Chapter Text
“Hey Ajax, Feliks thinks Irina is the prettiest, but obviously it's Marina, come on!”
Ajax looked up from his dirt recreation of one of his dad’s tales to find his friends gesturing across the school yard. Their faces were an odd shade of pink as he followed their rabid hand movements. Irina and Marina were sitting on the old rickety table that Ajax’s mom said was there when she attended school, chatting amongst a gaggle of girls. The girls paid no mind to the boys as they babbled on, their profiles stark against the snowy background.
Ajax shrugged and returned to outlining his father’s sword swinging down on the geovishap.
“What’s that supposed to mean! Come on, you got to have an opinion. Or do you like Ogla instead, blah.”
No he didn’t like Olga, or well he liked her just fine, but not in the way they seemed to be implying. Irina, Marina, Olga, he didn’t get what changed for his friends. They looked the same as they always did— a little taller maybe, faces a little less round. Nothing particularly special about it. Ajax didn’t get what was the big deal. Marina was Marina, Olga Olga, so on and so forth. So he just shrugged, and returned to his dust painting. The stories his dad told him were always much more interesting than talking about the girls or anything else in the little town of Morepesok.
There was a bit of a shuffle above him, but Ajax paid it no mind. The swords danced across his daydreams. His imagination filled with the cliff faces of Liyue, the rivers of Fontaine, the lava pits of Natlan. The world was so wide and varied, so much more than the monotony of Morepesok. Than the endless snow, the whites and grays as far as the eye could see. It was like Ajax lived in a monochromatic world, but somewhere, out there in the land of his father’s adventures, was a rich tapestry of colors that Ajax only had to find. He swept his hand through the dirt, erasing his father’s sword duel as he went. Ajax decided to run away.
His friends didn’t notice.
“Child, keep eating. Don’t make that face at me, brat; I know it tastes like shit, but you don’t want to starve down here. You’ve survived monsters and the literal abyss itself, don’t die like a dumbass because you didn’t eat enough.”
“Isn’t it you who said time works weird here, so our bodies too don’t exactly function the same.”
“Yes I did! And if you were actually listening and not just hearing what you wanted to hear, then you would know that sometimes time moves faster. So you will need to eat more. Don’t be smart with me and eat the dumb alchemy food.”
Ajax was miserable. He was covered in bruises and skid marks that stung against the cold air. His muscles were sore, and he wanted to gag as he choked down the ‘rations’. They tasted like chalk on his tongue, and the aftertaste stayed for hours afterwards. The worst part, though, was how Skirk didn’t eat them. She didn’t eat anything. When he asked why, her only answer was “curse”. So every meal time without fail he would stuff the disgusting excuse for food down his throat as quickly as possible, and she would sit there staring at him with her unsettling diamond eyes.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, child. Those things used to be the only thing we had to eat in my home, and look, I’m still here. Though I will be honest, I can’t say I miss that aspect of mortal life.” Her head leaned onto one of her hands, in a facsimile of someone actually lost in thought. But the rest of her body betrayed her, her other hand gripping her sword hilt. Ajax had never seen her let go of it in the entire time they had been together. He trailed a finger over his father’s blade. It was getting rusty and dull at the edges. He should have asked his dad how to care for it. One of a million regrets.
“Why didn’t you eat regular food? You weren’t born in the abyss were you?” A huff of a laugh escaped Skirk, though Ajax had traveled with her enough to recognize that her accompanying grin wasn’t entirely real. Cagey about her past was putting it lightly.
“No, my home wasn’t in the abyss, not at that point at least. But we were underground, the land decrepit, abandoned by the gods. Not much farming to be had. Though I do sometimes wonder what the Chief Alchemist had plans for if things hadn’t gone to shit. Who calls a war machine a field tiller? I mean, that lady was a total weirdo regardless. The royal palace was littered with her ‘children’. She was friendly enough, but the only ones who could stand her for more than a couple minutes were those two idiots...”
Ah, Skirk was fading again. Ajax had started calling it that after the fifth time she started nodding off in the middle of a nostalgia fueled ramble. There was something unsettling in the way her eyes lost their ever present sharpness. One would think he would be happy to not have her incense stare on him for once. However, with the lack of her gaze creeped in the utter loneliness, so he grew to hate those moments. The hatred didn’t stop the curiosity. What did she see? What was the home in her memories like, gilded in gold? The home he didn’t need to ask to know was no more.
Pushing himself off the ground, he ignored the prickle of rocks across his palms. She didn't move. He adjusted his sword grip. She still didn’t move. Well, he thought, there was going to be no better time and struck.
