Chapter Text
White, everything within his sight is white and blurry. He can’t recall where the place is; where he is now. The gap in his memory is hauntingly wide. Pitch black with no trace when it began.
He remembers being in a fight, four to five men circling him. They’re wearing similar uniform, gray colored with the insignia of the Queen. The very symbol of the past he wished to bury behind.
Alas, it comes back and bites him on the neck.
He’s at the verge of collapsing from losing too much blood. Behind one of those men, a familiar face stood aloof, gazing down at him like he’s a falling prey on a predator claw. Flame was swallowing his house. The fair flecks, grayish and burnt, pouring like a heavy rain on the eve of his collapse. His son was calling, screaming from atop of his lungs. His husband was rushing from the corner of his eyes, reaching him. There were blotches of blood on their face. Black ashes litter their body.
Blank. It’s dark after that point.
What happened to him then? Sedated? Beaten? Likely the combination of both. The attack was closer to a swarm of insects ready to offer their life in his hand as long as they could land a hit to slow him down.
He tries to sit, leaning to the wall for support. He can’t feel a single bone in his body. Some parts are probably broken. Right now, he feels only numbness, a sign that he’s likely in sedation.
Childe closes his eyes, trying to assess his condition. His main objection is to return home, back to his family, and erase his track from this god-forsaken organization he once called home.
“Have you forgotten the principles of our organization, my child?”
Clap
The room is suddenly alight. The lamp above them shines way too bright for normal eyes, distorting his sight. Despite that, he will notice that voice anywhere. The owner of this voice is the one turning his life direction afterall.
The one and only elven-looking man in his knowledge, Pulcinella. He also goes with ‘the Recruiter’ and ‘the Rooster’. He calls him once as his savior, but he knows him best as the manipulator.
Childe doesn’t respond, limply leaning on the cold tile. With jaws and ankles broken, it’s not worth the effort to humor the old man. He observes the room instead, mapping the room as his sight begins to return.
A probable that the sedative has worn out. The sign that the pain is returning. He braces himself for it as his ear begins to ring. His throat cramps around a halted scream as air fails to supply. Injured ribs clamp over his lungs.
“I must scold them for delivering you unshapely.” The cane hits the floor.
Pulcinella’s face, the artistique of a frog, becomes clear to his eyes. He forgot how ugly he is that he wants to puke. Childe holds his breath from the bile threatening to spill.
“Then again, you’re out of practice. You have lost your principles, mingling with them, glorifying rustic triviality,” Pulcinella says, nonchalant at the show of agony in front of him. He stops there, right before the injured man.
Childe gags, pouring bile and blood on the white coat.
Pulcinella snarks in disapproval. “Where are the manners I taught you, my child? Conduct your act in time and properly.”
Dry and bitter his throat is. Childe coughs from the itch, if he’s in better shape he will laugh.
“I see it in time and proper,” he snarks. Words run wild in his mind, raging. “What kind of manners was that, abducting me from my family? Hurting them without any reason?”
“You have lost your way, my child. You have forgotten the principles. The place you truly belong.” The old man doesn’t budge. He presses the tip of his cane on Childe’s shoulder, on the joint, pushing it down to crash.
The scream comes after that turns deaf to his ears. “I should drill it back to you.”
He uses the sharp tip of the cane to lift Childe’s face up. The wood surface becomes stained with red as it trails up and pushes to the hollow of Childe’s cheek.
“First and foremost, our life belongs to the Tsaritsa. Second, our choice should adhere to her will. Third, nothing can weigh beyond her call. Any violation of the principles shall result in elimination. As it stands, any factor causing the violation shall also result in elimination.”
Pulcinella cleans the tip of his cane while he takes a glance at the sorry sight of his former student, ignoring his agony of the pile of broken limbs he became. As the saying goes, one can be born anew after one is thoroughly broken. He’s now helping the young one to absolve his sin. “It pains me to do this to you. However, her call is to take you home.”
Childe tastes only blood in his mouth. His consciousness is drowning, rolled over by the currents of pain latching on his flesh. Gathering the energy left, he snaps hotly at the old man. “Don’t you dare put a finger on my family–kh!!”
As to make a point, his body hunches over, coughing blood, forcefully emphasizing the multiple injuries unable to heal.
Pulcinella scrunches, making a visible frown on his forehead.
In that dire moment, Childe’s mind wanders away, imagining his husband and their son’s reaction if they’re here, together. They will call the elven an ugly frog-witch. A small comfort it gives, in the odds of his condition.
“The principles are not negotiable. Do not stray from it for the second time,” The elven-looking man barks again. Disappointment is written in that old face but Childe can’t be bothered to care.
