favonius Knights. They had the Harbinger under almost constant surveillance – they would surely interfere if the worst-case scenario happened and Childe actually attempted to rip Venti's throat out. And if it came down to that, then Venti couldn't guarantee their safety so he needed to somehow find a way to get Childe away from the city without alarming the Knights. Sure, Venti could try to persuade Jean to let him shadow Childe but something told him that she would rather let Childe roam the city unsupervised than agree to that, though she would never dare to say that to his face.
Which only left him with one option – an option that was so amazingly bad and foolish that for a moment Venti considered giving up.
He needed to approach Childe somewhere private, beyond the watchful gaze of the Knights.
And unfortunately, there was only one place like that.
The Goth Grand Hotel. The sanctuary of the Fatui and their shady operations. The one place where no Mondstadian citizen could get in without risking an international incident. In short, he needed to do everything that would undoubtedly anger Childe even more. And that was before Venti could even start his interrogation.
Venti sighed heavily, downing his wine in one go. The things he did for Zhongli – though he shuddered to think what the ex-Geo Archon would do to him if he discovered that Venti was planning on interfering with his precious contract. Make him face the Wrath of the Rock most likely – though in his defense, it had been Zhongli who had sworn to keep his distance from Childe, Venti had nothing to do with that!
Unfortunately, Venti highly doubted that Zhongli would ever accept such a flimsy excuse. Shit, why did he even decide to play a matchmaker?
Because it would make Zhongli happy, a voice in his head whispered. And after all the hardships and losses he had endured, Zhongli deserved all the fragments of happiness he could collect.
Dammit.
Perhaps Venti should stop being such a worrywart and try to be a bit more positive – after all, it should be a simple enough task, right? He just needed to make Childe talk. Words were Venti's forte, his whole livelihood, he should be able to do that. He could totally make Childe – who was very unpredictable, very dangerous, and very, very angry at Venti and Zhongli – reveal his secrets.
Groaning loudly, Venti banged his head on the bar counter with a thud. “This is going to suck,” he whined pitifully.
Diluc, the heartless bastard, only stared back at him with an unimpressed, albeit bewildered, expression.
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The next day, Childe tried to alleviate his boredom the only way he knew how.
A pile of anemo slimes laid dead by his feet, arrows poking out of their deflated bodies. Not the most exciting choice for target practice but it was the only choice Childe got – the Knights tended to get kinda twitchy whenever Childe tried to creep closer to territories with more perilous monster activity.
Speaking of which...
Blue eyes wandered to the lone figure standing under the cool shade of a tall tree. The knight – the one Lumine had called Huffman if Childe remembered correctly – stared back, gaze calm yet attentive. Determined to not let even a hint of wrongdoing go past his watchful eyes.
Childe sauntered toward Huffman, his hands visible, Vision dull and his bow strapped on his back – unable to seemingly perform any sudden surprise attacks and yet, the knight's posture changed just the tiniest bit. The slight slouch on his shoulders straightened immediately and his fingers twitched, instinctively going for the sword on his hip.
However, Huffman's eyes were his biggest traitor. A gleam of something flickered in his gaze, an expression that made Childe pause. Surprisingly, it wasn't fear – Childe had seen fear flash in the eyes of his enemies too many times to misinterpret it. No, it was something else; determination and acceptance like he was steeling himself for something. For whatever it was that Childe was about to do.
For possible death.
Ah.
All of a sudden, Childe understood. While he would never bloody the grass with the blood of another person without his Archon's permission, the Knights couldn't possibly put their faith in his loyalty to Her Grace. To them, he was a ticking time bomb, and it would only be a matter of time if (or when) he decided to forego the pretense of civility, and strike – and he may not be a God who lived beyond the reaches of humanity but, compared to a Harbinger, the strength of an ordinary soldier was but a dandelion seed braving a devouring storm. He and Huffman were both starkly aware who the victor would be if they ever met on a battlefield.