She was back before the clank of blades echoed in the empty space, and Ajax found his butt once again in the ground. A new scrape on his hands to add to the collection.
Nursing his wound, Ajax said, “Awwww, I thought I had you this time.”
“Child, you don’t do a sneak attack from the front, dumbass,” Skirk said as she stood up, stretching her arms, and cracking her neck.
“That's the thing; you would never expect it!” It got the expected result: the last echo of that hazy look was gone from her face, replaced by laughter. It was rare to hear Skirk laugh, and it was an ugly thing—half snorting, half choking—but somehow it was the nicest sound in the entire abyss. It meant Skirk was back. She knelt down and extended a callused hand.
“Ok kid sure, I’ll believe it when I see it. Either way, if you have so much energy, let's train; maybe you’ll be able to get me to use 10% of my strength.” Ajax took her hand, it was cold, yet firm.
“Yes Master!”
That’s the thing, Ajax was miserable. It was dark, the food was absolute garbage, he was constantly in pain, there were monsters everywhere, and he missed his family so fucking much.
“Move your foot, no not that far. Yes there, see how much stabiler you are there. But don’t get too hung up on that, you need to move, be fluid. Even the mightiest rock can be eroded away by a stream of water. So become like water, ever changing. We humans are fragile things, but because of our capability to innovate, to change, that is why we have survived. In the time I have fought as the vanguard, I have learned many strange powers—if you get strong enough maybe I’ll teach you some of them. Until then remember this, every part of your body was once something else, and one day, in death it will become something new. It is capable of incredible change, you just have to learn how. Do you understand, child of the surface?”
Ajax was miserable, and somehow he never felt more alive.
His blade arched through the air, letting out the most triumphant sound, and he didn’t even need to turn to know that Skirk was smiling.
Three days, it had only been three days. Ajax stared down at the brown liquid in the mug that was forced into his hands, at the blankets suffocating him. Warm, it was very warm. Nothing in the abyss was warm. It was constantly cold: not the wet cold of the snow that sprinkled the ground practically year round in Morepesok but a never ending chill under the skin that didn’t go away no matter how much one bundled up. How much he clawed at the skin.
When Skirk was feeling generous, she would massage at his stiff fingers, it made them feel better, but he never had the heart to mention how icy her hands were. It was like touching a corpse. Ajax wondered if she had a heartbeat, if he cut her open would she bleed. Or was she frozen in time, in the moment 500 years ago when everything was lost.
He tilted the cup to the side and watched the liquid almost slip over the edge. If he spilled it on his hand, would it burn? Would he be able to feel any pain at all? Was he capable of it anymore? It didn’t seem like it. His siblings crowded around him, their warm hands all over him, hushed worries washing over everything. When she found him, his mother held him and cried. All Ajax could do was stand there, looking up into the sky, and thought how funny the sky looked. The stars were so patterned, so stagnant. Why was the sky so boring, when in the abyss it was so very alive? What changed? Maybe it was him.
His father’s hands cupped his face. They trembled as his thumb brushed against his cheek. Ajax could reach up and break it. It would be easy. In all his memories his father was such a larger than life figure, his stories dancing across Ajax’s mind like out of a dream. But now he was so fragile, such a little speck amongst the great infinity of all that he had seen. His hand was warm though, and Ajax leaned into it. Eyes closed he didn’t have to see the way that Anya looked at him, like he was a stranger.
Later, cup of hot chocolate in hand, Tonia passed out on his lap, Ajax didn’t spill it on to his hand. It didn’t matter, and there was no point in worrying his family more than they already were. He only just got his parents to stop fussing. So, bringing the cup up to his lips, he drank the first real substance in three months days. It was heavenly.
Knuckles blooded surrounded by the fallen Ajax (was he even Ajax anymore—) grinned. There there there, that was what he wanted. The fight, the feel of his body pushed to the limit. He wanted it all, but it wasn’t enough; he looked around, a hound after blood. This world was large, there must be more, there must be—.
His father stood there, blank faced. Ajax’s grin fell. His childhood days were over.
“So… you’re the one who has been beating up the troops?” said the man with the long beak-like mask. The large, black lens betrayed nothing of the eyes beneath, but Ajax could feel his gaze on him regardless. The masked man was assessing him. Ajax would be unsettled if anything unsettled him anymore. Observing the man in return, Ajax found him lacking. His noodle arms and short stature would make him useless in a fight and that was ignoring the ridiculously impractical getup he was sporting. Poofy pants and pointed shoes? Really?