It’s only when Pulchinella speaks again, standing by the door and staring straight at him that Childe feels that this man has turned his life direction yet again.
“Your so-called family is no more. Reflect, my child. Refresh the principles and abide by them. When you’re ready I will bring you to your true home.”
The door is closed and so is his world closing.
In that room, Childe can’t tell the time. Day and night becomes white. The lamp is too bright, constantly, blindingly, and agonizingly. The stagnancy claws, pushing him a transparent edge of depression. They put him in a monotonous routine; tending his injuries to heal, keeping his nutrients fulfilled, imposing those damned principles, and injecting new sedatives to keep him behaving. The aim is clear, to instill obedience so he will march happily back into the organization because he’s spared.
Just how wrong do they understand him? His ideal has changed. He has tasted the genuine bond of love and family.
The head of the organization, The Tsaritsa, was a figure he respected but her importance was long replaced. It is his family that is most important to him. They are his anchor to live. His husband, Zhongli, and their son, Shui.
If Pulcinella’s words hold truth, his first order will be to kill himself. There is no true home when there is no Zhongli and Shui in it.
He’s already as good as dead now; on the white floor, under the white light, lifeless. The sparks of life in his eyes are gone, contrasting the white confined him. It’s only his heart remaining, beating. Once he gets it to stop, he’ll be properly dead. One stone, two birds. He will join his family and he will avenge them by getting nothing out of him.
Childe curls to himself. While the high luminance boils him, he feels cold. His hands wrap around his stomach. Tiredness begins to rob his consciousness. However, darkness begins to envelope, faintly he feels another heartbeat resonate inside him, reaching for his hand.
He dreams of a baby snuggling to his side. Their small hand reaches his cheek. He holds that little hand. In the background, his husband and his son are in silhouettes, waving at him.
Tears fall from closed eyes. His hand rests stiff on his lower abdomen.
He is probably hallucinating. It’s probably his brain playing dirty tricks to keep him alive, to make him cling to life. But then, as he presses on his lower abdomen. He can sense it, a little bump, a life. And his tears quietly pour.
He’s beaten multiple times already, some are closer to his abdomen than others. He’s cluelessly almost killed the only thing left to him from his husband, a reminder of the family he loves.
The fire to live snaps on his nerves. His instinct as mother scolds. He cannot die yet, this little one needs him. This little one makes it through. He doesn’t believe in superstition, but he wants to hang on to that hope the dream offers.
Now that he begins to sober up with the will to live, he reconsiders the claim. While the organization is merciless, his husband is strong and his son is capable. They may survive their raid. The little one already proves it, such a miracle is possible. There may be a chance for his family to reunite.
The chance is slim, but the slim chance has proven him plenty when his life hangs in the balance. He must hold on.
He shall protect this little one until the fateful day when the four of them meet again.
YEARS LATER
Among the pale crowds of Snezhnaya men and women, a young man of a different origin looks significantly out of place in his tanned skin. Wearing barely enough layers to protect him from the cold behind the coat, he departs from the ship. Bracing himself for the cold temperature, the young man walks with the crowd to test the climate.
The chilling air quickly wraps him, sending freeze under his skin. He rubs his palms together. The chill is bearable enough. The young man is confident to adapt in due time. Afterall, with a certain goal to fulfill, he won’t leave this place anytime soon.
“Do you know this village?” He asks the sailor of the ship he’s boarded, showing him a brownish note from his pocket.
The bulky man grunts. His exterior is rough with some old scars on the left eye.
“Morepesok is a three-day walk from here, you can get there faster by bypassing the forest. What business do you have in that deserted village, lad? I’ll say you’re lucky if you can find a soul there.”
“I’m searching for someone,” the young man answers shortly. He flips the note back into his pocket. “Which direction should I take?”
“Go North, follow the main road. Midway, follow the path to the forest, from there you will find a plank to the village. Careful of the monsters. It’s wild outside the capital.” The sailorman pulls out a cigarette, burning the tip before he takes a puff. “What’s your name, lad? I have a hunch our path will cross.”
“Thank you, Sir.” The young man nods, making a mental note of his destination. He pulls the side of his collar up to subdue the cold. “It is Shui.”
A strong wind rolls the man’s ears. “What-?”
The wind blows stronger, rustling and pulling the sailor’s scarf that the piece of clothing repeatedly slap his face.
When the wind tones down, the young man is already gone from his sight.
Twelve years ago, the youngman witnessed his mother being taken away from their comfy house.
Shui remembers that day as an abomination. That day, he lost the most important person in his life and he’s powerless against it. That day, his inexperienced self almost cost his father’s life too.
