Childe looked at the bandages in his hands.
They were clean, ready to be used.
Well, clean as they were in his own dirtied hands.
Scaramouche and Signora gave him nasty bruises and scratches.
And yet, those were nothing in the face of DIluc's almost mangled arm and possibly cracked ankles.
Those chains from the Delusion might've saved Diluc from a splattering fall, but at the price of nearly snapping the arm in two.
The angry purplish bruises spiraled along Diluc's already scarred arm.
Vermillion seeped out of the several cuts that burst open under the pressure.
It was a true miracle that Diluc didn't loose an arm.
Childe wiped away the blood in silence.
He would've said something.
Anything to break the heavy silence.
But he couldn't.
Not when he almost lost the Firefly again.
In truth, Childe was scared.
Terrified, even.
He was scared to lose him— despite the fact that he couldn't, anyway.
Though he was a Harbinger that hungered for battle, he hated violence.
Maybe that was why Childe wouldn't let anyone tend to Diluc but himself.
"Ajax."
It sounded pained.
Childe didn't look up from the ointment he smeared on the tears in the pale, yet reddened skin.
"Ajax."
It sounded forceful this time.
Wanted his attention.
But Childe did not stop from his self-given task.
He still had to apply the bandages and check the Firefly's legs—
But he flinched when something brushed a blooming bruise on his cheek.
The one he received from Scaramouche elbowing him into silence.
The older Harbinger never held back.
Childe could still feel his teeth aching in the aftermath.
Diluc's uninjured hand didn't pull away from his face.
Crimson bore into cerulean.
"Ajax," Diluc's voice was far too soft, far too kind, "It's bleeding."
Childe knew what he meant.
The tickle of blood down the edge of his lip was easy to ignore, but it didn't mean that he couldn't feel the split skin inside.
Copper was a taste he'd have to deal with a little longer.
He tore his gaze away from Diluc, "Not as much as you."
The amount of evidence on the floor was enough to silence any other arguments from Diluc.
"I'll fix myself up later," he added when the Firefly did not look away.
Because, really, he'd rather patch them both up before a proper healer saw them.
It was probably a stupid idea.
Childe knew only basic aid.
But he didn't want to risk anything.
Didn't want to lose sight of Diluc.
Not yet.
Hell, Childe did not want someone to call a certain Harbinger.
Dottore was notorious for making an experiment out of anything.
Diluc would be no exception.
Childe already knew that Diluc's spectacle had spread through the ranks.
Those fiery wings were gone now.
Burned away moments after Childe clung on to him.
The Fatui jacket was in tatters in the back.
Maybe that was why Diluc shivered.
The vibrant red scarf Mother made was definitely singed.
Mother would have a fit if she saw it.
A trip home was a tall order he'd love to fill.
Diluc's back was fine.
Scarred from older hurts, but uninjured.
Unlike the rest of him.
His ankle was swollen.
But Childe didn't feel anything broken.
If it were any other day, then he would've laughed at the long string of curses.
Childe only sat back when he finished up his mediocre first aid.
The silence was heavy as the other stared at the ground.
"I'm going to kill Scaramouche."
It would've been really funny any other day.
Especially when Diluc unkindly poked an open cut on Childe's bicep.
"Be nice to your elders."
His voice was rather flat as he spoke.
But Childe could tell that Diluc almost wanted the same thing.
Almost.
Childe casually gave him a flat look.
"Bullshit."
Diluc hummed, a rueful smile on his face.
And grabbed the leftover bandages.
"Now, come here. It's my turn to take care of you."
._._._._._.
Tonia wrote them a letter.
It sat beside Diluc on the night stand.
He read it a million and one times.
Ajax read it a million and two.
Of how Anthon had been collecting mint plants lately.
("I've been taking the extras to make mint ice cream. Come home, so you can try it.")
How Teucer had been practicing his throwing skills.
("He's been eyeing Mother's bow here and there. Maybe she'd let him learn some day.")
How Father had been glancing down the road more often than usual.
("It's like he's expecting someone to come or something.")
How Mother had been going through their older siblings' old clothes.
("I asked her why, and she said that Diluc needs more clothes. Big sis probably wouldn't care if her clothes were taken anyway.")
At the end, Tonia asked them only one question.
"When will you come home?"