The only thing that stayed his hand from punting him to the floor was the insignia on his lapel that identified his as a Harbinger (Ajax was reckless but even he wasn’t dumb enough to piss off the Tsaritsa, not yet at least) and more importantly, the fact that such a fight would be an absolute bore.
“Yep” he said popping the p, “what’s yah gonna do about it?” The Harbinger’s shoulders tensed, and Ajax slid into a smirk. So he was human under that mask after all. Maybe he had a problem with his background, plenty of Ajax’s trainers did. But instead of the expected yelling, the Harbinger let out a sigh and leaned forward onto clasped hands.
“I am going to issue you a challenge, I’ve heard you like those after all. In punishment for your actions, you will serve directly under me. Starting from the bottom you will work your way up the ladder, working for the betterment of our dear Tsaritsa. If you are able to impress me—and Her as well—there might just be a place for you among our number. Ajax of Morepesok, what do you say?”
Ajax leaned forward; the table dug into his abdomen, but he didn’t care. If he was understanding what he was implying, this was everything he had been searching for.
“As long as there is something strong to fight, I am in”
“What the fuck is that?”
“Pulcinella!”
“That is Lord Pulcinella to you!”
“Whatever, so that thing you sent me to do. Well I finished it early—wow those mob grunts were shit—and on my way back I learned about this hunting competition. So of course I entered it, and look what I found in a bog, a Vodyanoy! I thought you could stuff it and use it for decoration. This place is so empty, some stuff will make it feel less like a catacomb!”
“Tsaritsa protect me”
“You didn’t ask, but of course I won. Oh let me put this down over here...”
Dear Mom and Dad,
I hope everyone is well, and that the test Tonia was telling me about was a success. I’ve already heard about Anya’s research paper; it's the talk of the Fatui! On the topic of the Fatui, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been doing amazing! My skills brought me to the attention of Pulcinella the Fifth Harbinger himself! He has taken me under his wing, (haha wing, his codename is the rooster) who knows I might just become a harbinger one day. Either way, because of him, I’ve been able to get a pay increase, enclosed is....
Ajax’s penchant for beating up not just his fellow recruits but also their instructors resulted in most giving him a wide berth. So when one of his dorm mates called him over to join the rest, he was surprised. Ajax didn’t really care what others thought of him, but he did enjoy company, so he accepted the offer.
As the youngest of the bunch by three years, he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. The older boys back home wanted nothing to do with kids like Ajax, and his interests diverged from his peers anyways so he wasn’t entirely sure what they did in their free time. Somehow he was pretty sure they didn’t want to fight him or crash a theater performance. The one who asked him to join patted the spot next to him, and Ajax followed along sitting on the edge of the bed.
A few weary glances were thrown his way, but the eldest of the bunch, a nineteen year old with a birthmark on his chin and a name Ajax never bothered learning, gave him a lopsided grin, leaning back on his arms lazily.
“Ajax right, how old are you again, eleven?”
“Fourteen”
“Yeah yeah, close enough,” he waved a hand dismissively as Ajax made a face and continued, “Anyways, you might be a total battle junky with a death wish, but you're also a teenager, with you know, urges. Technically we aren’t supposed to have these, but I have a friend who smuggled them in, and I will happily provide them to you, for a price of course. I also provide liquor and cigarettes.”
Urges…? Considering his comment about fighting, Ajax doubted that was what he was referring to. However what other urges he was supposed to have, Ajax had no idea. His confusion only grew as the boy procured what appeared to be little booklets, the covers with some women who could not have been in Snezhnaya because they would have been freezing. The other boys leaned in, the clank of mora already filling the room, and Ajax could only dart his eyes around trying to find a clue.
The other boys acted as if this was commonplace, so he gripped the sheets beneath him restraining from voicing his confusion. They already thought he was an idiot; there was no need to solidify that assumption in their minds. They assumed because he enjoyed combat over other pursuits he was dumb. That was patently untrue: he won his grade’s chess competition several years in a row, and his teachers always found him quite bright. The issue was that he got bored easily. The lure of far off ventures dragged his attention from the mundane intricuses of a multiplication test.
He refused to lose to them, so he put on his best grin and observed. The boy with the birthmark was a no go, his expression an inscrutable grin, and the older ones were equally as illusive, so he turned next to him, the second youngest of their dorm. A firstborn who failed to meet his father’s expectations so he was turned over to the Fatui, his younger sister taking over the business in his stead.
