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Chapter Text

The sound of the shovel is a dull thud that has always numbed him since the times when the flames only heralded the worst in a nation that went too far into things they could never control. Death is as familiar as the skin that breaks, not caring whether you are ready to depart to the other plane or not.

Burying your comrades was inevitable against enemies you wished you had reached in time so they could live a little longer than just taking orders from above in those putrid spheres. It is an honor to be the person who buries those who fought by your side; you are the leader, its only right that, despite what you may feel, the strength to let others rest without pain, those who cannot, would never fail you; a ceremony for the deceased, the message to the departed's family, all of it.

He has always faced it head-on, even for those he loves. It is what must be done.

But today... he cannot even look at the parents of that Archon; he couldn't hold the shovel, leaving the work of burying them to others. Death reigns filthily over everything; it even takes the most innocent flower...

Little Hine is no exception...

The graves of Mr. Tanok and Mrs. Haumia had been cleaned by him since the morning he arrived; the lettering of the words had to be cleaned and redone due to time. Their youngest daughter is buried in the center of them both.

Hine is so peaceful in her passing; even as they cast dirt onto her grave, he can only say that she remains the same beautiful girl who dreamed big about being an architect, who lived a peaceful life in these strange years of peace.

All at the price of...

...........

- It's a sadness, Hine is gone... - A neighbor commented sadly.

- A long life in these times without anything happening is a miracle in itself. She has lived everything her existence allowed it; I could ask for nothing more for her than to rest in peace in the Kingdom of the Night - the neighbor's husband calmed her with sorrow, looking to the sky while blessing Hine's soul.

- Her older sister should be proud, our savior; she made this possible so we could have this peace. Our Archon saved us all - the neighbor praised the Archon Mavuika.

- It has been 100 years... a long time for us humans. I praise the Archon's sacrifice greatly; may her future sacrifices save this nation once more when the time comes - The husband repeated with softness and praise for the sacrifice.

Both see the Statue of Mavuika in the center of the three graves; the residents agreed that this is the best place to place the tombs, symbolic and simple, as if Mavuika were watching over them wherever she might be at this moment.

So Celestial, so good and self-sacrificing, knowing that everyone is fine, that they are well thanks to her protection.

The protection can still be felt in the environment, a fire that protects everything. The Sacred Flames have been an Ancestral power since Natlan was founded; the Archon used all of it to protect the Ley Lines from Abyssal corruption, and invisibly protects Natlan with fire to scare away the shadows. Natlan has prospered and been safeguarded thanks to that.

But...

They know that this is not forever; this is just a breather. That is why these 100 years have been spent preparing: recruiting warriors, repairing infrastructure, letting the population grow and the economy improve, all until the Abyss returns to attack when the barrier ends.

The only thing they can do is praise the Statue, keep revering her sacrifice; it was the best thing that could have happened to them, and it didn't have to be them.

The comments at the funeral are the same; the condolences for Hine were clear in the air, but the comments on Mavuika's sacrifice haven't stopped since people arrived at the wake.

No...

For all these 100 years, Natlan praised the Archon Mavuika; she’s not with them now.

Only the Archon Statue remains to receive their praises, their guidance in the years that came, protection... everything. Sometimes he sees empty eyes in every person; they don't even know the difference if the Archon beside them is real or not, they always speak, but that should have stopped a long time ago.

That they are talking to a stone, each one pretending that she is alive.

Is this what the stage of denial is like?

Thrain is just in silence; it always happened like this. In the middle of the wake, only showed his face downward while listening to the others call out to an Archon who sacrificed herself.

Gritted his teeth in total fury.

If it weren't for the self-control he has, would smash the face of every single person present. There is nothing to praise in the sacrifice of that goddess. Who is now just a fucking stone that watches over everything, but there is no reaction from her.

Each and every one of them chases a shadow they will never see again; they won't be here to tell the tale in 400 more years. How dare they appreciate Mavuika's sacrifice since she left? Did they not appreciate her when she was alive? No... they didn't. All of them are absolute human rats.

At whom is he aiming his sword? Neither knows nor cares; all the blackness in his cold, metallic heart is that nothing can hold him up anymore... Mavuika's parents are gone, Hine is in a box waiting to be a skeleton later.

And all his mind repeats are the scream of his own pain at seeing Mavuika leave, abandoning without anything to stop her, not caring about their relationship or him. She abandoned him, left them like his parents left him, his army companions, friends... all of them...

Wants to break something, that horrible redhead face, for every scar that has never stopped festering.

Duty of an Archon? Laughs inside at this stupid sacrifice. Did she want to be a Statue to be seen as a heroine that much?

She is worse... much worse... she doesn't deserve to be called a heroine...

Little by little, everyone drifts away as the ceremony ends. The assistant who helped organize the ceremony approached Thrain.

- Excuse me... - The girl freezes.

The man's face is grim, as if he were going to kill someone if they said the wrong word; the girl swallows hard. The Sentinel's eyes are dark when looks at her - "What do you need?"

- The ceremony is over; if you want... you can rest and leave your flowers, I and the others will take care of picking everything up - Doesn't say it's for his health. Fears having said something wrong.

- ................... - Tightens his gaze, still looking at Mavuika's Statue; fists hurt, winter has never been closer.

She’s shitting herself with fear, but the man advances to Hine's grave, leaving flowers, and remains in silence. Perhaps a few words of farewell to her, but the assistant believes it’s to calm himself down. A growl resonates and Thrain leaves, not looking at the assistant. Gives her the corresponding Mora for the services.

- You handle the rest - In a low, measured voice, trying to be so.

That is what the girl needs to nod and leave quickly with the other girls to remove all the chairs, tables, and the rest, leaving him alone. They won't return for a while.

Doesn't even take the next steps when he turns to the graves and looks at the Statue. Could always be considered someone of great composure and seriousness; the situation didn't matter, didn't let himself show sides he didn't want anyone to see, much less himself... Did he ever feel like himself?