For a brief, sinister moment, satisfaction curled its tendrils around Childe's heart.
However, that oily gratification retreated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a lingering echo of embarrassment. It wasn't like Childe to think so lowly of the common man, regardless of their strength or whether they had a Vision or not.
Childe tried not to grimace as he subtly adjusted his posture to be slightly more open and friendly. Archons, he had hit a rock bottom if his thoughts were wandering into such a dark place.
Soon, Childe stopped right in front of Huffman and slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't feel like walking,” he drawled with an easy smile, “Could you take us back to the city, my good knight?”
To Huffman's credit, he managed to keep his expression impressively blank when he nodded and reached for Childe's shoulder with only minimal hesitation. Blue glitters flickered alive around them, dancing with the wind as the teleportation spell sparked alive and Childe took the opportunity to glance around their surroundings one last time.
His eyes fell on the looming form of Dragonspine that adorned the horizon, and there they stayed until the world around him twisted and turned. The serene silence of nature died, replaced by the chatter of crowds that grew louder and louder as the city of Mondstadt assembled right before Childe's eyes. The few passersby around the Waypoint threw some unsure glances toward Childe's direction when they noticed the Fatui mask decorating his hair but the tense lines on their shoulders melted away when they saw Huffman appear next to him.
Stretching his arms over his head, Childe took a step forward.
A wave of nausea hit him like a mitachurl's shield, strong enough to make Childe almost fall to his knees. He staggered backward, slapping a hand over his mouth as both panic and queasiness surged up his throat.
Shit, Childe cursed as he, by some miracle, managed to gather enough strength to dash forward on shaky legs, eyes locked on the opening of a small alleyway nearby. Behind him, Huffman let out a surprised exclamation that fell to deaf ears as Childe entered the alleyway and emptied the contents of his stomach. A shudder went down his spine while he coughed and heaved. Droplets of sweat formed on his forehead, making his hair stick against the clammy skin. After what felt like hours, nausea began to fortunately dissipate and Childe leaned his head against the stone wall, taking shuddering gulps of air as he tried to will his legs to stop shaking.
“Are- are you okay?!”
Ice flooded into Childe's vein, ruthless and intense as it froze his body from inside out and stole the air out of his lungs. Dread was sprouting under his rib cage and Childe was glad that the shadows engulfing the alleyway hid his aghast expression.
Oh Archons, the knight had seen him – had watched him throw up in some dirty alleyway like some slovenly nitwit too in his cups.
He had seen Childe being weak.
Another surge of bile threatened to surface and it had nothing to do with the previous bout of illness. “I'm fine,” Childe managed to say through gritted teeth as he quickly glanced at the mess on the ground. There were no petals or roses, to Childe's relief and he turned his attention back to Huffman.
Huffman kept looking at Childe with a frown. “If you're certain,” he said eventually, sounding almost concerned and the Harbinger had to bite down his lip to prevent hysterical laughter from escaping. Gods, he must look like absolute shit if a sworn member of the order of Knight of Favonius was worried about him.
The only mercy was that this hadn't happened in front of Kaeya, Childe thought with a barely concealed scowl. He got up and straightened his back, keeping his posture and expression nonchalant as if he hadn't just gotten violently ill in the alleyway of some unfortunate establishment – though that must be a common sight in the so-called city of wine and lackadaisical drinking culture.
Despite Childe's best attempts to put up a composed front, Huffman still appeared troubled as he shifted from one foot to another, appearing almost hovering until Childe moved past him and returned to the main street.
The tall rooftop of the Grand Goth Hotel was visible on the horizon, a guiding star that Childe stared at unblinkingly as he headed toward its direction. Traces of panic were still idling in his chest, ebbing away slowly as his mind whirled with flashes of what had just occurred.
Nausea after teleportation wasn't a rare thing – in fact, it was one of the most common negative side effects people tended to experience when they attempted the usage of Waypoints. Even Childe had needed some alone time with a bucket the first few times he tried it, back during his days as a fresh-faced Fatui recruit.
