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Childe was drowning. Because in the end, that was what he did best in this life. First comes flight, followed by a fall, then impact and flight in the opposite direction. Drowning is as good as flying in the sky, only instead of frost on your eyelashes, you get the pressure of water in your ears. But that never bothered him enough to make him want to stop doing what he was doing.
Water was his element. It was calm below the surface. He especially liked the cold channels at depth, where it was quiet and safe, where it was dark.
It reminded him of the days he spent in the abyss. Of how painfully and slowly his body changed until it became what it is now. Of course, the vessel burst and broke when it was filled with the unimaginable power of his form - the Foul Legacy - but strangely enough, the water healed all his wounds and calmed him, just as a mother calms her crying Childe.
The water was dangerous. The water was deadly. The water was beautiful. All life in this world depended on water, and those to whom water was kindly disposed could rightly be considered kings, as they were always exceptional.
When he arrived in Fontaine, he fell a lot and then drowned. It seems he even gave several guards heart attacks when he decided to climb higher and jump into the sea from a cliff.
They thought Childe was saying goodbye to life. Hah. In fact, he was just beginning to live. Besides, oddly enough, breathing underwater was easy. He never thought he could do it, but for some reason, the waters here were kind to him.
At first, his body resisted and choked, but Tartaglia persisted, each time taking new breaths, choking on water and gasping for air, until finally his body gave in, and with it, the dark entity he had brought with him from the abyss.
Since the vessel's owner was an idiot, the Foul Legacy was ready to give him anything, just so he would stay alive a little longer.
Gills, claws, scales — anything, so that he would finally calm down. And Childe calmed down, spending hours exploring the rich underwater world.
It was so breathtakingly beautiful! The flora and fauna of Fontaine were nothing like the seas of Snezhnaya.
In his homeland, flora was cold and calm, hidden beneath centuries of ice, rarely stirring, but able to delight people with gifts of the sea if they were not afraid to venture out into the open ocean. It could pierce the mortal body of those who dared to conquer the elements with sharp, spear-like ice shards, or it could surprise them with a melting stream flowing down from the mountains and feeding the forest, or with an unimaginable variety of snowflakes.
Huge predatory fish, thick seals, and his personal favourite — narwhals with huge glowing horns. Childe adored them all. White fluffy little narwhals that looked like puppies, huge narwhals that rammed merchant ships with their horns, ancient dark grey molluscs with embossed shells and slippery light pink flesh that looked like a freak of nature but tasted damn good, and whales.
He loved these huge and majestic giants, the true masters of the seas, very much. Their sad songs about love, death and the joy of life, and how the water and his heart trembled when he heard their piercing and deep roar, echoing for many kilometres underwater in all directions.
The nature of Fontaine, in return, was vivid and diverse. The seals were blue in colour and had sad eyes to blend in with their surroundings. Their teeth were small and not as sharp as those of the seals from Snezhnaya. Their skin was softer and thinner, and their fur was shinier and less fluffy. Their meat was sweet and almost fat-free.
The variety of shapes and colours was a delight to the eye — lush green algae shaped like trees, and jellyfish sparkling blue and purple, like candy. Huge fiery crabs with tender, juicy meat that slightly burned the tongue; giant stingrays that looked like perfect prototypes for Dottore's huge flying machines; and beautiful orange-yellow fish that glowed gold and warmed you up if you swam through them.
Caves and their exploration held a special place in Childe's heart. He did not have sonar like whales, but he could nevertheless sense the water around him and clearly map out the tunnels to understand where he was and where he wanted to go.
Once, when he got tired of chasing fish and destroying old security robots patrolling the waters of Fontaine, he noticed a small, strange detail.
His eyes did not detect anything unusual, but his sixth sense and vision told him that there was clearly something ahead. Something new. Something unknown. And Childe decided he wanted to find out what it was.
When he swam closer, he stopped at a decent distance from the object and took a closer look, then raised his eyebrows in surprise and opened his mouth slightly, unable to hide his shock and exhaling a multitude of air bubbles.