It doesn't matter anymore.

Says goodbye in a low voice to Mr. Tanok, Haumia, and Hine. Forces himself to look up at that Statue, elegant and cold, the image of that person who should have been here, who left... abandoned him.

Doesn't stop what he does when he spits saliva at the Statue out of the disgust feelings, out of everything rotten he holds toward her, waiting irrationally and impatiently for some reaction... a sign... whatever...

As always... he receives nothing...

Growls with his cold eyes, flaming with horrible feelings, finally marching off with steps that frightened the birds. Doesn't turn to look at her; he doesn't want to give her that pleasure; perhaps being a lifeless image is what she deserves.

And still...

Marches aimlessly... now, he has a destination, but thinking has already gone down the drain for a while; trips over his own robes and it's already starting to get dark. How much has he walked? The other residents move away with respect and pity, thinking Hine is on his mind.

Laughs at himself; would have loved for it to be that way, anything but thinking about that stupid goddess.

But everything fails when walks the usual path, his body moving on its own. A living zombie. Among bushes, flowers, and far from the population, another Statue of Mavuika is situated; has been here for the last 100 years. It still has the cracks, its left arm is collapsed, part of its face cut by the eye, its body covered in punches... a dark level of satisfaction admires this masterpiece.

No longer the goddess she claims to be, nor perfect as she can maintain. If only she were real...

Nothing works; hasn't responded to him for 100 years, with that same pose as if she were holding the fire of Natlan, continuing on the mission...

Rage returns like rocks going into the void; his past self would be horrified by the lack of honor in which he treats the Statue of the person believed he loved and all those who followed her; cruelty was never his character... but returns to what he started, to what he kept doing before these statues.

Strike, strike, and strike.

The lower part is unrecognizable of inscribed words; kicks with a passion reserved only for the person who left him, for the inhabitants who praise her actions now, for those who still hate the Archon for not rescuing their loved ones in time... everything, he wants to destroy it all.

He is a clown and keeps striking, because expects the Statue to stop him, to fight, to call him by his name...

Nothing.

The flames feed and he strikes harder. His hands are bleeding and no longer controls the words.

- Your little sister died, is this your reaction? Are you so heartless as to leave her alone just to save this nation? You damn monster! - Scream can only be heard by nature, but the person he needs to hear him is an object of stone, enraging him more.

Shakes the lower part with his arms, expecting her to fall, to do something — "DO SOMETHING! YOU DAMN ARCHON! WHY DID YOU LEAVE US!? DID YOU WANT TO MAKE A FOOL OUT OF ME WHEN YOU LEFT!? DID I CAUSE YOU SO LITTLE CONFIDENCE WHEN WE WERE DATING THAT YOU DIDN'T EVEN DEIGN TO TELL ME YOUR PLAN BEFOREHAND!? DAMN IT! DAMN YOU!!!"

The leg is breaking but he doesn't even care; the ice freezes his leg; the roar is stronger. Only sees red before the silence and the lying promises of his ex, sees her stupid face of sadness when she places it on the tree, the letters that he didn't deign to continue as her family suggested, there is nothing to say, she deserves it. All he wants is for her to be here so she can fight with him and they can break each other's necks!

- COWARD!! WHAT DID I HAVE THAT EVEN YOUR TRUST WASN'T WORTHY TO ME?! WHAT DID I DO WRONG?! SOMETIMES DUTY DEMANDS SACRIFICES WE WISH WE DIDN'T HAVE TO MAKE?! IT WAS ALWAYS JUST YOU! WE COULD HAVE FOUGHT TOGETHER! We could have-!....

Doesn't breathe, he staggers backward, he sees the fire spread in his body, the sky of Khaenri'ah raining red and death, it burns everything, it's always the same scene. His parents sacrificing themselves to not die with them, friends and soldiers dying outside his hands, Guthred smiling like an arrogant man while dying for a cause greater than himself, unable to do anything but repeat that sound, dig, dig, bury, bury, not having anyone to mourn, nor the strength to have any reaction other than numbness before their dead families in nightmares... each one left him... always told himself it was nothing.

Believed he was okay... and he met her...

Someone... a light that illuminates even the deepest shadows, who fights for her ideals, that smile, those moments, each fall, each and every one of the battles where they watched each other's backs... the stars they watched in their favorite tree, he didn't see anyone else, only the sun is her being, in the scars that war left, the determination in her flaming eyes, everything... didn't want anything else... just... wanted to be her equal, them and Natlan against the Abyss, he wanted to believe...

That he could have a normal life, that he finally found his life to defend... just...

So she could tell her plan at the last moment.

So stupid and disillusioned he was, so pathetic in crying when everything slipped out of his hands again, the distance growing when her name burned on his lips, that they could be together, only for those dark hands to take everything away from him once again as fell into nothingness.

Falls and falls... His parents smile in the kitchen, his comrades in training, Guthred at his work, Hine playing tag with him, the little one's parents being like second parents to Thrain... and in the center of it all... she is always there...

That he begged her to stay, that they could handle destiny itself, that what they had was something.

The faces of his loved one’s break, crystals that time had already rotted in his boots, there is no one by his side, she is destroyed into a thousand pieces until she is dust, for a duty that destroyed everything he once believed was protecting... nothing... only the winter growing in his heart when there is no one to tell.

To Haborym... to everyone whose smiles in his world are gray, ice runs through his hand, drawing his sword, lets the plane not exist inside him, letting everything die like that boy Thrain once was... To the only culprit, the void of the Archon made of stone.

Never hated anyone as much as that woman, the only one who can make him a monster he never believed would become, those words of poison come from him, Answer, Archon!

Why?

WHY?!

- Say something...... - Says in silence, hand trembling from the ice inside him, from the being that is no longer Thrain, the eyes no longer have stars, only the shadow of eternal winter, shrieking when he throws his sword, a linear blast destroying the sky of his homeland, his loved ones... And the empty smile of the goddess... expecting her to defend herself, a plea to the woman he once loved — "SAY SOMETHING, MAVUIKAAAAA!!!"