(Later: After being bounced around several commands, he would find himself a Palace Guard under the direct control of the Fourth Harbinger. He would be endlessly thankful that as a pyro agent he had a full facial mask, because he would rather die than someone see the face he made when observing little weird Ajax having a casual brunch with the Pale Flame Maiden herself.)
The red splashed across his face betrayed some kind of embarrassment, but the way he leaned forwards seemed to contradict that, the excitement evident. The other younger boys shared similar postures though a couple of them were whispering among themselves or flipping through their new purchases. Ripping one of them out of his comrade’s hands would give him answers quicker, but the consequences would be swift, so he waited impatiently for the boy next to him to receive his and leaned in, peering over the open pages.
The contents… didn’t clarify anything at all. It was some kind of art book, the art all ladies looking mildly uncomfortable at best, draped across the page. Why this had sent the rest of the boys into a tizzy Ajax didn’t understand.
Before he could look closer, maybe there was something he missed, the booklet was closed shut with a clap and brought to the boy’s chest. The Failure First Born shouted “Hey! Buy your own if you're so interested”
Ajax considered it but found the endeavor ultimately pointless and shook his head. He had better things to spend his allowance on, like Anthon’s birthday gift. It was currently between a camera and a practice bow. Either way, his curiosity wasn’t strong enough to purchase something that might not even give him an answer.
First Born Failure scrunched his nose before shaking his head and turned to the boy on his right, elbowing him to get his attention. Ajax was once again left to his own devices to figure out what was going on. Maybe if the contraband didn’t tell him anything, maybe the conversations would.
“Did you hear, Lyudmila is getting a transfer?” “Wait no, fuck I wanted to ask her out!” “Idiot she’s dating Mikhail” “I heard Mikhail was dating a Cicin Mage, though I have no idea which one” “Mikhail and a Cicin Mage, you have been duped my friend; that man only thinks of the mission, he doesn’t have time for any ladies” “Ha, well that's not me: I have a date with a beautiful Mirror Maiden in training” “Liar”
Wait, wait, wait. No, this couldn’t be about—
The bed dipped next to him, and a squeal was let out that could only have been from First Born Failure. Ajax turned to find Birthmark man himself, slate eyes shadowed by his fringe.
“So see anything you like, little Ajax?” Before he could even get out his response, Birthmark continued, “or maybe… considering you don’t seem all that interested in the girls, I can provide other materials, no judgement here.” Birthmark seemed to be going to tap his chin, but Ajax had enough and stopped the arm in its tracks. The room went quiet.
Birthmark, unruffled by the death grip on his wrist, kept smiling. The smile did not match the look in his eyes, and Ajax understood why he was someone Pulcinella had personally chosen. Ajax was tempted to actually shatter his wrist, maybe then the dumb smirk would break.
“Hey, hey! There is no need to be embarrassed. It's a natural process that everyone goes through. Though if you're not interested, don't worry, I’ll always be here”
“I’m not interested” Ajax growled out, before realizing too late that wasn’t the purpose of the comment, Birthmark having already slipped out of his grip. He placed his hands behind his back in a facsimile of a stretch. It was subtle, and likely none of the other boys noticed due to their collective sigh of relief, but Ajax saw the bruise starting to form over the skin. Fatui don’t show weakness, and that man would become one of its best.
As Ajax stormed off, all his roommates eyes on him, Birthmark couldn’t help himself from getting the final word, “Maybe not yet, but everyone is interested eventually. And I will still be here for when your time comes.”
Ajax slammed into his bunk, wrapped his blanket around his head, and screamed. Girls, it was about girls again. About relationships and all the dumb shit that came with it. Ajax thought that he had escaped all that when he left Morepesok. But no, it was worse, so much worse. His grip tightened on his pillow.
Weaklings, they were all so very weak.
A satisfying crunch filled the air as he shoved one of his squadmates to the ground. His nose would heal back crooked, an eternal reminder that he once faced the vanguard of the Fatui and lived. Later, Pulcinella would be angry that he was being so rough during sparring, but Ajax would point out how pitifully weak his handpicked recruits were. Once he was done screaming, the first thing out of his squadmate's mouth wasn’t how pitiful his performance was— or even noticing how erratic Ajax was acting even for him—it was this:
“Fucking hell, I have a date tonight asshole. Fuck, if you ruined my face—psycho brat!”
Weak, why was everyone so pitifully weak?
