Chapter Text
NICOLE:
A long, long time ago, strange years were passing. A reckless knight roamed the snowy lands of Snezhnaya, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.
Upon the snow, he left bodies. Motionless, cold. He needed no other swords than a wide-bladed claymore, nor any determination other than that served by his thirst for vengeance.
He had red hair, and his aura melted the snow. Some claimed that on a good day, he could possess the strength of twenty men in battle. Others, that his body was not bone and blood, but an ever-black shadow tasked with disposing of everything that no one else would face.
How long had that man survived upon the snow? Living by his own hand, refusing any help, warm meal, or conversation. Spending his nights awake beside his claymore, tearing souls away.
Perhaps… he was the only one who could narrate a story as cruel as his own.
(...)
DILUC:
Despite everything they said, I was human. Even though the few who lived to tell of my exploits could not be certain of it. Perhaps my mistake was leaving too many witnesses; because of those loose ends, I woke up one night with two hundred men aiming directly at my head.
That was my last night. But not the worst of my life.
Fatui.
I didn't like them. I felt no admiration for them whatsoever. In fact, my journey through these barren lands had begun as a vendetta against them. I knew they weren't easy to kill. Ever since Dottore, the second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, invented that strange formula… the world had filled with monsters.
Snezhnaya was a nest. The Eleven had received the original dose and poured their own blood down the throats of their soldiers, turning them into war machines. Humans enhanced in strength, vision, and reflexes… But, fortunately, they were still human.
The only ones who received the full privilege from Dottore were the Eleven, for I suppose power must be distributed with caution.
My claymore suffered more when severing those enhanced heads from their bodies, but it answered in kind. The soldiers were only the beginning; the Eleven were the real problem. I had gathered enough information about those monsters: hidden fangs, more nocturnal sightings, cursed bodies that neither breathed, ate, nor slept. And worst of all: the human farm they had erected on the outskirts of Snezhnaya to feed on children.
"By the Gods," I swore to myself as I shattered another line of defense, "I will burn that damn farm to the ground as soon as I finish with this nest of soldiers."
The roar of the muskets was deafening. Bullets hissed and grazed my body with a suffocating constancy, forcing me to move frantically across the snow. Some pierced my red coat, weaving threads of blood; others cut small gashes into my skin that burned with the cold. I wasn't used to a siege of such brutal magnitudes. Usually, my nights of hunting boiled down to a one-against-ten at most.
But, deep down in my wounded pride... it felt strangely fun. At last, I didn't have to hold back. At last, I could kill and end up exhausted instead of restless, searching for something else to do to calm the lack of judgment that death leaves in your hands.
In a matter of minutes, I managed to reduce the number of opponents by half. In exchange, my face was covered in wounds, my gloves were torn, and the blade of my claymore ended up riddled with holes.
I stopped in my tracks when the gunfire suddenly ceased. A line of snow broke the landscape into two parts: behind my back, a field full of corpses; ahead, several soldiers still aiming at me. Suddenly, the cluster of men parted, forming a second line perpendicularly.
I waited on the defensive, narrowing my eyes to try and see into the distance. My sight had grown accustomed to the darkness after years of fighting at night, but the blizzard prevented me from calculating long distances.
It was then that two figures advanced at a relaxed pace. They were two tall men, slender of build, who did not appear to possess an imposing physical strength. It took me barely a few seconds to identify them.
They wore white capes with black fur on the hood, the particular symbol of the Fatui stamped on the sleeves of their capes. One wore a black mask shaped like a crow's head, somewhat rebellious blue hair, and a horrendous, sharp smile. The other walked as if he had just stepped out of an audience with a king. Elegant beyond belief. He had black hair and wore black and purple beneath his cape.
What an insult to crows.
"I am pleased to finally meet you," the elegant man spoke, his soft, velvety voice cutting through the cold. "Lately we have heard mention of you on several occasions. I am glad to know you are not a fraud."