Only remains in the gloom... the startled crows vanish into the trees, the cold and thankless night; numb, hears his broken, slow breathing, eyes blurry with what believes are tears... Lifting his head, sees nothing before him...

Only the destroyed Statue, never to rise again, unrecognizable. Falls to his knees, the body unable to hold out, it hurts... but nothing is compared to the horrible reality. It didn't matter how much he screamed and destroyed. Silence is the only thing he will ever receive from her.

The reaction doesn't matter, it's just a symbol, never the true Mavuika... all this time he acted like a fool believing that his fall would bring her back... only for his stomach to feel a kick that leaves him breathless at the facts: Everyone left without a turning back.

Mavuika died and won't return in 400 more years... now... he realizes...

That he is alone... and that what they had was never worth it.

......

The tears are just as cold, falling in flakes, icy on his own skin; makes no attempt to wipe them from his face, blue eyes are dull... reality only accentuates the damage done and the blood running everywhere.

Numb, stands up, looking at the dead Archon... just like Thrain... The face devoid of any emotion that he tore from the interior.

There are only contempt and the abyssal nothingness that he doesn't try to repress. What a joke... the cheap stone of a goddess who played him like a cheap rag fell.

What a waste of time...

He doesn't repair the damage, leaving without looking back; that cowardly heroine doesn't deserve a single word, nor does dedicating anything to that stupid, disillusioned Thrain.

The Archon's house is empty and falls to the floor, his knees against his head, the rain replacing the phantom, already frozen tears. So cold is his heart...

This is death without doubt...

These memories were never worth it...

Presses his face even closer to his knees, he hugs himself...

Doesn't want to be here in Natlan, to hell with everything.

Trembles in solitude, the lightning as company.

Stares into the void... waiting for a sign just to kill it himself.

Who is it?

Does it matter now?

No one answers him.

And so... a man dies...

The darkness takes him.

Pushing away his past. Not wanting to know who he is anymore.

He closes his eyes, falling like a corpse with frozen tears.

In the distance, a man among the trees looks at the house of the Pyro Archon. He has seen and followed the man he met in Khaenri'ah; he has seen a beautiful performance before that Statue, what a spectacle, that ice, so broken and with nothing to lose, just as he is. He smiles with satisfaction at this.

Pierro smiles vacantly while he covers himself to send his message to his Queen, the Tsaritsa; they have a new fool in their ranks, a big one.

"I have found the next in line for our organization, I know that he will be of great pleasure to you, Your Majesty; it’s only a matter of time... for the heavens to fall just like that Statue... of a man who killed himself...

There is already a suitable name for our star.

Il Capitano.

I know that the ice in Snezhnaya will fit you like a glove... I am getting ahead of myself but...

Welcome to the Fatui"

.............

......

The residents of the Canopy's Offspring at the gates had the feeling that something was not right; the few who lived during the time of Mavuika and Thrain may not be right about details they don't know, but they can say with certainty that since the Archon of Natlan left 100 years ago, the Sentinel has not been the same.

It was seeing a cold corpse walking among the shadows of what he once had in his hands, someone who is living the same hell over and over again, and each time his heart closes to the point of not being able to guess what he is thinking.

Sometimes does his morning training, eats, goes on missions, but the aura is dim; something else happened between the Archon and the Sentinel that Natlan never knew what the hell it could do to change a man.

Some notice him staring for a long time at the Statues of the Archon, with various expressions that often aren't typical for someone like Thrain, but now he’s so cold that doesn't even dedicate a single word to them and there is this emptiness in his gaze.

Strange or serious events have been occurring that they cannot explain; why do they see statues of the Archon Mavuika destroyed or damaged in some way?

Who is the heretic who commits such barbarities?

It must be someone who hates the redhead, for sure, but it would have to be someone close because of how personal the destruction of them is.

No one brave has approached to talk to him about this; truth to be told, the Sentinel doesn’t want them to approach him, doesn't think he can control himself if it happens. In respect, perhaps the others should have done so. They don't understand why Thrain stares at them fixedly or with fury when they talk about the sacrifice or praise the Archon.

Much less do they understand why someone as honorable as Thrain decided to leave Natlan at the request of someone who is not from these lands: The newly appointed leader of the Fatui, the right hand of the Tsaritsa, Pierro.

Perhaps they can understand that he wants to take some time after the redhead is gone. But so much as to leave without a turning back?

Well, it's not like what others have to say matters at this point. They can judge him if they feel like it with or without knowing what happened, they won't be alive to tell the tale, for the first time in his life.

That doesn't interest him anymore.

Pierro's proposal to join the Fatui hit the nail on the head regarding the total order of Teyvat, the Archons, Celestia, and the Abyss. But above all, of giving the power to make the decision he wanted, the power to decide his destiny. Pierro seems familiar to him, also cursed by Immortality and the destruction of Khaenri'ah.

It wasn't so complicated to accept it, aside from the stormy silence he gave when meeting the black-haired man; Pierro is not intimidated by that. Aside from the small love he still has for the lands of the Sacred Flames. Nothing else holds Thrain, and if it does, never gives anyone or Pierro the satisfaction of knowing it. Not even he wants to hold himself back for a long time.

The older man thinks it's fine, he didn't come to make friends. He came to recruit his first member into the Fatui ranks for his Frozen Queen.

No one could do anything to hold him back; it was no longer anyone's decision but his own. After Hine's death, the two months in Natlan seemed blurry. The Archon's house was abandoned except for taking the package of letters and the necklace that the family left in Thrain's care; there was no trace of the Sentinel. The residents wanted to sell it, but it was a curse; no one wanted to enter such a sacred home, nor did the small agencies want anything to do with it.

Nothing was understood about that. Perhaps out of respect or because... they also don't want to forget who was there before leaving; despite the new Archon who was born, the claws of the past keep dragging.