However, that had only been those early attempts. Back then he had spent days perfecting his mastery over that spell not only to make using it second nature but also to build up a tolerance for it. After those few days of almost constant cold sweat and illness, Childe had managed to train his body to stay completely free of side effects.
That was until today, and there was only one cause Childe could think of for the drastic change.
Another thing hanahaki had robbed him of. Another humiliation he had to endure.
Childe gritted his teeth together as he arrived at the hotel. He hoped that the Celestia was throughout entertained by this play they had forced him into.
The first thing Childe did when he entered the premise was head to the kitchen to get rid of the lingering bitter taste in his mouth. The few staff members in the kitchen ignored the Harbinger rummaging their plentiful provisions for sunsettia juice with the professional aloofness only people employed by the Fatui could achieve.
Once the nasty taste on his tongue was alleviated by the sweetness of the juice, Childe began to make his way to his suite to finish packing his package for his family. He most definitely wasn't going to sulk and possibly sleep the day away until he forgot about the embarrassment that simmered beneath his skin. Most definitely not.
With no other agents in the corridor to witness his momentary vulnerability, Childe let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples. He was in desperate need for a distraction – for any sort of diversion that would help him forget about the roses under his bones that were consuming his life in every way imaginable.
Fortunately, the gods seemed to have taken pity – or perhaps, in a whimsical manner that truly fit the deities above, they had temporarily grown bored of his suffering – because as soon as Childe turned around a corner, he was greeted with the sight of Mikhail and Lyudmila talking to each other in hushed whispers.
Childe slowed his steps, frowning as he studied the pair. While the Fatui masks hid their expressions, their gestures practically radiated nervousness – the sound of Mikhail's boots tapping the floor could probably be heard from the other side of the Hotel, and Lyudmila kept wringing her hands exactly like Childe's mother used to do whenever one of her kids wasn't home by the curfew.
Childe's frown deepened. While whatever it was that got those two so agitated couldn't be that grave – otherwise, they would have immediately notified him – it was still mildly concerning to see seasoned Fatui members acting like prey animals that were sensing a predator nearby.
Guess he got what he wished for; a distraction, Childe mused dryly to himself as he approached the pair.
Mikhail was the first one to notice him. “Ah, Lord Harbinger!” he exclaimed with a hurried salute.
“Mikhail, Lyudmila,” Childe acknowledged the other two with a nod. “May I ask what you two were discussing?”
Lyudmila and Mikhail shared a look before the latter spoke. “We just received urgent news from Viktor,” he said, and while his face remained concealed, Childe could hear a frown in the other man's tone. “Apparently the Holy Lyre der Himmel has been stolen.”
Childe blinked, completely baffled. Of all the things he had been expecting, that was not one of them – why were Lyudmila and Mikhail so concerned about some old, probably half-rotted, instrument gathering dust in the basement of the Cathedral-
Wait a second. He had heard that name before.
“That wouldn't happen to be the same lyre that was, uh, temporarily in our possession?” Childe asked, eyes widening slightly as he recalled a mention of that incident in one of the reports he had skimmed over during his stay in Mondstadt.
“The very same, my Lord,” Lyudmila confirmed softly.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Childe let his gaze fall to his shoes as he mulled over this information. Vacation or not, as the currently highest ranking Fatui member stationed in Mondstadt, Childe was privy to the mission reports of those below his rank. He had kept himself updated on the operations that happened in the underbelly of the City of Freedom and its surrounding regions, and thus he was aware that none of those included the divine lyre that once belonged to Barbatos.
Strange.
“I assume that the Knights haven't contacted us yet?” Childe eventually asked.
Mikhail shook his head, “No, my Lord – but the theft was noticed less than half an hour ago. They may be simply planning their next move as we speak.”