Pantalone and Dottore. My documents indicated that both Harbingers usually moved together. I didn't know what kind of relationship they had, and frankly, I didn't care in the slightest. But I had one certainty: I hadn't put those silver rings on my knuckles for nothing. I knew what they were. Who they were. What they had done. They were the kind of monsters that hid beneath the facade of powerful men, velvet capes, and ballroom dances in the palace of Snezhnaya.
Those same monsters had indirectly participated in the death of my father. Those same monsters had kept me locked up in their nation's prison a year ago, back when their soldiers were still easy to kill.
I had learned every one of their techniques, their forms, their language, and their tortures. My own body was the living image of what happens when you cross paths with the plans of the Eleven.
I had come to these lands to kill vampires. Yes, that was what Dottore had called his creation. Vampires.
And a delicious banquet had just been laid out before me.
"Il Dottore and Pantalone," I said, gripping the hilt of my claymore tightly. I spoke with disgust, but also with a burning desire to see them bleed. "I'm not surprised to see you at the back of the battalion. True monsters never cease to be cowards."
I flashed a small smile, averted my gaze, and raised the weapon, letting the foreign blood drip, staining the snow.
"I like this young man, Pantalone," Dottore commented, tilting his head with a sickening curiosity. "He has strong bones and ambition enough to stop a train. His body seems stable enough to endure several consecutive operations."
"I know, I quite like him too. Especially since I know your desires well, and it brings me satisfaction to fulfill them," Pantalone replied. "He could become something great. With the proper funding and his body under your hands... the result would be incredible."
I grit my teeth fiercely. All my muscles tensed, prepared to fight, as my heart flooded with a blind thirst for vengeance. I could barely even hear what they were plotting.
"That will not be the case, gentlemen. Look at me well," I interrupted them. "Because today will be the last day of your lives."
A jolt of electricity rushed up my hands as the bullets tried to pierce me once more. But I no longer cared about the soldiers or the bullets. No. I was completely blinded by two sole objectives.
Suddenly, Pantalone and Dottore leaped upward, kicking up the snow. No one knew much about the capabilities of vampires, and I never expected such power. They rose twenty meters into the air only to land behind me. I tried to dodge them, but I failed; I ended up rolling across the ground as I felt the scorching impact of a bullet striking each of my arms.
A sharp, stabbing pain spread through my limbs, crashing head-on against the adrenaline of my fury. I stifled my own screams, intoxicated by the tension of combat, and stood up as fast as I could.
I bit my tongue so hard that I tasted my own blood; I could hear nothing but my own ragged breathing and a constant ringing. When I raised my head, Dottore's slender silhouette was already planted right in front of me.
I looked at him with rage overflowing from my eyes. A knot of frustration tightened in my throat when I realized I had just lost my claymore: it lay shattered in a thousand pieces upon the snow. My mistake. I should have bought a new one long ago, but... at the time, that weapon had been a very special gift. My first decent weapon.
Dizzy from the suffering, I gathered all the strength I had left to drive a kick into Dottore's stomach. However, the damn monster laughed right in my face. He caught my leg mid-air with an insulting ease and lifted me, sending me flying brutally against the pines of the Snezhnayan forest.
The impact against the trunks was devastating. I heard and felt several of my vertebrae and ribs snap. The rain of bullets continued relentlessly upon my defenseless body, until I heard Pantalone's voice ordering them to stop.
"Dottore, darling? I think you've killed him. I can barely hear his breathing," I managed to hear in the distance, as my vision began to blur completely.
"He's not dead. As I told you, he is very resilient. In any case, it is not in my plans to kill him. Would you care to share this secret, Pantalone?"
"I am always delighted to be a part of your plans."
Their footsteps traced a path over to my body. I noticed Pantalone's black gloves burning against my pendant when he tried to grab me by the neck, and I let out a soft, dying laugh.
"I will… kill you," I whispered. And the blood began to pour from my mouth in torrents.