The only thing that gave them light and guidance... is a Statue.

They let it die as an offering to their old Goddess, that no one took anything from that home; only time will destroy everything.

The new Harbinger's things were ready to depart. The ship to Snezhnaya would set sail at 8:00 a.m.

The man dressed in the Harbinger's cloak went to the same place where he destroyed the Statue; it remains the same as he left it. Felt nothing for it.

Approached the destroyed pieces; the goddess's head was not as damaged and nature was doing its work on the moss. Stared at it for a good while, grabs the head, and places it carelessly on what remains of the support, pronounced with empty hoarseness more to himself than to the Statue.

- I'm leaving.

Just like that, simple, short, and easy. The simplest thing he could say in a long time before the new reality that is coming to him.

In the end, she is gone.

Before leaving the unconscious Archon's house, he had made coffee and coffee with milk. Doesn't think too much about that.

Turns with his cloak flapping in the wind, letting what was once a piece of Thrain that night disappear. The birds sing, the world continues its course, everyone has left him behind, he should have done the same for a long time.

Pierro was looking for the Sentinel until happened to find him staring into nothingness, at a Tree with a view of mountains, flowers, and the sea. If he looks in that direction, might be facing the Sacred Flame Stadium. Strangely, there are two cups, one of coffee and one of coffee with milk...

The former mage laughs internally, somewhat ironically; if he had to bet what remains of his soul, would say this has to do with a certain Archon... Who are you waiting for, Il Capitano?

- We will set sail in an hour; it would be better if we get ahead - Announces seriously and coldly after a long silence.

- ................. - The black-haired man just nods, neutral to all the beauty of the landscape.

Pierro crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow, perhaps wanting to hit a familiar nerve before all of this - "Are you waiting for someone?"

Sees the Sentinel clench his fists softly, oh... how interesting. As if he realized something he shouldn't have done. The black-haired man drinks the coffee that had been cold for hours in one go.

Kicks the coffee with milk that links him to that person. Destroying that cut into pieces and burying it in the earth so that time swallows it.

- No, there is no one to wait for - Resonates curtly, definitively while walking down the hill - "Let's go"

The old man just looks at him without giving anything back; this is already more than enough. A small, cruel ghost smile crosses his face when they arrive at the ship, which is erased when gives the orders to arrange everything before leaving Natlan.

Not even that makes the new Harbinger stop looking at the lands that welcomed him. A part that is always announced to have died. No one stopped him and did anything about it; for once, felt control of his own life.

The ship's bell rings and they move on their way to the frozen lands. Pierro approaches his new colleague with a glass of water.

- A suitable position for you, Il Capitano?

The wind blows his black hair, stone-faced before his new identity and future. Capitano thinks that for once, the change isn't bad. Takes the water with courtesy and responds.

- Yes, quite suitable.

The former mage thinks that he has already seen this before, how someone's heart freezes. Wonders what future awaits his new colleague, he doesn't guess much...

But if he is sincere, maybe not now, much less in 400 years...

But has the feeling that Capitano will return. Notices it as subtle as this. But stays silent without hesitation.

Capitano doesn’t say goodbye to Natlan, because doesn't think he has the strength to do so. Has a lot to do as Captain of the Fatui, doesn't know if he wants to return. He is not interested.

He simply keeps moving forward.

Where the eternal winds of winter guide him.

And the sun cannot reach him.

..............

.........

Chapter Text

400 years in these frozen lands are a wasteland of a broken hourglass. At least that is what he thinks; the ice stops the object but it doesn't mean the prison will be eternal if it thaws.

His own heart is exactly the same; the winter contains all the remains of what that man once was. Seems like a specter that doesn't evolve, nor does look away in the solitude of his new room. An absolute annoyance, has always ignored the signs, because it isn't worth the slightest attention.

Everything is strange.

When duties aren't urgent, always looks for something in the snow, only to be disappointed that it’s the Archon Statue of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. An invisible rope that for 400 years forces to look for something never wanted to name again.

Has gotten used to the gastronomy of these lands, ignoring completely the foods from certain lands of fire. Not even the urge to try them again.

Everything happens so fast and slow at the same time, the work of a Harbinger has left him numbed and busy over the years, earned a reputation among many Fatui ranks for his control, efficiency, and honor, a warrior who doesn't behave or lower himself to the level of horror of the dehumanized treatment of some of his colleagues.

Leading an army requires discipline, temper, and trust in their leader since they are throwing their lives into it. Given his previous experience, it isn't that complicated. He just needed time to put things in order and for everything to work.

There are a certain pride and appreciation in what he does, in the end, the army is more than a bunch of people to lead, they are people like one who have their motives to join the Fatui, people like he once was in the army in his former homeland.

..........

Shakes his head and continues with his life.

He always does that. A stupid stumble of those remains that he doesn't name, nor validate in the mirror.

It has been a long time since recognized his face in this Curse of Immortality, with all this armor, could pretend that person is gone and what he has in front is a new being. Built between fortresses of ice just like Her Majesty's palace.

The Tsaritsa holds him in too much esteem given everything he has done for the Fatui and the cause, it’s nothing. Among all the Harbingers, it could be said that several can count on him. He is the least crazy among the others and Sandrone always invites him to her tea parties with the girls instead of Dottore, whom she hates with all her guts.

He brings Tartaglia anytime, a boy who doesn't stop looking at him with admiration. A good relationship between them, a guide for the orange-haired one and a companion in arms every time he asks to fight him, that boy truly doesn't get tired.

It’s nice to have these moments, the people of Snezhnaya, the food stalls, the snowy landscapes, the advanced technology of this nation, its quiet silences when he relaxes, an office and training room just for him. Earns too much Mora in such an important position and much, much more. He can have a good life here.

He can stay here forever and...

.........

Doesn't complete the thought. He wants to do it.