The situation was indeed mildly troubling, Childe decided before turning his attention back to the other two Fatui members. “I believe our best course of action is to keep our head low and progress with our jobs normally – after all, we are innocent so they shouldn't have any incriminating evidence. You may direct any knights to me, should they come knocking on our doorstep.”
“Understood!” Mikhail and Lyudmila said in unison, their relief almost palpable now that the heavy burden of responsibility was on Childe's shoulders. They gave the Harbinger a brief salute before hurrying away, their slowly fading conversation already turning to other matters as they disappeared behind the corner. Childe walked in the opposite direction and continued making his way to his room.
For a brief moment, Childe toyed with the idea of investigating the mystery of the missing lyre himself. Such a curious disappearance would be ideal for some light entertainment for a day or two, and the Knights couldn't overlook such an act of kindness if Childe managed to find the lyre. The mere mental image of the acting Grandmaster and her underlings' expressions when he presented the missing lyre was enough to make Childe seriously consider packing his packs and heading to the Cathedral.
However, that idea, no matter how tempting, was quickly discarded. The Knights would probably just think it was yet another nefarious Fatui ploy. Besides, knowing the Knights' inability to solve their own damn problems, there was a high chance that they would summon their little Honorary Knight to investigate and Childe had no interest in seeing her ever again. He would let Lumine's betrayal sizzle and fester beneath his skin until death came and ferried his soul and memories to the immortal lands.
Childe took a steadying breath. Right, he couldn't afford to let his thoughts spiral down that way. He was a dead man walking, no need to waste his remaining time grieving things beyond his control.
A weary sigh left Childe's mouth. He opened the door leading to his suite-
and went completely still.
His room, his only sanctuary and the safest place in this Archon-forsaken city, wasn't empty.
There was an intruder.
Venti stood in the middle of the room, frozen on the spot as he stared back at Childe with wide, startled eyes, bearing a striking resemblance to Anton whenever Childe had caught him sneaking into the kitchen for plain sugar cubes.
Time slowed down, second by second until it stilled completely. The birds outside seemed to fall silent, their joyous melodies dying like a candle flame in rain. Something was rising deep in Childe's core, something that had nothing to do with blood-stained roses; a wildfire threatening to engulf his whole body, a promise of devastation.
Then Venti shifted on his feet, breaking the spell that had seemingly frozen time. Childe barely noticed the movement.
“Um. Hi?” Venti waved his arm awkwardly with a smile that was more like a grimace. “Listen, I know I'm like the second last person you want to see but-”
Childe moved.
With a quick flash of blue, a hydro dagger materialized into Childe's hand as he closed the distance between him and Venti. A good weapon for close combat, a distant voice in his mind supplied with the cold professional detachment of a doctor. The suite was sizable, bigger than some apartments he had lived in, but a room was still a mere room and not a battleground. And he couldn't be allowed to make any mistakes here.
More importantly, he had to be quiet. He had to make sure he minimized the chances of any sounds of clashing blades to make sure his underlings stay away as long as he could. He couldn't let them know that a powerful enemy was right in the heart of their base. He couldn't let his people be slaughtered before he first weakened the foe as much as he could.
After all, he was the target, the transgressor who had invited the enemy into their headquarters.
Childe thrust his dagger forward. Venti yelped and ducked the blade aimed for his left eye, moving to face Childe's right side. While it was clear that the sudden attack had thrown the bard off badly, his movements were simply immaculate, inhumanely perfect and graceful in a way that Childe knew he could now never accomplish with his limited time, and something about that information fueled the flames of rage trapped in his lungs.
“Childe please, just-” The rest of Venti's plea turned into a muffled shriek when the dagger grazed his cap. “Just stop for a moment!”
The words were promptly ignored. Childe could barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears.
For as long as he could remember, Childe had learned best through combat, through fights that determined his fate in the realm of the living. Nothing taught you survival like a fight to the death. The Abyss and Master Skirk had taught him that.