In front of him lies a person. A man.
No, he had seen scuba divers and pearl divers before, but this man had no equipment. None at all.
Childe swam a little closer, carefully examining his find. Was he a drowner? Snow-white skin, blue lips, closed eyes, sharp cheekbones and thin, light eyebrows. The sea current gently rippled the collar of his perfectly white shirt, revealing thin collarbones and an azure blue crystal in the hollow of his neck.
In Snezhnaya, there is an expression - beautiful as a corpse.
This comparison seems strange until you immerse yourself in the legends of a place called the ‘garden of dreams.’ On the day of the great winter solstice, once a year, the most beautiful woman or girl in the village was chosen, dressed in a luxurious wedding gown, and led out into the endless Snezhnaya field to await her fate. It was believed that with the warmth of their skin and the beating of their hearts, the Tsaritsa would take the beauties to her palace and make them her lovers. But Childe knew the truth. Once, he stumbled upon such a graveyard of beauties. They were all beautiful, cold statues with rowan-coloured lips and frozen tears on their cheeks. Over the years, they had been covered with snow, but they still retained their original enchanting loveliness. The Tsaritsa did not love dead people, but she kept the memory of them preserved.
What else but cold opens the door to eternity, eternal beauty and youth?
But the man in front of him was not frozen, even though he was not breathing. After examining him once more for signs of corpse spots or decomposition, Childe paused and took another careful, meticulous look at the whole picture.
Something was wrong. He looked at the man in front of him and thought. His hydro vision pulsed strangely at his waist, and his sixth sense screamed, so Tartaglia did the second thing he did best. He summoned a water blade and drew blood.
✧✧✧
As soon as the water around him was stained with blood, the corpse came to life, and Trataglia grinned triumphantly. The man in front of him opened his eyes wide and turned sharply, assuming a defensive stance.
It took him a moment to look at Childe with his colourless, slit-like eyes and grin. He sniffed the stranger's scent. He glanced at the red mask covering harbinger`s face, then darted towards his bleeding wrist. Regeneration was intensely healing the wound, but Tartaglia was still surrounded by a cloud of seductively smelling hot blood.
The stranger shook his head, dispelling the obsession, and his long white hair scattered behind him like a cloak. They were everywhere, and Childe studied them spellbound for several long moments, then suddenly pushed off with his hands, creating two hydro streams to swim faster, and joyfully soared upward, cutting through the water's masses. The man immediately gave chase, but did not fall behind or overtake him, even though the harbinger felt that he was being pursued and was almost nipping at his heels.
He was fast. Damn fast and nimble. It seemed that no one else had the same power over water as he did, and Childe's heart fluttered with joy as he watched the natural grace and stunning movements of his new acquaintance in the water. If Childe was a guest in the water, this man was the master.
After several hours of chasing and circling in the whirlpool, the stranger finally caught up with him, diving up from below. Childe decided not to change his trajectory, but simply to let the man do so, because in all the time they had been chasing each other, the man had not shown any hostile reaction towards him. They hadn't even spoken. But even if the man had wanted to start a fight with him, the Harbinger would never have stopped him, because Tartaglia would not have been himself if he had refused a challenge thrown at him. But no, it seemed that the stranger was not interested in a fight at all.
He was taller than Tartaglia, and his lips were still as blue as a corpse's, but this time he blinked faintly and tilted his head slightly to one side, as if paying respect to him as an unspoken partner in the race. Tartaglia nodded in response, realising that the man would unfortunately not be able to see his smile because of his mask. Satisfied with this response, the man picked up speed and quickly disappeared into the seaweed, leaving the harbinger alone with his thoughts.
It seemed to be getting dark, but the thrill of the chase warmed his battle-hardened heart and gave him satisfaction.
Childe relaxed his aching muscles and felt that the continuous use of hydro vision made him desperately sleepy. He slowly sank to the bottom with his arms and legs spread out in different directions, without moving a single muscle. Pleasant.