The girl would dump him before the week was out. The rest of their training days Ajax would receive passive aggressive comments from him as if he was to blame for his poor love life. Said girl in question, whose name was Inessa, whispered to him during a sparring match break (Unlike the sparring matches with his fellow male recruits, who looked at him with horror and tried to avoid being paired with him as much as possible, his matches with the girls tended to go much better. Probably, because unlike several of the other boys, he didn’t go easy on them in an attempt at flirting. Skirk would have killed him, and it would be boring anyways) that she had never felt more talked down to in her life, and that he had spent most of the date complaining about the one who broke his nose. Never mentioning it was Ajax of course, he can’t be seen being beat up by someone younger than him.
As he wiped away the sweat from his brow, Ajax asked the question that had been plaguing him since becoming unnecessary tied to this whole endeavor: “Why did you go out with him in the first place?”
“Oh that’s easy, he’s hot,” she said and let out a snort as she turned to his baffled face, “You really don’t get it do you? He’s attractive, so I gave him a chance but even having a pretty face doesn’t change that he was terrible to be around.”
“But… why?” Even as he asked, Ajax wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by the question. It was such a simple question; the answer so endless. He understood that his parents were married, and there was a warmth to their union that Ajax thought would be nice to have. But faced with all of it, all the boys in the school yard and the boys in the barracks, he didn’t know what to do with it. Why? Just why.
Inessa turned more towards him, reaching out and holding his face. Her hands were warm and her expression serious. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear she stated, “It's ok not to get it now. Everyone moves at their own pace. You’ll understand one day.” The smile she gave him was so very kind.
It gave him no comfort.
Anya wouldn’t look at him. She wasn’t even being subtle, her eyes locked to the cup of coffee she wasn’t drinking . Anya was a notorious sweet tooth who used to sneak Ajax the mess ups when she baked with Mother. Sneak being an exaggeration because more often than not the evidence would be left on his face, but their mother would just smile, wink, and get her handkerchief out. Today, Anya took her coffee black.
Somehow, Taras’s way of handling him was less disconcerting. Taras was two years his senior and had a habit of teasing younger Ajax whenever their mom wasn’t in the room. Since returning from the abyss, the teasing stopped. In the immediate follow up his brother was uncharacteristically quiet and would sometimes reach out and touch him, as if reaffirming he was still there. The silence didn’t survive Ajax’s first incident, and the teasing turned into treating Ajax like he was some kind of beast, words piercing barbs. Yet somehow less painful than Anya who said nothing at all.
“So Anya… I heard about your research paper, the effects of elements on visionless humans right? Pulcinella couldn’t believe I was related to someone so smart.”
Her fingers gripped her cup a little tighter, and she nodded. Anya had always been a bit quiet. Her childhood was spent buried in books and when able she immediately enrolled in the Snezhnaya Academy to continue to surround herself with even more books. But she would always leave a space open for Ajax to curl up next to her and sometimes on particularly cold winter nights, whispers of fairy tales flowed through the room.
The hot chocolate he ordered wasn’t sweet enough; he wasn’t sure why he got it. Pulcinella’s was better. The silence dragged on.
Taras broke it, “Why the fuck are we even here? You can stop with that innocent little face Ajax, I know you don’t actually care about Anya’s research or anything other than beating people up. You don’t think we didn’t hear about the way you’ve been swanning around leaving people half dead or worse. Dad’s delusional if he thinks this will make you better, Anya let’s go.”
The chair made a horrible scraping sound as it was pushed out as Taras shot up. Ajax stayed seated; there was no stopping Taras. Ajax couldn’t stop him from taking Andrey’s dare to ask out the older Sofia, and he couldn’t convince him now that he wasn’t a monster. How can one convince someone else something they don’t entirely believe?
Anya stayed seated; her sight still trailed on her untouched coffee. Taras looked to her, trying to communicate something, before shaking his head and storming off, his tea left still steaming on the table.
There was the slight tapping of a nervous twitch against the coffee cup, and Anya said her first words to Ajax in over a year, “I apologize for Taras: his girlfriend just broke up with him, and he is a bit emotionally fraught. Mother thought it would be a good idea for him to get out of town and visit us.”
Nothing she said was a lie, Tonia had waxed poetic about how miserable Taras was around the house, and the storm of half torn pages of rambling yearning love poetry left in his wake. Mother had to physically drag him out of the house and place him on the next train to Zapolyarny. But there was more than that answer, and what was missing filled the air between them and made it hard to breathe.
“I should go after him,” she said as she pushed her way out of her seat. The sound wasn’t as loud and earsplitting, but the scrap against the floor rang out all the same. She turned to leave, before pausing, and gave one final thought, “I’m sorry Ajax, we’ll make it up to you. I’ll get him to visit again before he returns home.” Then she left, never once looking him in the eye.