The two looked at each other without responding. When they managed to lift me, they continued speaking, but I had already lost my hearing and could only hear the ringing.
The last thing I saw were Dottore's sharp teeth sinking into my shoulder.
The last thing I felt was the pain of my own death.
(...)
JEAN:
The bells of the banners echoed in the silence of the snowy mountain range. When I was little, I liked to think that it only grew cold in Snezhnaya when the fairies decided it should be so.
But this journey was proving to be exhausting. Both for me and for my men.
We had been on the road for three days, during which we had barely stopped for four hours a night to rest. The horses were beginning to grow exhausted, and the wine was no longer enough to quiet the Grand Master.
We had just finished setting up the Knights of Favonius outpost in Snezhnaya, and because of that, we had been left without half of our food provisions.
Fortunately, it was a return journey.
"I can't help but think of the alcohol back in Mondstadt," Grand Master Varka told me. It was probably the hundredth time he had brought up the subject on this trip.
"You've tried the local Vodka and you still cling to wine. I understand, though… thinking of a landscape free of snow and of the warm dishes of our Mondstadt makes me miss everything else too. My sister… she stayed behind to care for the church. I can't stop thinking about her."
"Ah, yes, your sister… and someone else. Right?" Varka looked at me with a gaze that tried to be charming, but was entirely mischievous at the same time.
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Something closely related to the wine of Mondstadt."
"Yo… you are always talking about the wine of Mondstadt."
"Fine, let me change the way I put it: someone related to the wine business in Mondstadt. Someone whom no one knows yet."
"Oh heavens, forget about that. Just thinking that I have to marry an absolute stranger solely because my father knew his father and because he belongs to the high nobility… It makes my skin…"
Varka pulled out his flask and took a long swig.
"Just thinking that I'll have to handle all the paperwork while you are being courted makes my skin crawl too. But I am very curious to know what kind of man disappears from his nation when he has a fortune waiting for him there. No one knows him… yet he maintains a massively wealthy wine empire from the shadows."
"Kaeya knows him, apparently."
"Kaeya always avoids talking about him unless it's to say some outrageous thing."
Varka looked at me with a complacent smile. Sometimes I thought he didn't care about anything, that he took "being as free as the wind" far too seriously. And then, I couldn't help but feel a little indignant, because he didn't have to face an arranged marriage. Varka was a man of prestige. But he wasn't a noble. He didn't have a father tightly bound to the church.
That was why he could have whatever life he wanted. He could go out any night to count the stars without the worry of having to face social etiquette.
"By the Anemo Archon, what is that?!"
"May the Anemo Archon preserve us."
The alarmed voices of the soldiers snapped me out of my thoughts. I raised my head. The horses were frightened. They faltered, and some threatened to bolt.
I kept my mare still, giving her soft pats upon her mane.
"Bodies," Varka told me, his tone of voice dropping several octaves. He was serious, a way I had rarely seen him.
"We shouldn't worry about the dead, but about the living. Let's see if there are any wounded," I said, and immediately after, I rode forward, entering that landscape of death.
The stench penetrated my nostrils. It was unbearable. The Knights of Favonius began to check body by body; I could see them shaking their heads.
"What happened here?" I asked myself, dismounting from my horse with wide eyes.
I had never beheld an image like this. I turned around, looking for Varka. He was silent, also searching for any remnant of life among the bodies.
"Grand Master. Allow me to step away for a moment. I need to catch my breath," I said, feeling unable to breathe.
Varka granted me permission, and I moved forward, guiding my mare between the corpses. I stepped into the trees of the forest and let my weight fall against the trunk of a tree, looking away from the massacre.
However, as soon as I moved my leg, I brushed against something that made me flinch.
Turning abruptly, I observed an inert hand poking out from behind the tree.
"Crap" I muttered to myself, having no time to try and correct my language or remain proper.