When his back touched the sand at the bottom, he grimaced and opened his eyes. It was getting dark. It was time to return to the bank of the Northern Kingdom. His assistant would surely be angry with him for being away for so long, but, as always, she would be too afraid of his status as a harbinger to openly scold or reproach him.
✧✧✧
At some point, he came to the conclusion that he wanted to find a hydro dragon.
Of course, in places like Enkanomiya, there were creatures with the hydro element similar to dragons, but he desperately waited for something that could compare in scale to the divine form of Morax, the great guardian of the Wind from Mondstadt, which he had only heard about, or at least Azhdaha in her prime — a merciless monster, judging by how he was described in legends and by Morax himself.
Osial was not bad, but he left behind a nasty aftertaste, like those bizarre animals created by the Oceanids in their attempts to save themselves from death.
Tartaglia wanted something incredible, and the remains of the great beast lying across the bay from Court-de-Fontaine only fuelled his interest even more.
The chances of him walking out of the hotel one day and suddenly encountering a hydro dragon in the queue for pistachio-filled croissants were extremely slim. More precisely, the probability was so low that it rapidly crossed the zero threshold and plunged somewhere deep underground. Therefore, he had to rely solely on luck.
If the archon of luck existed, Tartaglia would probably regularly burn incense at his statue so that... the ancient gods did not deceive you with their beautiful smiles and amber eyes, and your colleagues, with whom you loved to drink at banquets, did not turn into dull piles of ashes at the hands of a foreign archon, leaving behind only a charred smoking pipe and a bitter smile in your memories.
Yes, Tartaglia would definitely pray to the archon of luck more often than others so that he would finally get lucky.
As absurd as it may seem, this time his luck worked. Or perhaps the archon of luck really did exist and, hearing his thoughts, sent him their secret divine blessing.
Who knew that all you had to do to meet a hydro dragon was simply fall asleep, but first things first.
He knew it was strange, but he had always been drawn to death. All his life, and then all his death, and all the abyss, and so on down the list.
He walks, he falls, he drowns, and behind him remains a trail of corpses and rotting flesh, red with blood. The blood trails behind him like a comet's tail, so red and bright that it can be seen for miles.
Childee never felt disgust for death; he simply accepted it as a given. The sky is blue, the grass is green, his eyes are blue, and he has been interacting with the dead his entire life. Period.
So it`s no wonder that when he found the remains of some ancient monster, he decided it would be the most suitable place to sleep.
Even though dawn had broken only a few hours ago, Tartaglia was desperate for sleep. He hadn't even managed to sit down all night, let alone fall asleep. The Bank's business was long and exhausting. Reviewing and proofreading documents, ‘talking’ to clients who owed them money, dealing with the damn Arlecchino...
All of this was tiring and brought the man no pleasure. Even the debtors here in Fontaine rarely resisted and mostly just whined, begging for mercy. Boredom, nastiness, filth. There was no one to fight, because the court duelists continued to politely but persistently reject all his requests for a duel.
So it was no surprise that thoughts of the dragon entertained the young harbinger much more than his main duties.
He left the city limits, then just walked straight ahead for a while, and then even longer, and stumbled upon it.
The bones of the skull were white and rough. The dead creature (perhaps a dragon?) looked large, larger than two draft yaks stacked on top of each other, but it was not impressively huge. Nevertheless, it was intriguing, just as much as the bones on the other side of the bay. If there were dragons in Fontaine, there was clearly more than one. As for the living ones, Childe scratched his chin thoughtfully, settling more comfortably in the curve of the bones of the tail section of the skeleton. He had doubts, but there was still hope. Maybe they were hiding like caterpillars under a particularly large hydro stone, and all he had to do was find that very stone.
Besides, this was not just some ordinary dragon that could die at the hands of a human or any other monster; no, this was a hydro dragon. So it couldn't just rot at the bottom of the ocean. At least, Childe desperately hoped so as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was emptiness. Vast expanses of emptiness that shimmered around him like space, sparkling with different shades of pink, blue and purple.