Her coffee still untouched, he reached out and took a gulp. It was bitter.
Taras returned home without visiting, and Anya—despite living in the same city—didn’t either.
It was snowing, which wasn't saying much considering it was always snowing in Snezhnaya. However, it was a particularly harsh storm that trapped the residents inside the Zapolyarny Palace. Ajax, returning with a pelt from a beast that had been terrorizing a town in the south, had intended to present it to Pulcinella before collapsing on his bed in the barracks.
Instead Pulcinella demanded he wait out the storm and situated him at a way too fancy (and large) table in his rooms. Ajax made sure to drag his mud soaked boots on the silk rug a bit longer than necessary. It was a game he liked to play, seeing how far he could push Pulcinella before he snapped. Surprisingly it hadn’t come to that yet; Pulcinella had the patience of a saint. To be honest, Ajax wasn’t sure if he was going to manage to break him before he got bored of the venture.
(It was more accurate to say Pulcinella was used to it. Sandrone had a habit of barging in without warning, stealing his favorite snack food, before ranting on and on about whatever thing or person pissed him off that day. And that was only one example of how his fellow harbingers tried his patience)
A hot chocolate was placed in front of him by a blank-faced maid. About to voice a complaint about not even being offered coffee, the look the maid gave him stopped him in his tracks. Instead he picked up the mug, basking in the warmth, while internally complaining about the hypocrisy of treating him like a child while also sending him to do battle with monsters and beasts alike. Ajax took a sip. It was stupidly good like always, and he gulped down half of it in seconds.
“So this is Ajax of Morepesok, my Pulcinella’s personal project. You are quite pitifully small. I would question his sanity, bringing a child into this war, but the way the Abyss screams around I understand”
Ajax’s head whipped around, almost sending the cup flying. There was no sound of footsteps. When his gaze landed on the figure, he let out a small screech and floundered if he should stand up or fall to the ground and grovel. For while he had never laid eyes on her and there were no portraits around the palace, no Snezhnayan would fail to recognize their Tsaritsa.
“Sit down, I have no need for groveling. It doesn’t suit you. I have heard the tales of Ajax who swans around like he owns the place, challenging those as he pleases. I value honesty, remember that.”
Ajax sat down. That didn’t stop him from starring. The statute in the square failed to capture her presence. The way her almost translucent eyes bored into one’s very essence. The only bit of color was the scar that split the left side of her face, a pinkish tone that did nothing to soften the figure she struck. She was all sharp edges like the ice she wielded, but there was something soft around her eyes that made Ajax want to reach out and wipe away a tear that would never come.
Pulcinella pulled out a chair for her (Ajax only just now noticed he had returned; he must have been behind her), and she sat down with the grace only earned from a life in the court. She sat at the end of the table, perpendicular to Ajax, and Pulcinella deigned to sit across, at her right hand. The look he gave Ajax told him everything he needed to know. If he fucked this up, there would be hell to pay. If it was just Pulcinella, he wouldn’t care, but with the Tsaritsa here he recognized the fact that the blank-faced maid might have to be cleaning up pieces of him if he displeased her.
“If you were to choose one, what would be your codename?”
Huh.
He must have said that out loud because the look Pulcinella sent him was seething, but the Tsaritsa didn’t bat an eyelid. She just kept staring at him intently and repeated her question, “A Codename, all Harbingers are given a name by me to be used for official business. It is a great honor and should be treated with care. However they must all choose for themselves a codename to be used in the field. I ask this question to all of my prospective Harbingers; I think it is quite telling of what they see in themselves. For example, dear Pulcinella here chose the Rooster, a harbinger of the dawn. So Ajax, who would you choose to be?”
Oh. This time he had not said that out loud and instead took in the way she didn’t seem to blink, her face impassive, before looking down at his hands. Who was he, who did he want to be? He traced the scar on his left knuckles from an abyssal hilichural who got too close before Skirk saved him. His right fingers were a little crooked from jamming his hand into an abyss mage’s skull. Calluses from hours and hours of training and fighting, worn over and over again by the hilt of his blade.
A warrior, that would be so very easy. It was true, but was that who he wanted to be? Or more accurately was that all he wanted to be? To the Fatui? To his Tsaritsa? His gaze drifted to the hot chocolate that had to have been getting cold. He remembered his family's hands, their worried murmurings, but ultimately their joy because he was alive. He remembered thinking that Skirk would love to drink some of it. That’s it, that had always been it.
“Childe”
The room froze. Pulcinella for once looked out of words, utterly baffled, and the Tsaritsa’s cold emotionless exterior was broken slightly by a head tilt that betrayed her confusion.