Perhaps another time, Childe would have killed to even have the slightest chance to spar with Barbatos. He would have done anything to catch a glimpse of God of Freedom demonstrating his mastery in archery on a battlefield. He would have felt honored that a veteran of the Archon Wars had decided him to be such a grave threat that he personally had to eliminate him.
However, now there was none of that. No sparks of exhilaration making Childe's whole body itch. No adrenaline rush that made his body and soul perform the most exquisite serenade that only a war zone could orchestrate. Only bloodlust remained, born from something bitter and violent that spread like a disease and rotted his body from inside out.
The dawning realization kept echoing in Childe's head, its taunting chorus growing louder and louder with each second until it drowned out his rage.
Zhongli and Venti had decided to proceed with their plans despite Childe's threats.
And that meant Zhongli had broken the contract.
There was an odd sense of pressure threatening to build in the back of Childe's eyes and he blinked rapidly to get rid of it. He hadn't learned anything – still hadn't yielded the role of a fool. Once again, he had placed his trust in Zhongli, only for the man to carve another jagged fracture in his heart.
But he... Childe had thought- had assumed...
To Rex Lapis and his people, contracts were unequivocal. Absolute. Even more unshakable than their God who had relinquished his ancient reign. They were meant to mean something to Zhongli – and now Childe had managed to make the almighty God of Contracts break a contract.
Did that mean that he was something less than a human in Zhongli's eyes? Something less than a living being?
Childe's gripped his knife so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He stifled a strangled growl attempting to crawl out of his mouth, a sound that surely would have been a touch too feral to be human.
However, something must have bled into Childe's expression because Venti's eyes widened with alarm and then darkened into a shadow of something that almost looked like resignation. “Shit, guess I really have to do this-” he mumbled and before Childe had a moment to consider those words, the bard suddenly jumped, right toward the dagger aimed for his heart. Childe's breath hitched and just for the briefest moment, his confusion made him falter.
And that moment of amateurish hesitation was enough time for Venti to grab Childe's wrist with a shockingly strong grip. A light sensation of tingling spread over Childe's body, like ants crawling all over his skin, momentarily distracting him before he realized that the room was shifting. The walls and ceiling evaporated into nothing, replaced by bright blue sky and sun, the hardwood floor was engulfed by a flood of lush grass, and the antique furniture was reduced to rocks and trees.
A teleportation spell. Childe jolted, panic piercing through the smoke of rage clouding his mind. Shit, did Venti know? Had he been there to witness Childe stumbling around pathetically like a drunkard, and was using that weak spot to his advantage?
However, even when the last lingering traces of the hotel were whisked away by a wild gust of wind that ruffled his hair, there was not even a hint of nausea that threatened to churn Childe's stomach. It must be some sort of Archon trick, he realized. There was no Waypoint anywhere near, which was a necessity for teleportation spell – or the mortal version of it, it seemed.
Childe gritted his teeth together as he scanned his new surroundings. There was no way for him to even try to deduce his location by using the Waypoint as a possible clue to pinpoint his whereabouts. A begrudgingly clever move to both bewilder and isolate an enemy.
Except... wait.
Childe blinked, his jaw dropping slightly open as he spotted the familiar red roofs of Mondstadt rising skyward in the gaps between the trees. He could easily navigate his way back to the city in a few hours if he so wished.
Another surge of raw rage clouded Childe's mind until the only thing that kept him grounded was the weight of the hydro blade in his shaky grasp. For Venti to spirit him away to such a place could only mean either one of two things; Venti was just that confident in the power his celestial divinity had granted him, or he thought that lowly of Childe's mere mortal talents.
“You know, for future reference, when you're attempting to assassinate someone, perhaps do it in a location that is completely unknown to your target.” Childe stared down at the bard with a glare. There was a bitter taste on his tongue when he spat out, “You have the bearings of a poor assassin, Barbatos.”