He always stays with the best his mind can be conscious of, of what he wants to believe. Not of what really happens, many moments pass in a blur, of plans with a certain nation he visits to stay up to date. Day and night working hard between plans, orders, and agreements in the lands that seem like ghosts to him. Of the coming of the Abyss that is approaching.

Doesn't call that name, doesn't name that tree where his body moves on its own to sit, wait, and make coffee with milk... Who is he waiting for?...

Denies everything to continue as if nothing happened, denies that he has been repressed, that he holds back, sometimes drinks alcohol to forget his actions on nights where his hand is wet from pulling down there and regrets each one of them but doesn't understand why he can’t avoid it.

Doesn't understand himself; never wants to understand himself, because that would be suicide, because something in him will return to the surface. Doesn't want him to come back. He wants him to disappear.

He’s no longer that man and he hate it, the mind doesn't want to turn the page. He is moving forward; has a life here and there is no point in thinking about anything else. Why doesn't his head understand that?

That life is gone. Those he love had died.

She never existed for him anymore.

Why?...

Why does saying that fact destroy him?

…………………

………

The Zhar-Ptitsa tavern on the outskirts of Zapolyarny is a refuge of creaking wood and suffocating heat that contrasts with the blizzard outside. A statue of a Phoenix in the center of the ballroom and the entire site. The air smells of cheap brandy, warm and familiar, soldiers' sweat, and the sweet aroma of firewood burning in the central fireplace. Capitano is sitting in the darkest corner, with the mug of alcohol in front of him as if it were an enemy. This must be the fourth drink... Right? Doesn't look at the Phoenix statue, it displeases him.

Beside him, Tartaglia laughs with that youthful energy that is sometimes irritating but in silence is quite pleasant to the blurry thoughts he has, hitting the table after telling a battle anecdote. The eleventh Harbinger doesn't notice that his superior has barely tasted another drink, since the gaze is lost in the bottom of the glass.

- You should see the face the new recruit made when I took his sword away with two fingers! AND WITHOUT BLINKING! - Exclaims Childe, wiping away a tear of laughter.

The black-haired man only emits a low grunt, a sound that could be a nod or a warning for the young man to stop a little. His gloved fingers tap on the wood, marking a rhythm that only he hears in the cold head.

At that moment, the tavern door opens and a group of civilians enters seeking refuge from the cold that lashes Snezhnaya. Among the chaos of fur coats, a flash of color cuts through the gloom of the room like a forbidden ray of sunshine. Capitano looks away immediately, with a violent speed that makes his neck crack under the armor.

It’s a young woman, a local who takes off her hood to reveal a head of hair of an ignited red, almost like fire. It’s not the exact shade, it doesn't have the shine of the sacred flames, nor the same gradient that falls from the tip, but It’s close enough for his chest to tighten. A spasm of nausea runs through his stomach, wants to kick something, get away from this tavern immediately.

- Something wrong, Captain? You've stayed stiff as a stick - Asks the orange-haired one, tilting his head with genuine curiosity. Childe follows the direction of his mentor's gaze and smiles with that mischief that usually brings unnecessary problems - “Oh, I see. She is a pretty girl, although I doubt she can handle the pace of a Harbinger like you”

Capitano doesn't respond, his hand squeezes the mug with such force that the ceramic begins to emit a groan of imminent fracture. The red is still there, moving in his peripheral vision, reminding a farewell that happened centuries ago and that feels like yesterday. What is she doing here?

The music rises in volume when a bard begins to play a fast melody, and the redheaded woman, encouraged by the alcohol, approaches. notices the imposing figure of the dark armor and, moved by a mixture of courage and flirtation, extends a hand toward him. Her eyes shine with the innocence of one who doesn't know she is touching an open and purulent wound. Those amber eyes are so horribly familiar, but they don't have that sun that characterizes her so much.

Stop looking at details! STOP!

- Mr. Harbinger, you seem to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, wouldn't you grant me a dance to forget the cold? - Her voice is soft, but to the man, it sounds like a distortion of a frequency that was once his only music. Doesn't move; his body is frozen in a posture of absolute rejection that the girl fails to interpret.

Childe observes the scene with interest, waiting to see how the most respected man of the Fatui reacts to such a mundane invitation. But the atmosphere around the table becomes heavy, the atmospheric pressure seems to drop several degrees in an instant. The aura of the First Harbingers becomes sharp, a silent warning that danger is a millimeter away.

- I don't dance - Responds in a way that seems to come from a deep tomb, cutting and devoid of any nuance of courtesy.

The woman blinks, disconcerted by the coldness, but decides to take another step, resting her hand on the armored arm of the man. It’s a light contact, almost non-existent, but it’s as if they had placed red-hot iron on him. Of warm memories he buried, kisses that burn the skin, a whole life that failed in that she stayed by his side.

- Come on, don't be so severe, one piece won't hurt anyone on this winter night. Don't you like what you see? I don't bite, you know? - Insists with a flirty smile.

Capitano stands up abruptly, the chair is sent flying backward and the loud noise silences the tavern music. Looks at her from his imposing height, and although she cannot see his eyes, feels the final judgment upon her.

Pushes her away with a brusque movement, not to harm her, the instinctive disgust of being touched by someone who "looks like her”. The rejection is so violent that the woman retreats several steps, tripping over a nearby table while fear replaces her joy and several men and women at that table, surprised and horrified, wonder with a scowl at the Harbinger's action. The black-haired man breathes with difficulty; the air becomes scarce inside his helmet while his pulse hammers.

- Don't ever touch me again, woman - The poison in his words is not for her, but for the memory she evokes. She could never be that Archon, and the fact that the body tries to look for similarities causes him an unbearable physical repulsion. It sickens that a stranger pretends to occupy, even for a second, the place of his greatest hatred of past centuries.

- Hey, take it easy, Captain! It was just a kind invitation - Tartaglia intervenes, standing up to calm the waters before there is blood – “Captain!” - Tartaglia apologizes to the girl for a while and pays for the drinks of both Harbingers, going to run in the snow to catch up with his mentor before leaves.