Then he heard a roar. The sound was like tens of thousands of tonnes of water rushing down to the ground. And then he fell.
Childe did not scream or wave his arms in an attempt to stop the movement.
What is falling for a person who is able to fly?
The lower he fell, the less bright and vivid colours of space there were around him, and the more grey and dreary colours of the earth there were.
While his ears were ringing from the rapid fall and the cold was licking the skin under his jacket, Childe stared wide-eyed at the ground beneath his feet. He looked and saw a whirlwind beginning to form in the air around him. The sky darkened, and in an instant, Childe was on the dragon. Inside of it.
He couldn't see, but he could feel the enormous mass of water roaring forward and downward. It flew over Natlan, showering the earth with rain, then soared upward and dissolved into mist at the top of the high peaks among the icy mountains. The dragon roars as it rushes forward for thousands of kilometres, diving into the northern sea and swallowing schools of fish that have fattened themselves for winter with its enormous mouth. It flies faster than the wind and roars like thousands, tens of thousands of wild beasts, its roar shaking the sky and the water.
People see him and smile at him, look up at the sky and point at him, or look down at him and give him sweet, fresh blood. Childe hears their voices and smiles, because people love the hydro dragon. Despite his sullen appearance and gigantic body, he is swift and fast, desperate and noble.
He is life, and he is death. He is seaweed and weightless dew on the meadows. He feels every drop of water in this world; he cries when it rains.
Childe wakes up, and for the first few seconds, he doesn't understand where he is or who he is. He... a dragon?
No, nonsense.
He snorts and shakes his head, ruffles his red hair with his hands and sits down, leaning his back against giant bones. His vision is blurred, a clear sign of poisoning from the remains of ancient magic, but he doesn't care. The creature of the abyss inside him bristles and drives away the alien corpse poison. He won’t die that easily.
A few hours later, he sits on the plains of Fontaine and eats some cloyingly sweet fruit that grows on almost every tree here. It is bright red, shaped like a pumpkin, but grows like an apple. It tastes simply sweet. Or so it seems to him because he still feels sick from the poison.
He couldn't sleep anymore, so now he's watching the stars again. Watching the fake sky. They say that in the sky, the real sky, there are constellations for everyone whom the heavens have blessed with the vision, and he always dreamed of finding his own. It must be beautiful. Like water, like a very first snow, like the smile of the one you love.
Childe throws the uneaten fruit towards the stream, to the fish, and wraps his arms around his knees. Sometimes he wonders whether he will live forever or die like an ordinary person. He looks up at the stars and does not yet know that in a few weeks, a All-Devouring narwhal will tear off half his body, and a creature from the abyss will heal him and force him to fight again and again until he collapses.
✧✧✧
He recognises the man in court.
During his travels through Fontaine, he managed to befriend several Melusines, although they were initially a little wary of him because of his title of ambassador and harbinger. However, he always got on well with children. The Melusines tell him a song about how every time it rains, it means the dragon is crying and his tears are sprinkling the earth. He listens intently, nodding and smiling.
And when the man makes an unfair accusation against him in the courthouse, he attacks, and the judge pushes him away with inhuman strength. He sees blue eyes, deathly pale lips, and a blue crystal hidden under a neck scarf. It emits a faint glow when Childe uses the power of the elements. He has seen such a stone before, amber. He allows the guards to restrain him and take him away, looking Mr Navillet in the eye.
The decision to jump into the unknown, into the abyss, comes easily to him. Risking his head, his life, his soul and his heart is as natural as breathing. He breathes and does not breathe at the same time.
The All-Devouring Narwhal is enormous.
It does not resemble a living creature, but rather a small galaxy. A black hole from Dottore's books, which can only destroy and thirsts to devour.
He doesn't remember more than he remembers. Light, water, lightning. He doesn't see, he feels. His form of vile heritage feeds on pain and hatred, despair and the energy of his soul. Someone once told him that his soul was like fire — hot, restless, and capable of being extinguished at any moment when sacrificed to the beast.
