Chapter Text
The Eleventh Harbinger lies on the floor of the Golden House, faced up. His whole body is stiff and his chest is tight because...
Oh right.
He had just been in a fight against the Traveller and their companions. The baby-faced man with the fiery red hair tied in a fluffy ponytail clearly had a personal grudge against the Fatui, he certainly did not hold back at all. The Golden House became surrounded by flames, a pyro wall all around them as they fought. (It was especially frustrating that the Traveller and the others kept running into it to remove the riptide mark he periodically placed on them.) In fact, Tartaglia counted himself lucky to still have the energy to channel the power of the Sigils of Permission to unleash Osial upon Liyue.
The Fatui-hating man became incensed. Of course he would be. He seemed like the sort to think of himself as a kind of hero of justice, so summoning a Demon God that endangers all of Liyue Harbour would definitely trigger him. He summoned a firebird, one larger than the one he had before while they were fighting, its ferocity so great that even Tartaglia's own narwhal vapourised in its feeble attempt to block it.
Nonetheless, the hydro narwhal fulfilled its task of buying Tartaglia just enough time to utilise the Sigils. Right before the firebird engulfs him in an inferno.
His body was set on fire. What a pity, he thinks. I might die like grilled steak before I get to fight Morax.
His eyelids fling open and he finds himself looking upwards at the ceiling-slash-floor that he had destroyed while in his Foul Legacy form. Half of his view is blocked by a piece of yellow over his left eye.
He raises a hand to remove the obscuring item. A paper charm, with Liyuen characters written in what Childe recognises as a olden script, one that has been phased out of use in favour of the current writing system of Liyue. What was it doing there?
He blinked at the sight of his left arm. Last he remembered, it was charred black from firebird beak. Now, apart from the shredded sleeve, there was no indication that he had suffered any burns. He sat up slowly, and found the rest of his body in a similar state. Cloth burnt and torn apart, yet his skin looking perfectly fine, with no new scars or burns on them.
He knew from the condition of his attire that he was definitely not dreaming about being hit by the blaze of that firebird. Did Foul Legacy regenerate his body? Yet his mind was unusually calm — not the feeling of someone who had just drawn upon the powers of the Abyss. Someone else had healed him then. Who would have bothered to heal the Fatui Harbinger who summoned a Demon God to Liyue?
Childe held up the yellow paper again. Now that he is more awake, he notes its similarity to the Sigil of Permission. And like the Sigils, there seems to be a kind of adepti power emanating from it too. He laughs. An adeptus saved him then? Why would they? He had ordered his subordinates beforehand to do everything they can to sabotage Liyue so that Osial can lure out their Rex Lapis-...
Ah crap. Tartaglia was supposed to retrieve the Gnosis from Morax! How long had he been lying here? Did he miss all of the grand finale already?
He completely missed the grand finale. It was already curtains call when he exited the Golden House wearing the stolen Millelith uniform he had stripped from a guard he knocked out, the night sky cloudless and clear. The Millelith were scrambling about the streets as Childe made his way back to the harbour.
From what passing conversation he could pick up, the Qixing of Liyue, their Millelith and the Adepti had all banded together to stop the advance of the Demonic Sea God Osial, with barely any loss of lives, at the cost of the Tianquan Ningguang's Jade Chamber. No Geo Archon showed up to save the day. He was disappointed. Osial was weaker than he expected. (Big words for someone who was nearly killed by a Traveller from Mondstadt.)
Or perhaps, he should say, that the Qixing were more competent than he expected? Some of its citizens were emerging from underground shelters he did not realise existed under Liyue, moving back to their homes for no doubt a proper rest after a night of waiting through a torrential battle.
He should hurry back to his inn before one of them finds something strange about a Snezhnayan man wearing a Millelith uniform.
He finds himself struggling to unlock his room door, almost as terribly as his past attempts to eat with chopsticks. The trek up the stairs of the inn had been exhausting enough, and fumbling with trying to aim the key into the keyhole slot was draining him further.
Finally the metal fitted into the slot and Childe could turn the key. He enters past the double doors and closes them behind him, bolted the lock, and allows his body to slump to floor.
What is with this terrible fatigue?
This was not the first time Ajax had almost died. Since falling into the Abyss and gaining his Foul Legacy form, Tartaglia has had numerous close shaves with death. No matter what state his body ended up being in, his affliction from the Abyss would refuse to grant him eternal rest. It was not something he had a say in. With each time the Foul Legacy brought his body back from the jaws of death, he feels a part of his mind being traded away in exchange, and he would wake up feeling even more bloodthirsty than before, his mind desperately seeking the adrenaline that came with endangering his own life, locking him into a cycle of addiction to violence.
However, this time, he felt none of that. He was lucid, at peace. He was happy to see that the people of Liyue were going about their lives, checking the condition of their homes and wares, chatting with their neighbours, no particular person in mourning. Relieved that Osial had not harmed any of the innocent citizenry who would have been caught up in his manic obsession to battle an Archon.
Gone were his cravings for battle, the glee of schadenfreude.
Have you gone soft, Tartaglia? he wonders.
He pulls out the yellow paper that he had stuffed into his pockets.
Damn you, mysterious Adepti.
He grimaces internally as Signora and Zhongli- no, Morax lays out the truth- no, lies of their partnership in Liyue over the past few months. Childe was really just a fool, wasn't he? All this time, he thought that there was something special about the time he spent with the funeral parlour consultant, with all the gifts and words they exchanged — only to learn that he was wrong, and whatever small joy he found in this elegant man was simply an illusion. He was but a single cog in the wheel of Rex Lapis's machinations for his harbour city.
He had so many questions for Zhongli.
But all that had to wait. Acting like his normal self had taken him more effort than he had expected, especially when moving every limb felt like lifting a deadweight and even making any facial expression seems barely surmountable.
What was wrong with his body?
He might be sick. He should probably see a physician and get some medication for himself.
He trips over the fourth step on the long flight of stairs leading up to Bubu Pharmacy when his legs decided that they are going on strike. His cheek is resting against the edge of a step, while his body is sprawled flat in the middle on the steeped path. None of his body parts seem keen to listen to his command of Get the fuck up off the floor you roadblock.
This is embarrassing.
A pair of small shoes come into view. There is a little pink pompom on each shoe, which reminds him of a hair tie set he once sent back home for Tonia. Small hands hauled him up by his shoulders and he found himself slung over the forearm of a child, being dragged up the stairs towards the pharmacy. His head bops up and down with every step they take.
He doesn't know what prompted his next words, but they felt natural to him.
"... Master."
Huh? Wait, what is he saying!?? Just because she is of the Cryo element does not mean that she is the Tsaritsa or anyone like that. (He has only ever called one person Master, and she certainly was not half his height.)
"Not Master. Qiqi is Jiangshi."
Somehow the child replies him, which only makes makes him wish his arms had the strength to reach around her and hold her.
Wait wait, that is wrong. Why is a child carrying him? Even more puzzling to him... Why does it feel so comfortable?
"Need talisman. Put on your head."
What talisman...?
"Qiqi will make. For you. New one."
... oh, okay...?
It was Childe's most confusing trip to a physician ever, and he hasn't even arrived there yet.