But the Captain is no longer in the tavern, the mind is in a field of ashes where the sun went out. He ignores Childe and leaves the tavern, breaking the door with a shove while the blizzard hits him with purifying fury. The extreme cold of the night is the only relief for the fever caused by having remembered that cursed color. He walks

Through the deep snow, steps leaving heavy footprints of someone who carries a corpse on his back.

- That woman is not her - Repeats mentally like a mantra, while his fists clench until his knuckles bleed under the metal. Disgust grows, hating for a moment his discourteous behavior with a stranger who unfortunately looks like that Archon who abandoned him.

Stops in front of a frozen lake near the city center, looking at his blurry reflection in the black ice of the surface under the moonlight. Hates himself for having felt that flip in his heart when seeing the red, kicks his feet in the snow at what lived in the tavern. He’s not crazy, he is not demented, doesn't see things that don't exist, that past doesn't exist, she doesn't exist.

The alcohol finally starts to take effect; it makes him sharper and edged like a blade. Remembers the taste of her lips, her first confession, the warmth of her laughter, and how the sun seemed to live in her gaze. All of that was destroyed by a duty she put above them, leaving him alone in this winter.

Returns to his headquarters in the Zapolyarny palace hours later, with his cape covered in frost and his soul heavier than when he went out to drink. Enters his room and closes the door, leaning his forehead against the cold metal while the silence envelops him. There is no one here, only him and the ghost that never goes away.

Sits on the edge of his bed, looking at his gloved hands that still seem to burn from the contact of the woman in the tavern. The disgust persists, a sticky sensation that has been unfaithful to his own grudge for allowing a simulation to touch him. Tomorrow will be the implacable leader again. He will always return to being Il Capitano.

Gets up to go to the bathroom, aggressively wiping away the touch of that woman, cannot focus on the guilt for leaving Tartaglia alone and worried that his captain had left precipitously. But can only focus on the void that grows, on that ghost that smiles at him with disgusting affection in the hot waters, pushing that reflection away with a swipe.

The heart won't stop beating, it will pop out at any moment, staggering and dizzy from the effects of drinking a lot. With a towel on his torso and naked otherwise, wants to lie down and forget.

He goes blank upon seeing his reflection in the mirror, his face is covered by the helmet, but doesn't see that, the horror of his gaze upon seeing everything that was in that mirror, regretting having one in his bathroom... no... he doesn't want this... Why?

His parents, his friends, teachers, companions who have been in his charge, Guthred, Mr. Tanok, Mrs. Haumia, little Hine...

Mavuika...

And Thrain.

They all looked at him from the mirror, various expressions that he thinks is compassion, Thrain looks at him with sadness, putting his hand on the mirror, wanting that ghost to caress his cheek before the monster he is today, the Archon also wants to come out of that mirror in an attempt to console him. That Thrain wants the other to recognize him, that he is there.

All of this is wrong. Absolutely everything.

They are all invaders in his skin, they don't belong to his life, each one abandoned him to his fate. That cowardly Archon too. He clenches his teeth until blood comes out for each one of them, they are not welcome, they are not loved by him anymore.

Especially Thrain Christensen, the person he buried and returns to torment him. He hates that compassion in his gaze, he hates them, HE HATES AND HATES!

Grabs a vase and confronts the mirror with a loss of control, all those souls that ruined him.

- I wish I never had emotions! These stupid memories! Every person I've known! Go away! – He shouts at the mirror – “You’re not here! YOU ARE ALL GONE!!” – Throws the vase at the mirror, leaving every trace in pieces, he grabs the sink and tears that cannot stop come out in torrents – “YOU ARE DEAD AND YOU ARE NOT COMING BACK SO NOW GET OUT!!......Get out....” – The voice cracks, returning to being that weak person, sobs when looks at the pieces of glass spilled on the floor still seeing the reflection of those who have left.

They all left.

Mavuika looks at him disgustingly with sadness, a tear falls from her, closing her eyes to disappear. Thrain has the same expression, looks away to not see the destroyed man who rejects him to the point of hurting himself, before saying goodbye he murmurs to Capitano before leaving into the air.

- I'm sorry...

The bathroom remains in silence, with the sound of the blizzard hitting the window, only the sobs of a man listen to the walls when he lands among the glass, wants the tears to stop, he doesn't want to feel, doesn't want this to matter to him, nothing mattered to him.

Not even those old faces. 500 years have passed since every being left his life, until when will he have to lose? This is his life; he doesn't miss anyone. He doesn't want anyone.

Not even that sun that continued forward until it got lost in the abyss.

Not even the one who says "I'm sorry"

Shut up....

Just shut up...

……………

………

Among all the sobs, doesn't perceive that someone has touched the door and has stopped for a long time.

Tartaglia has his hand frozen on the door, for minutes his Captain hasn't answered, inside he can't hear anything except a crash of glass and the sobs of his mentor... and doesn't know how to feel about it. He has never seen or heard Capitano sob, has always been someone strong, cold, that with that helmet it was already very difficult to know what he expresses when they cannot see into the darkness of that face.

Everything was a stir looking for him through the main center, without understanding in his life why the Captain would become like that with a strange redhead. Does he know her? No, he has never seen the Harbinger with another person in a romantic way, if it were little to say, he doesn't know much about the Captain, where he comes from and his life before joining the Fatui, they get along well, he’s a man capable of anything...

But tonight tells him to his face that he doesn't know the Captain, apart from his taste for coffee, for reading, for being calm and spending time training and leading the Fatui, sometimes when he wants to ask about him but is afraid in the end, as if asking personally to the person in front was a guaranteed uncomfortable moment and doesn't want to make his idol uncomfortable. Let's say that Capitano's "Don't ask me anything" aura doesn't help much but gets angry with himself for not being brave and asking, his idol would never act like that...

And something happened for him to not be the same as always... What should he do?