I lurched, losing my balance. I propped myself against the trunk and hurried around it, letting out a sharp gasp of distress.
A man. There was a man slumped against the tree, covered in scratches, blood everywhere, and bullet wounds. I couldn't look at him. He was a young man; he must have been my age. That was why I couldn't bring myself to stare at his face. I couldn't bear the thought that it could have been me, or Varka, or Barbara.
I knelt down without a second thought, desperately checking for a pulse, focusing my gaze on his wrist, then his neck. I pressed my fingers against his neck, searching for a non-existent pulse, and as I slid them down his frozen skin, I discovered something distinct from the other corpses: a strange bite mark upon his shoulder.
And that hair, as red as the blood that stained him everywhere, like Dandelion Wine.
It was a horrendous bite. Probably infected. I wanted to bring my hand to my mouth; I stumbled and fell flat on my back, screaming.
"Calm down, calm down, Jean. He's dead," I told myself, clutching the silver cross upon my chest tightly.
He had one too, a silver cross resting upon his chest, exposed by his torn jacket.
Who had done this to him? He wasn't like the other corpses, he was…
In a moment of bravery, I approached slowly, placing my hand on his cold chest, right where the silver chain and cross rested.
I shouldn't have said it, nor should I have even noticed, for it felt like a sort of sin. But that poor man had a beautiful body. It filled me with sorrow to think that the cross had been of no use to him. I pulled it away, little by little, only to see a burn mark following the exact shape of the chain.
It surprised me so much that the cross slipped from my hand.
"What happened to you?" I asked, essentially talking to myself. A bit embarrassed to hear my own voice trembling so much, for not leaving the poor, lifeless man to rest in peace.
"Away…"
I heard a tiny, hoarse voice. I looked to the sides, putting myself on alert, searching for survivors, but there was no one else. The knights were over with Varka.
"Who's there? We've come to help," I called out, looking everywhere as a cold sweat broke down my spine.
"Don't shout," this time the voice became clearer. I noticed something gripping my wrist, and when I looked down at it, I froze with a terror like never before.
I screamed. The corpse. The corpse had just pushed my hand away from his chest. Well, if he was moving, he couldn't be a corpse.
I took a few steps backward, crouching, observing how the body… the man, stood up with great difficulty, adjusting his tattered jacket to cover his chest and bitten shoulder. I observed the holes in his arms, the strange angle of his back, which was probably broken. And I screamed, I screamed again because I couldn't process any of it.
"Wait! What are you doing standing up? Stay still. Don't move. I'm going to get help right now."
I spoke, and approached him once more, grabbing him by the arm to try and restrain him. My white gloves became stained with his blood, which was dry. He looked at me. We locked eyes for half a second. He growled and shoved me away.
Then I ran. My head emptied itself of his face as soon as I left the grove, finding myself back in the graveyard of the Fatui.
When I reached Varka, I didn't just reach him; I crashed right into him. It was a hard impact, but I had no time to stop and rub my forehead or nose. I only had time to try and calm my breathing and regain my composure.
"Jean. Calm down, what's wrong?"
Damn it, Jean. You couldn't even pull him out of there yourself. You promised yourself you would never show fear again. You promised yourself you would be less naive. I should have… I should have…
"Jean! Hey!" Varka shook me, grabbing me by the shoulders.
I took a deep breath, unable to rid my mind of the mark of the cross upon that man's pale chest.
"There's a man hurt. Very badly hurt. I thought he was dead, but he stood up and… He has an enormous bite mark, and several wounds too."
"I'm coming with you," Varka told me quickly.
Varka followed me. I swear I took the exact same path. Identical. The same trees, the same trail of blood. But when we arrived, there was no longer anyone there.
My knees struck the snow. I covered my face, smearing it with his blood from my gloves. The only proof I had left that I had seen him.
Varka embraced me and told me that everything was going to be alright.
I couldn't get him out of my head during the entire journey back. The guilt. The fear. It ate away at me from the inside.