Venti's face went slack with shock.
The strong grip on Childe's wrist became loose, and he broke free easily. He jumped backward, summoning a flow of water that steered him farther away to put some distance between him and Venti. His Vision flashed blue as the knife bubbled and foamed as it reforged into a bow and an arrow.
There was no hesitation in Childe's movements when he aimed the arrow toward pale-faced Venti, who was staring at him with his mouth hanging open and completely ignoring the weapon aimed right toward the spot between his eyes.
Childe clamped his jaw shut to prevent an outraged scream from escaping – how dare Venti insult his pride by blatantly ignoring his opponent in the middle of a battle – and he fired the arrow with a deranged sort of glee.
Unfortunately, the silent sound of an arrow piercing the air seemed to snap Venti out of his stupor. A strangled cry escaped from his lips as he dodged the arrow just before it burrowed itself into his shoulder.
Childe lowered his bow and scowled. A pity, he thought as the bow melted into a stream of water and he rushed toward Venti. The change of environment from a relatively small room to an open field allowed Childe to have more freedom in his choice of weapons and with a wave of a hand, the water materialized into a sovnya. The translucent blade glittered under the setting sun as Childe moved his arms back, sovnya positioned to slice skin wide open and gouge out innards.
And then Venti yelled, sounding so utterly bewildered and lost that for a brief moment, Childe's muscles refused to obey him.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Venti shrieked hysterically, voice almost high-pitched enough to break a glass. “Assassinate, you? Assassin, me?!”
Biting his lip, Childe tightened his grip on his weapon as he considered his next move. Was this some sort of ploy – a ruse to lull him into a false sense of security, a final desperate attempt to trick Childe into becoming a marionette dancing to the tune of the whimsical gods?
Still, Venti's confusion seemed awfully genuine-
No, Childe couldn't think that – wouldn't allow himself to entertain such traitorous notion. He swore to never let himself be fooled yet again. Venti's words were a lie, a bluff to make Childe waver.
Determination steeling his gaze, Childe swung his weapon. “Don't act like you don't know!” he snarled just as Venti evaded the sharp blade of the sovnya.
“I don't!” Venti shouted back frantically, eyes wild like a cornered prey, “I really don't know!”
“You don't?!” Childe repeated, voice cracking under the sheer pressure of the anger and frustration that had been building up in his chest for weeks. “You stalked and spied on me for days, recruited Lumine, the Cavalry Captain of the archon-damned Knights of Favonius and who knows who else for your little witch hunt – and then, after I told you and Zhongli to stay the fuck away, I caught you in my private quarters! How dare you have the audacity to tell me that you don't know, Barbatos!”
No reply. Childe ignored the lack of a reply and moved his arms to swing his sovnya again, too focused on Venti's moments to notice the dawning horror on the bard's ghostly pale face.
“I-I-” Venti stammered – and huh, Childe wasn't sure if he had heard him stammer so badly before. “We didn't- It wasn't anything bad like that! We weren't going to kill you!”
Childe spun the sovnya and aimed the blunt end for Venti's chest. “You think I believe anything out of your mouth?!” he snarled as Venti leaped backward, a gust of wind carrying him even farther away, well beyond the reach of Childe's weapon.
The scowl of Childe's face deepened into a snarl. “Stop running away like a coward and fight back!” he yelled, very pointedly not thinking about the fact that his chest was heaving slightly. Like he wasn't getting enough air into his lungs.
Even though there was some distance between them, Childe could easily see a frown creasing Venti's face and hesitation in his eyes. He almost looked like he was at war with himself but before Childe had time to even begin to ponder the implications of that, Venti's face hardened into grim acceptance.
“Fine.”
As soon as that word left Venti's lips, he rushed toward Childe who could feel a self-satisfied smirk forming on his face. Finally, the time of lies was over. Finally, Venti would shed the unassuming cloak of a friendly bard, discard the pretenses and falsehoods, and show Childe what a God who had survived the massacre of his kin was capable of.