Childe rushed forward before they misunderstood, “Childe, with an ‘e’. Like how they used to refer to a nobleman’s son. I considered ‘Young Lord,’ but that's a bit pretentious even for me.”
In an instant he knew that he had said the wrong thing. It was hard to tell, but somehow he knew that wasn’t the answer that she had wanted. That little bit of emotion that slipped through was gone, replaced by that impenetrable mask.
“I see”, except she didn’t. As she pushed her way up all Childe knew was that he had to make her understand. That he needed her to. He never needed the approval of anyone before, but somehow this woman with such a hidden sad expression made him crave it. Except he didn’t know how, how to explain what that name meant, what all of it meant. Why he was sitting in this extravagant room in the middle of a frozen city, where the boy Ajax of the little village of Morepesok didn’t belong. But maybe Childe of the Fatui could. Pulcinella looked so disappointed. Childe refused to lose to him.
Her arm was freezing as he grabbed it. Pulcinella looked like he was about to have an aneurism as he shot up, dagger in hand. So he had some fight in him, interesting. The Tsaritsa looked like she was about to smite him, but he spoke before she could.
“Childe, Skirk used to call me that,” and suddenly she wasn’t angry. He took that as a sign to continue, never letting go of her arm, “well, she meant it in the kid way. I never told her my name, you see. Mom always stressed stranger danger, and what is more shifty than a strange probably immortal woman in the abyss. Even as I learned to trust her, I never did tell her; it just never was the right time I guess. I was just… child. That was the person that left the abyss. One day, when I meet her again, I will tell her my name. Until then… well I can’t just be a child, I want to be something more. Something more than the little boy who daydreamed in his little seaside village. Does that make any sense?”
She felt like the snow that dusted the windowsills on his old house. Cold yes, but there was warmth just beyond the glass. Unlike the walking corpse that was Skrik, the Cryo Archon was warm under her frozen over heart. She wasn’t human, he didn’t dare compare them, but her heart beat all the same.
“Yes, yes it does my Childe,” and Childe felt his body collapse against the table, his hand finally letting go of her arm. If she left, he would not lose her forever. Pulcinella appeared to have aged 30 years, which he totally deserved after pulling this stunt on him.
The restful moment was quickly broken by frozen hands grabbing the sides of his face pulling him towards her. Subconsciously he tried to break the grip, but it was like pushing steel and all he could do was look into those pale, eerie eyes, his face reflected back at him. They reminded him of Skirk’s in a weird way, though in all the ways Skirk’s were fiery, the Tsaritsa’s were the opposite. They had seen the deepest parts of the world and came back changed.
“Childe, will you be one of my Harbingers, who will burn away this old rotten world? Will you stand against even the gods of Celestia, and not rest until their thrones in the sky have fallen back down to the earth? Do you swear?” the Tsartisa stated with the conviction that could only come from an Archon.
Childe had already known how he would answer long before this conversation, maybe even before Pulcinella singled him out amongst the recruits. Maybe it was the moment he saw that look in Skirk’s eye as she sat in the glow of the campfire, her eyes a strange mix of sorrow and madness as she whispered curses against the gods. Even she afraid to scream. Yes he knew his answer long ago, but now he understood that he would follow the Tsaritsa to the end, no matter where this path would take him. She was a warrior, and had his respect.
He reached up and placed his hands over hers, hoping they brought her some warmth and said “I swear. I swear that I will one day stand over the toppled thrones, and until then, I will be your blade, no not just that I will be your vanguard, and allow no enemy to touch you, no challenge left unwon. I will be your Harbinger, this I swear.”
The dip of her head was the only answer he needed.
Interlude: Pulcinella
“So my Pulcinella, after all that, what do you think of Childe?”
“One can trust him, but one ought not get too attached. He has unusual tastes when it comes to combat—the encounters he craves the most being those that bring him closest to his own demise”
“I see”
Pulcinella just bowed his head as the Tsaritsa walked forwards, her mind already made up. He was the presence of calm. Internally was another story.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
For Pulcinella the Rooster, fifth of the Fatui Harbingers, liked things going to plan. And when he saw the young Ajax over the knocked out bodies of his fellow recruits, he saw an opportunity. A tool in his arsenal to leverage against the others. Pulcinella recognized his lack of combat ability might become a liability one day. Relying on his fellow Harbingers was not an option. Scaramouche would never let him live it down. Signora would just do her dumb smirk thing, and Capitano would be nice about it, but in a way that was totally annoying. And even the most reasonable (and powerful) of the bunch, Colombina, was a wild card when her emotions went haywire: she might accidentally incinerate him in the process of trying to save him.