Laugh at himself, he isn't good with the feelings and conversations he should have either...

Especially with a certain person from Liyue.

Sighs defeated, cold, and discouraged. Should fight with mannequins to vent his frustration.

Bought a black scarf for the captain since he wasn't wearing one, leaves it at the door with a note to be well. Walks away with some suspicion at the door if the Captain opens, but in the end, nothing remains in the hallways as he leaves. Fighting with the mannequins in the open air, has a resolution to make, doesn't want to have to do this to him.

But cannot stay silent, his mentor is in trouble with something and cannot let this remain in the background, he doesn't see him as a person who expresses his problems but he has to try, will give the Captain space for the waters to calm down. Decided, he fights and defeats the mannequin with more desire.

He’s Tartaglia, Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, he wouldn't surrender to a challenge for another person. Not on his guard.

It's just a matter of preparing.

……………………….

………….

The next morning has the metallic taste and biting cold of silent regret. Capitano finds the black sweater on the threshold, a dark lump against the neatness of the Zapolyarny Palace barracks. When he meets with Tartaglia near the training grounds, there is a stiffness in his shoulders that does not belong to his armor.

- Thank you for the gesture - His voice again under the iron control of the mask. Pauses, his gloved fingers clenching tightly over the hilt of his sword – “And I apologize for last night. My behavior was inappropriate for an officer of my rank”

The orange-haired one is checking the edge of his water daggers, looking up with a smile that does not quite reach being as bold as usual.

- No problem, Captain. Snezhnaya's alcohol has strange ways of hitting even the strongest - Responds lightly, downplaying the matter – “Sometimes, the negative effects appear when we least expect them”

The young Harbinger doesn’t mention the redheaded woman. Neither mention the crashing of the broken mirror or the sobs that filtered through the bedroom door. That silence is a pact of honor between warriors. Without further words, the air fills with the sound of clashing steel and military orders, both submerging themselves in the routine of the missions that Pierro has entrusted to them.

Two weeks have passed since that night. To say it has felt good would be a lie, but cannot claim its wrong either. It’s, simply, in a state of absolute strangeness. Moves through the palace like an automaton; he stands before his troops, but doubts for moments if something essential has been lost on the path between the tavern and his office.

Sometimes thinks this numbness is giving him life both easy and difficult in equal parts; it’s easy not to feel, but it’s difficult to live when the world seems made of cardboard and ash.

Arlecchino and that sharp perception that predators have, observes him carefully. On more than one occasion, when he remains static, looking at the snowy horizon, she approaches to break his trance.

- An afternoon spent still admiring, waiting for something. Are you alright? – Between curiosity and suspicion. Her neutral face showing no emotion, just eyebrows half-frowned.

- I am fine, I am just in my thoughts. Nothing serious. If you’ll excuse me, Arlecchino - Responds, with the same mechanical cadence he uses. Says goodbye with courtesy to his coworker.

- ………………………. – She crosses her arms, not prying into matters that do not concern her… but as always, notices more than the common person; she can say with certainty that these days the Captain is distracted, if one could put it that way. She adjusts her hair, suit, and leaves in the opposite direction; has a tea party with Colombina and Sandrone.

Capitano walks and walks, repeating that he is fine.

It’s always the same. Always... always...

Until one day, while walking through the side hallways of the headquarters, the world decides to break again. Two subordinates are chatting animatedly behind a column, ignoring that the First Harbinger is a few steps away.

- Did you hear already, Marianne? - Says one, her voice vibrating with emotion.

- I’m no fortune teller, what’s going on? - Responds the other, adjusting her coat.

- You should have been paying attention to the rumors: The Archon of Natlan has returned! - The Cryo mage shouts excitedly, making the echo of her words bounce off the ice walls – “Isn’t it fantastic? The last gnosis will be in the Tsaritsa’s hands!”

……………………….

…………….

All the cold vanishes from his heart, the first heartbeat in a long time has been reborn, a baby taking its first steps into the world again, the pain of his heart that he hasn't heard in centuries accelerates until it destroys his coherent thoughts, everything around him is lost, that night returns with force, his memories and faces too, everything at the same time and can do nothing to stop it.

Capitano stops dead. His body does not move, so those girls keep talking and ruining his reality.

- Are you serious?! Where did you hear that, Veronica?!

- Apparently, the Captain’s agents in Natlan have seen and reported the rebirth of the Archon after 500 years just today. Natlan is celebrating because she has returned; apparently, the Pilgrimage will be held so she can fight for the position of Archon now that the previous one has passed away these days. I just heard it at the ports and it is running through the palace now, isn’t it great?

- Yes! Which of the Harbingers will go?

- It hasn't been decided yet who will go. Lord Pierro will have to inform Her Majesty of that, but since it’s the Nation of War, don’t you think Mister Tartaglia should go? He loves to fight and would undoubtedly put up a fight against the Ancient Archon.

- Oh, I think so, Mister Tartaglia is so cool, surely he will ask to go on the first ship. When he steals the Gnosis, WE WILL CELEBRATE IN STYLE! THE FATUI WILL TRIUMPH!

- We have waited so long for this moment, so exciting!

- Right? Right?

The girls move away little by little, so joyful that they fade away just like the last thing holding the Captain to himself.

His breathing slows, moans, dizzy and about to scream, but drowns it all out with his gauntlet, the bite continuing to go deep hurting him. No… No…

Wants to believe that he is better than this, that what he heard is a lie… but he knows, oh yes… he knows in his heart that breaks his chest that its true, 500 years have passed. Just like the promise she made that time…

«The only thing I can give you... is our meeting in five hundred years...»

So… the day has arrived…

She is here… She is not dead.

……………

The body moves slowly at first, the snow does not save him, he has never been so awake in his life that his entire being moves without waiting for him to react. He heads to the training grounds…

Columbina floats and jumps as if she were playing hopscotch on numbered squares, looks at the shadow heading toward her and it’s her favorite person; when she is about to say his name, she freezes at the aura she feels from the Harbinger who passes her by without noticing her – “Captain?”