He fought, retreated, but did not lose.
In the place where he was, time did not exist, but fatigue did.
While his body reflexively attacked and fought, his consciousness wandered through the wilderness of his memories and his mind.
The smiles of his loved ones, him braiding his sister's hair; his last, not particularly pleasant conversation with Arlecchino. Their gatherings with Rosalina, frost on the edges of her coffin. How she showed him fireflies for the first time. Fishing.
His mother yelling at him for going into the forest and only returning late at night. The hand in a black glove that the consultant with amber eyes extends to him. Ice. The archon's betrayal. How his heart ached. The endless fields filled with snow and ice. The letter from the Tsaritsa.
He meets a traveller. He sees the abyss.
The first time, he killed with an electric shock.
He feels the pain from the blows and attacks, but perceives it as a distant memory. The Narwhal rages, his body weakens. Without food, sleep or rest. The creature begins to rage, roaring so that the space of the watery void, without day, without night and without time, shakes and cracks.
He falls into the void again. A permanent one, as he thinks.
✧✧✧
When he opens his eyes again, blue, human eyes, everything around him is grey, white and blue.
Grey columns, white tiles, white sheets. White bandages on his body.
The wind rustles the white curtains opposite the open window and the hair of the chief justice, standing some distance from his bed. It is sunny outside, but there is a light rain.
They look at each other once more.
Tartaglia looks away first because he doesn't even have the strength to turn his head. He remains silent.
‘All charges against you have been dismissed. We have found new evidence in the case. It's over. Narval has been defeated with the help of the traveller,’ says the man, and after a brief pause, he adds:
‘Thank you for your cooperation.’
Childe wants to laugh, but instead, his broken ribs begin to ache from the effort, and a thin stream of scarlet blood flows from his mouth and nose along with his cough. Thank you was all he could say. He wonders who let the judge in and why there are no other fatuus in the chamber, especially when he is in such a vulnerable position.
He coughs and closes his eyes again. He tries to distance himself from pain, look inside himself with his vision to determine the internal damage, to feel how the power of the elements flows within him and where the flow breaks off. The faster he restores the flow of power, the faster he will be able to get back on his feet and stop being be a burden.
Trataglia shudders when he feels soft fabric touching his face. Opening his eyes, he sees Neuvillette gently wiping the blood from his face.
‘It seems I underestimated the severity of your condition,’ he says again as he looks Cilde in the eyes. It is difficult to say what the judge sees or wants to see there, but apparently, he finds what he needs, because in the next moment, he carefully covers the harbinger’s mouth with a silk scarf and touches his lips with his own.
The man is as cold as a corpse, and Childe feels as if he is being kissed by a statue, a dead man, because the man is barely breathing and does not move at all. However, he feels the healing power of hydro flowing from mouth to mouth. Divinity. Hydro begins to flow intensely through his veins, giving him peace and relieving him of pain. He honours how his elemental power is restored, and he wants to continue drinking it.
After a long moment, they part. Childe gasps for air and feels that he is finally able to move without assistance, while Neuvillette hides the bloodstained cloth in his jacket pocket. The judge does not attempt to increase the distance between them, instead examining the harbinger who is beginning to regain consciousness.
‘What is your name, dear child?’
‘Childe.’ Childe smiles in response to his question.
‘That is not what I meant.’
‘Then Tartaglia,’ he says, but Neuvillette does not l ike his answer again and makes a third attempt. ‘Ajax. My name is Ajax.’
And then Childe sees the man smile for the first time. The corners of his lips lift slightly, but his eyes remain somber, weary and resigned to something that has not yet happened.
‘Do you know what your name means?’
‘Of course. Heroism, strength, protection.’
‘Yes. But in the language of the ancient world, it means earth or land. It doesn't suit you. You are anything but earth.’
‘I already realised that.’ His answer rolls bitterly on his tongue, but harbinger says nothing aloud.
‘May the waters of Fontane welcome you, Childe. Now rest. I'll pay you another visit later.’
30.09.2024