Since that day, he has trained nonstop. There’s not a single day gone by without training for him. He must get stronger, becoming the strongest, so one day when his father’s search for his mother bears results, he will do those imps equal.
Or so he thought.
Two years after that abominable day, his father found a hint. His mother was spotted near Morepesok, Snezhnaya. Alive and operating under the same organization, those men came. They’re thrilled, ready to take their precious person back home.
Unfortunately, they stepped on the wrong stone. The hint was not given for free.
A force of twenty to thirty assassins was sent to eliminate them. He and his father managed to defeat the assassins, at the cost of his father’s life.
Shui is not someone who keeps revenge. Growing up, he is taught not to own anything to others. Bad or good, everything is better packed up, settled down, at the moment. If someone beats him, he will beat that person back. If someone helps him, he will help that person back. No bag of past deeds is behind him, for so long.
When his father dies, wounded and exhausted from multiple fights, Shui vows revenge. He will take back what is taken from him, and eliminate what they hold dear, as they did to him.
After ten years of preparation, he lands himself in Snezhnaya.
As said by the sailor, he meets a smaller junction directing him to the woods. Shui follows that path after making a deep cut on the tree near the entrance. According to the rough map he got from a Snezhnayan merchant, Morepesok is located northwest near the sea. The clue is in line with the direction the path is heeding. It’s safe to say that the sailor didn’t trick him.
While the sailor spoke of truth, that man certainly missed to mention that the forest is a big maze.
His navigation skill is nearly useless as he walks deeper into the forest. The compass doesn’t function and his sight is obstructed by the trees. The woods seem to swallow him deeper. He can no longer hear the chittering of birds or small animals. He decides to go up, reaching the highest branch to get a view of his surroundings.
There, he finds the oddest thing. A little girl, likely ten, is on her way alone, wandering happily through the woods, unaware of a monster that comes approaching in strides. Without a second thought, he rushes to that child, leaping from branches in lightsteps to kick the monster in a strong blow.
“What the fuck you doing here?” He snaps. The child looks visibly shocked on the ground, holding a basket full of berries. “Where are your parents? Don’t you know this forest is dangerous?!” He asks furiously, vehement by her lack of awareness.
The girl winches from where she stumbles. Her eyes, a deep pair of blue orbs, stare at him half-horrified. Beyond that, her eyes send a vague sense of familiarity.
Shui squats beside the child, observing her closely. She’s wearing a thick coat and wrapped in a red scarf, judging by the quality she must come from a good family. What is a child like this doing here? Being out of nowhere.
“Are you mute?” He asks, calmer this time.
The child just stares and Shui almost believes it’s the case.
She speaks after a while, bowing deeply at him (which is quite unusual for the culture there).
“Thank you, Mister.” Her voice is unsure, darting from the ground to him. It eventually settles on him. “I’m sorry for the trouble. Uhm, my mama is away so I sneak here, please don’t let my mama know,” she says hurriedly, peeking from under the long lashes. Her voice is steady now after the initial shock of his appearance is gone. “Are you lost here, Mister?”
That is odd. Shui doesn’t quite expect the response to be calm. She should be afraid at least. Alone in the middle of the forest is not any child’s favorite thing.
“That should be my question.” He stands, cleaning the dirt on his coat. Not far from them, he hears a booming howl, likely from the kicked monster regaining their consciousness. The child looks in that direction, but the howl doesn’t affect her.
“My house is not far from here, Mister,” she says after the forest turns quiet, confirming the unsaid accusation. “This part of the forest usually doesn’t have visitors. You’re the first person I see around, Mister. Uhm, that’s why I thought you were lost… Thank you again, Mister.”
The child dips her head in gratitude.
Perhaps, it’s a pity or a rare empathy found in him, Shui pats the child’s head.
“I’ll accompany you home, lead the way,” he says, retracting his hand.
A part of him argues the decision. He has no use for that child. He can just ditch her here and go his bloody way to find his revenge.
However, as he thinks about the worries of the child's mother if she doesn’t make it back home; Shui can’t help but think about his own mother. The look of his mother, painful and broken, flashes before him.
Other than that, she does say her house is around the area. The child is probably a native, and in his years of travel the native does better in navigation.
“By chance, Do you know Morepesok?” He asks as they begin to ask.
The child walks beside him in a smaller step, making her a few paces behind compared to his step. Shui slightly pauses, slowing his pace.
When they’re side by side, the child enthusiastically nods.
“Yes, I know! Is there where you want to go, Mister?”
“Yeah. I have some business there.”