A letter was written between the two boys.
("Please tell Mother that I appreciate the clothes. Although, I hate to admit that I can't wear some of these.)
It sat beside Ajax on the night stand with a parcel on top.
("I gathered a lot of good treats for everyone. Maybe you can try them with the mint ice cream.")
Penned by both of their hands.
("Don't worry too much about us.")
Inked in the same color.
("When everything settles—")
And they only had one answer.
"—We'll be home soon."
._._._._._.
Tax collecting was Childe's job.
It was often that he was sent out to collect debts.
Overdue, on time, extensions, runaway payments— any.
His next mission was no exception.
Although, debt collecting was a rather loose term for this one.
A stolen Delusion was a form of blasphemy before the Tsaritsa.
A blessing stolen by someone unworthy of its power.
A shortcut to execution in more ways than one.
How it was stolen was rather simple.
Even Pierro had an amused smile on his face as he told Childe.
"Chase down the traitor, will you? Those who betray the Tsaritsa must go."
But there was something there.
Behind that smile.
It was a warning.
A warning that didn't go unnoticed.
Childe bowed his head, "They won't get far."
._._._._._.
Ajax left.
Diluc watched him leave from the window.
The frosted glass almost obscured the younger's figure.
He knew nothing of the mission he'd been given.
Only that he'd be gone for a couple weeks, maybe even months.
It didn't ease the building anxiety that sunk deeper with every step of Ajax's fading figure.
It was the first time that Diluc had been left on his own.
Without Ajax somewhere in the building.
Already, the grand room they shared felt empty.
Too empty.
When Diluc turned away, he stumbled back.
His ankle sent a violent bite of lacing pain.
The cold frame of his window saved him from a terrible fall.
A masked man stood in the middle.
Hands casually hidden behind.
Rather lax in his presence.
The mask didn't hide the amused smile on his lips.
"Do you miss your self-proclaimed brother already?"
If it were another time, Diluc would've found it endearing.
But the tone the man spoke was oddly unnerving.
As if he dared Diluc to do something.
So, he stayed silent— more out of surprise than anything.
The masked man's smile seemed to grow.
"Ah, I realize that we have yet to introduce ourselves."
He tipped his head with a bow and a single hand rested on his chest.
"I am Pierro, the First of the Eleven Harbingers."
A courteous bow for a courteous man.
The complete opposite of the Harbingers he had met.
Diluc's mind reeled.
First of the Eleven.
The first member— the highest rank.
Right underneath the very Tsaritsa herself.
Standing in a simple room Diluc shared with the Eleventh.
(Diluc swore he locked the door.
Just as Ajax told him to do over and over since that day he flew.
"As much as I love the other Harbingers, I still don't trust them— or like them.")
Diluc quickly gathered himself.
And returned a gesture in kind—
As he well as he could with a twisted ankle.
"I am—"
He didn't finish.
He couldn't, actually.
Not when the other had interrupted so suddenly.
"Diluc Ragnvindr— a dead man who shouldn't be here."
If Diluc spluttered over his own tongue, it was unheard in his own shock.
A thoughtful hand placed itself on Pierro's chin.
"I thought you'd be a rather frivolous corpse that Tartaglia dragged in."
The mask itself seemed to burn its gaze knowingly at Diluc.
"But that would be a joke on my part, wouldn't it?"
Diluc didn't laugh.
Pierro did.
"My, what a scowl on a lovely face. Come now, we're all friends here."
He opened his arms in such a kind manner.
As if to welcome Diluc into his embrace.
But the warning was already there.
Diluc forced a smile on his face.
And kindly finished his interrupted introduction.
He bowed his head in a polite manner, nearly copying Pierro's gesture.
He was still a noble born and raised with manners— a life that was forged into his bones.
"Pleasure to meet you, too, Sir Pierro."
In that instant, something changed.
Diluc was rooted at his spot by the window.
The very one that held so much power of all of the Fatui—
Stood next to Diluc with an observant gaze outside the frosted window.
Diluc couldn't help but stare at the tall man.
In all honesty, he didn't know what he expected.
Despite the heavily altered Fatuus uniform, Pierro seemed to be rather normal.
Calmer than Scaramouche.
Less haughty than Signora.
Not as distrustful like Ajax.