Finally, Childe had undeniable proof that he had been right.
Venti moved closer, one hand raised to call his weapon and Childe braced himself for a storm cloud of arrows that would surely block out the very sky. He had never crossed blades with an Archon and despite the circumstances that had led to this moment, Childe couldn't deny the thrill that went down his spine at the thought.
A beam of green light materialized in Venti's raised hand. Sparks of verdant twirled in the air, glimmering brilliantly as the shape of the light began to change. Soon, the light dimmed, revealing the reforged weapon to the world.
Childe blinked.
That wasn't a bow.
Instead, Venti was clutching a simple traveler's sword in his grasp, the kind that could be found anywhere in Teyvat. While his stance was far from that of an amateur who had never held a sword before, his movements lacked the effortless grace he had demonstrated earlier. It was clear that Venti's swordsmanship was rusty, a half faded ghost that had stubbornly remained on the wings of his memory. A far cry from Childe's own mastery of swords.
The confusion gave away to the familiar rage. So, Venti thought that he could defeat Childe without his best. Another insult – another little reminder that showed just how little the divine thought of the mortals.
The sword clashed against the middle of the sovnya, causing angry sparkles of blue and green war against one another as the two elements met. Even though Childe was using all his strength to try and push the sword away, Venti refused to budge even the slightest.
He would show him.
Childe's eyes flickered to Venti's face. The bard met his gaze and for a brief moment, he actually looked like a deity worth worshiping.
He would show them.
A flash of blue was the only warning Venti got before the sovnya liquefied into a puddle and he stumbled forward, his blade almost grazing Childe's arm. The Harbinger stepped aside and made the puddle solidify into a sword – similar to the one Venti was holding – and knocked the hilt of his sword against the bard's chest.
As Venti tried to steady himself, Childe quickly adjusted his grip on his sword, and with one swift swing, Venti's blade clattered to the ground. An ugly grin spread on Childe's face, pulling his facial muscles in a way he knew to be too unhinged for a normal smile. His body moved on its own, puppeteered by instincts and practice alone and Childe dropped into a crouch and delivered a sweeping kick.
A startled gasp left Venti's mouth as he fell to the ground, back hitting the ground painfully and wide eyes looking up at Childe. Without a single pause of hesitation, the Harbinger swung his sword and aimed it for Venti's throat.
Venti looked up at him, something like acceptance in his eyes, and made no effort to move.
The sharp blade glittered under the sunlight as it fell.
And yet, Venti stayed still like the grand statue erected in his honor.
Zhongli would be devastated, a voice in Childe's mind whispered.
The blade hit its mark. The leaves rustled as a gust of wind dashed through the tall trees.
Venti opened his eyes, gaze immediately landing on the blade that was plunged deep into the ground right next to his head.
Childe kept his focus on Venti's startled expression as he straightened his back and let go of his sword. It dissolved into a puddle of water that drenched parts of Venti's cape to Childe's childish satisfaction. However, the bard barely seemed to notice it as he kept staring at Childe like he couldn't quite comprehend that he was still alive.
Dry mud crunched under Childe's feet as he took several steps backward, keeping his eyes still locked on Venti for a bit longer before he turned around to face the direction of the city. His instincts were on fire, screaming at him to both finish the fight – to rid Mondstadt of its divine – and for blatantly displaying his unprotected back to the enemy. However, he had no other choice but to walk back to the city - the idea of using a teleportation spell after the incident with Huffman made Childe's stomach curl unpleasantly. Besides, the area surrounding the city Waypoint was infested with Knights and there was no telling what they would do if Childe just teleported back into the city, alone and unsupervised.
“W-wait, where are you going?!”
Childe's hands curled into fists. He could hear the sound of rustling fabric when Venti scrambled up and he turned his head to throw the bard an icy glare. “Away from you,” he replied, “I take no satisfaction in defeating an enemy that doesn't fight back.”