So no, he needed a back up plan, and the powerful naive child from a hicks town was perfect. The Jester had assigned him to cover for Sandrone for that afternoon, a perfect twist of fate. Or well it would have been if said child wasn't insane and had a death wish. And that death wish was the kicker. He could deal with crazies, Dottore lived in his basement, but the death wish, that was what was sending him into the fuck spirl.
Because he knew that look on his Tsaritsa, it was the look she got when saw a broken stray she wanted to take in. Even as he warned her, he knew it was too late. She was attached to the kid that soul sung with the Abyss, that was going to rush straight into a battle and die like an idiot. And it would be Pulcinella who would have to pick up the pieces of the Tsaritsa’s heart, because certainly no one else in their group of strays had the emotional maturity to be of much help.
He, of course, betrayed none of that to her. No need to worry her with such frivolities. She was their Archon, and had more important things to deal with than a stray, soon to be Fatui Harbinger. So he trailed after her like he always did, going through contingency after contingency. The boy in his mind’s eye who scoffed at being treated like a child yet called himself one. At the stain of chocolate across his lip that Pulcinella wanted to reach across the table and wipe away (he was in the presence of their archon, what was this boy doing!). He catalogued every bit of him, organizing it into a web of knowledge that would rival Sandrone’s immense connections. Somewhere in that mess of a human being was a path to victory, to a path where that boy lives. Pulcinella, Fifth of the Fatui Harbingers, well, he just had to find it.
(For the Tsaritsa’s sake of course, what gave you the idea that he cared otherwise?)
Fatui Harbingers do not kneel to anyone, not even the Tsaritsa. To her it would be hypocritical: she who dares plan rebellion against Celestia for their totalitarian rule, yet demands such actions from her most trusted. Childe didn’t really get it; it was all pomp and ceremony to him, but he stood tall anyways, as his Tsaritsa looked down from her throne.
He could feel nine sets of eyes behind and around him. His fellow harbingers' judgment apparent; they must have seen his trail of blood. They all wore masks, some covering the face, some not, but no matter how well they had trained their faces to betray nothing, he recognized the way they followed his every movement. Childe didn’t really care though, the only opinion that mattered was the Tsaritsa’s. There were however rumors that there were mighty warriors amongst their number, so he wouldn’t mind a fight if given the opportunity.
But that was a later issue, instead the tenth pair of eyes—hidden behind a full facial mask—stepped forward from his place to the right of the throne. It was Pierro, the Jester, the First. The tears painted upon his mask gave the appearance of sadness, but the voice that came from behind it sounded joyous.
“Ajax of Morepesok, Codename: Childe. Today is the day you will join our number. Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers. You will bow to no man, no monster, no god, ever again. The Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon, grants you this name in her honor, you will be forever known as Tartaglia.” With that the Jester reached out, so very gently, and pinned the insignia onto him.
He continued, “and this is your Delusion, which will grant you the power to control Electro without a Vision. Care for it well, and in return it will allow you the ability to win many more battles. Welcome Tartaglia, welcome.”
Tartaglia would never be able to recall the faces of his fellow Harbingers at that moment, even the Jester in front of him was out of his sight as the Electro crackled under his skin. So this was the power of the elements, no wonder vision wielders treasured them so. Purple light flickered across his sight, power drumming ready to be released. It bounced between his fingers in increasing speed and—
Frost bit at his cheeks, and he slammed the power down, cutting it off. He cradled the back of his head as he looked up to the Tsaritsa’s stern expression. Yes, ceremony, that first, then he could test his new ability. Well best get it over with quickly, who knows maybe one of his fellow Harbingers will spar with him.
And with that, a tinge of Electro still in the air, Tartaglia, Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, swore himself officially to the Tsaritsa.
(If he had been paying attention and turned around he would have seen Pulcinella with his head in his hands, a Harbinger in a floppy orange dress rubbing his back. The only thing stopping Scaramouche from bursting into laughter was a glare from Signora, whose fingernails were biting into her palms with such force as to break the skin. Capitano actually let out a chuckle before covering his mouth and then Dottore’s, who would have bitten him if his mask allowed it. Sandrone looked ready to blow a gasket, which as always his dog ears flapping ruined the intimidation that might have caused, and Pantalone next to him looked as unaffected as ever. And Colombina… well it was hard to tell if she just didn’t care or was actually seething. Probably somewhere in the middle. Pierro was very proud of his fellow harbingers.)