Yet, Diluc could not find himself calm as he stood so close to the Harbinger.
There were many things he wanted to ask.
Why are you here?
Do you want something from me?
Are you going to throw me out of a window again?
At this point, Diluc knew— a Harbinger was a Harbinger.
There was always something they wanted.
Even Ajax.
But the carriage of questions in his mind crashed.
"Strange," Pierro suddenly said.
The odd silence that crossed over them had shattered under that single word.
"Though his mission seemed simple, he should not have gone alone."
The First stared at him from the corner of his eye.
Observing the bandaged arm and tilted stance.
As if the First Harbinger judged him.
As if to deem him worthy or not.
"Then again, maybe it is best."
Diluc felt a sense of dread.
Even as Pierro smiled.
Ruffled Diluc's hair.
And left.
Diluc crookedly stood there.
The echo of the First's footsteps rang hauntedly.
Even as it disappeared down the hall.
But it did nothing to drown out his rapidly growing dread.
In the silence, Diluc took one last look through the frosted glass.
Grabbed Ajax's spare coat.
And ran.
Half stumbling on his healing ankle.
._._._._._.
Now, Vlad was a very diligent member of the Fatui.
He followed orders to the dot to maintain his decent position.
Being able to support his family was an added bonus to serving his Tsaritsa.
He was also a very observant man.
His watchful eye gave him opportunities to stand long hours watching a gate or two.
Maybe even a hall if someone called in sick.
All in all, it wasn't too eventful (if one sidelined the entries and exits of the Harbingers).
Until a few minutes after Lord Tartaglia's departure.
It happened during his shift change.
As he left his post for another to take his place, he swore he saw something.
He even doubled back to be sure.
Tartaglia only left less than an hour ago.
Yet, he caught the familiar tail ends of the Harbinger's coat.
Leaving through the gate with barely anything.
And a rush in their step.
Vlad was too far to call out.
So, he hurried down the halls.
The hour wasn't particularly active.
It was late, and grew closer to midnight.
The most dangerous hours of the night, if one was not careful.
He grabbed the closest emergency pack.
Left a message for the next guard.
And marched into the snow.
Just to chase after the person who probably just stole a Harbinger's coat.
That was a rather ridiculous thought that crossed his mind.
It almost made him laugh at the absurd notion.
But then, he was reminded of the many rumors that flooded the halls of the Palace lately.
Of the guest that walked with Tartaglia in the grand halls once or twice.
The same guest that had the damn guts to talk back to Lord Scaramouche in a training hall.
He wasn't there when he heard of the incident where there was a horrid hole within the Palace.
Nor was he around during the chaos two (or was it three?) Harbingers caused.
He also heard about a strange newbie that flew with a pair of fiery wings—
A feat that was far too outlandish to either believe or fully comprehend.
Somehow, a name had been aptly given to that guest weeks later.
Vlad's mind worked rather quickly as he spotted that coat.
In the dim lights that served as a path down to the city.
That person stumbled into the snow, falling to their knees.
He caught just a glimpse of red that spilled forth from the hood.
And blanched, "Oh for love of— what is that Pyrebird doing?!"
._._._._._.
The Tsaritsa stared coldly at her First.
Her First stared right back at her.
"You let him out."
Her words hung frigidly in the air.
Clawed them into her First.
"I merely saw his potential, Your Majesty."
The Tsaritsa narrowed her frosty eyes.
"A potential asset to the Fatui," her First continued.
He watched her carefully.
"With him, we could reach our goal with ease."
And the Tsaritsa finally frowned.
Her First knew her best.
Always did.
Could tell her desires she would never dare to voice.
Always would.
She knew what he meant, even agreed with him.
She wished for it rather openly for the past weeks.
She wanted to hold on to the Little Phoenix.
To prevent yet another tragedy.
A tragedy she could stop—
But she closed her eyes.
Reminded herself of her purpose.
The reasons for her war.
Her vows.
And removed the Little Phoenix from her realm of possibilities.
"Pierro," she spoke, voice soft and endearing, "Thank you for indulging me just this once."
The Tsaritsa bore her gaze into her First.
Her voice grieved underneath her own authority.
"But, our battles are ours. Do not indulge me again."
Her First bowed low, but she saw his rueful, tight smile.
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"Yes, Your Majesty."
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