Childe was fairly sure he heard Venti mutter 'Enemy?' under his breath before he addressed the Harbinger, “Well I still have some things to say!”
“How nice,” Childe stated blandly, stepping on a small branch with more force than necessary. It snapped under his weight and something about the sound was incredibly gratifying. “I don't care. Go bother someone else or I won't be so merciful next time.”
The sound of approaching footsteps stopped but before Childe could even think of relaxing, Venti let out a long sigh. “Shit, guess I really have to use the plan B,” he said, an odd note in his voice that immediately made Childe's muscles go rigid. “Just so you know, I didn't want to do this but desperate times call for desperate measures – and I cannot let the curtain fall just yet.”
Childe inhaled sharply and whirled around, fingers twitching and blue light bubbling in his Vision as he mentally prepared himself for whatever it was that Venti was planning. The bard was holding something and Childe almost instinctively pulled out a weapon.
But when Childe's brain registered the object in Venti's arms, his mind came to a screeching halt.
Instead of holding a celestial weapon capable of causing an immense amount of destruction, the bard was cradling a lyre against his chest. His thin fingers were curled around the instrument lovingly in a manner that spoke of age-long familiarity.
Where the fuck did he pull that out, was Childe's first flabbergasted thought when he eyed the lyre with a baffled expression.
Then Childe took in the details – the ethereal silver that sparkled like a diamond under the sunlight, polished dark wood completely unmarred despite its obvious age and use, and seemingly unused pitch-black strings – and his unanswered thought was quickly forgotten when he realized what exactly he was looking at.
No mortal instrument could ever look so perfect. So divine. Which left only one possible option.
“Is that the Holy Lyre der Himmel?!” he asked incredulously, gaze moving to Venti's face. “You were the one who stole it?”
A sheepish smile graced Venti's lips as he plucked one of the strings. “Steal is... perhaps not the word I would use, since technically it originally belonged to me but it is the lyre in question, yes.” The was a pause before Venti quietly added, “Well. That's debatable nowadays, I guess?”
Childe ignored Venti's odd mumblings, gaze snapping back on the lyre and staying there. He barely dared to blink – a holy relic that once belonged to an Archon had to be a fountain of extraordinary power and he had no idea why Venti had brought it here, to Childe. “And why do you have it – isn't it supposed to be kept in the Cathedral?”
Interestingly – or perhaps alarmingly – the question made Venti fidget slightly. “Well...” the bard let his voice trail off as he licked his lips nervously. He adjusted his grip on the lyre, looking like he was considering using it as a common, though largely ineffective, shield. “It would be an awful shame if I marched back to the Favonius Headquarters and told Jean that I snatched this from a Fatui agent, don't you think?”
Childe's jaw dropped open. “Are you...” his voice trailed off as newfound anger began to bubble under his skin. “Are you blackmailing me?”
A grimace appeared on Venti's face. “Blackmail is a strong word but, uh, I guess I am?” he laughed nervously before rushing to add, “I promise this won't take long! I just need to ask a few questions and then you're free to go and I'll return the Lyre to the Cathedral – and-and we shall never meet again if that's what you wish. You have my word.”
Childe regarded Venti with a long, blank stare. “Your word means nothing to me,” he declared with a voice void of any emotion, refusing to react when the bard flinched like that statement stung. Like he hadn't invaded Childe's privacy, technically kidnapped and then blackmailed him within a single hour.
Blue eyes returned to the lyre. Every part of his body was screaming at him to leave, to not listen to any excuses or lies that the bard would undoubtedly spew with his practiced silver tongue – lest he allowed himself to fall back into the cycles of lies, deception, and heartbreak.
Unfortunately, it's not like he had any choice in the matter. The choice had been made from the very beginning – his Archon and Fatui came first.
Always.
“Very well, you win,” Childe spat out. “You want to talk? Then go ahead, start talking.”