He leaves; Columbina is not good at socializing, she does not know who to turn to, and the Captain’s presence is so painful; Don’t believe she can help him even by singing; something is not right that makes her nervous for some reason that don’t understand. Until her wings flutter upon seeing the orange-haired one and she goes toward him.

Nothing around him is familiar when he reaches the public training ground; cannot think because he didn’t go to his private one away from everything. He cannot… Seeing a dummy.

Summons his ice sword and splits a dummy in half.

No idea who is in front of him, there is no ghost, it is just the dummy. He unloads everything on another dummy.

And another and another.

One more.

And one more.

And more and more.

What is he doing?

Who is he destroying?

Stop…

He begs his body to stop; has never begged in 400 years. After having destroyed that statue… After leaving without remorse. He wants to stop, stop, stop.

STOP IT ALREADY!

- THRAIN!

A sweet and anguished voice speaks in his mind; his body reacts by cutting another figure beside him; his breath leaves him when he sees the person he has hated so much… no… nonono… The horror of seeing that redhead with wide eyes being cut and falling to the ground spilling blood.

Let’s out that name that he will never repeat again. The anguish and the horror when hold her in his arms quickly before she hits the ground, the name of the sun that has returned… and destroyed with his own hands, his hands covered in blood, the monster he hates being.

- MAVUIKA!!! - Cannot stop, it comes out as easily as a wound from that dead man; uses his cape to cover the blood and calls her again and again so she wouldn’t leave, so she wouldn’t die – “MAVUIKA, HANG IN THERE!! MEDIC!! MEDI-!!”

As soon as he hears his own voice in the place, returns to reality when he looks down… eyes open and his breathing agitated.

Holding a dummy, it’s not… her…

His sword is thrown aside and everything is so far away and fast when the cold seeps into his armor and when hears someone running toward him.

- Captain! – Tartaglia comes running to his side, holding him so he doesn't faint or anything; tries to remain calm and shakes his mentor gently – “Captain, hang in there! Do you hear me?”

- …………………………. - Looks up and doesn’t trust his voice or head, murmurs – “Tartaglia?”

- Yes, it’s me Captain, how many hands do you see? – Childe shows him five fingers.

- Fi-five… - Says after a while.

- Exactly. If you are with me breathe deep after me, inhale and exhale – It is noticeable that he has experience despite noticing that his hand trembles a little, but that trembling stops and he carefully strokes the older man’s back.

Capitano does what he asks, closes his eyes to imagine the Archon who is in Natlan and not here whom he killed with his own hands, thought about food, about the snow that touches his hair, breathes and exhales heavily, trying to find balance.

- That’s it. It’s not that complicated. Right? There is no one around, so everything is fine. Wow, wow, wow, don’t rush, one step at a time. The Captain is dying on us, the ship is going to shit and we don’t want that, not on my watch – The Eleventh calms him with his measured attitude, with a certain grace at what the saw of the Captain.

At this, the black-haired man cannot help but let out a muffled chuckle; this kid always brings out the funny side of the situation, no matter how horrible it is, cannot thank him enough. Doesn’t see anyone else and that calms him quite a bit; after a few minutes the vision stops being blurry, he is in the training space, it’s snowing and a storm is approaching. Breathes normally again and coughs a little to be able to speak.

- Thank you Tartaglia… truly…

- Don't thank me for anything. It would be nice to have a training session to get rid of negative emotions but from what I saw… you don't need that right now. It's cold as hell and we are in a public place; may I take you to your room or can you walk alone? – Asks half-jokingly, but ends with seriousness.

Capitano is thoughtful, embarrassed by the barbarity he has committed; Childe undoubtedly saw everything, surely he did not know how to react to his entire behavior; there is the incident that night at the tavern, now this… how incredible. Fate is mocking him and nothing makes it easy for him. Don’t want to worry the boy but it already seems too late. Knowing Tartaglia, he will undoubtedly ask what happened; despite what his colleagues say, when he gets worried, won't leave any loose ends; in short, he is trapped even though asked if he could go alone. Doesn’t know what to do, nor does he understand why he would accept something like that; could pretend he is fine and push it all away as always.

But….

It’s heavy… the numbness is not as strong as always, tired… horribly wrong and a disaster. Now… he cannot… The Archon is back… and for the first time doesn’t trust himself enough to stand.

Accepts with a nod in silence. Gets up with a grunt and Childe hooks his arm over his shoulder, holding while they walk away from the devastating place.

Columbina sees everything from hiding, frowning with sorrow at seeing all this. Since she works for the Fatui, has always felt curiosity and melancholy for Capitano; it seems what she thought about him the first time she met him is true. Everyone respects and fears him; people like him accustomed to darkness would take many years to approach the light, because the light would lengthen his shadow…

Heard from Pierro that Capitano is from Khaenri’ah but that Natlan was the nation that received him and his group of soldiers; from how he behaves… he must hate and miss at the same time a certain person… Mavuika is the Archon of Natlan formerly from what she heard… Mnn… undoubtedly these two have history… she does not understand the hatred and love at the same time, humans are so complicated… just hopes the Captain is okay.

Floats around the place and starts to clean; it may not be much, but she prefers to save the Captain the hassle. Hums a melody while the snow falls and gets rid of the mess.

Meanwhile, the two men arrive at Capitano's large room; the place is quite big like a house, bathroom, office desk, a library with many books, a shelf with his recognitions, an elegant room with alcohol outside; the King bed feels the man's weight and he lies down.

- Uff, you're pretty heavy, man. I burned a few calories just by holding you – Comments Childe tiredly and leans against the door.

- You didn't have to…

- I already told you it doesn't matter. We are colleagues, if someone is in trouble who better to call than the great Tartaglia to save the day – Appreciates himself with pride and a huge nose.

- Only so you make a mess when you see someone stronger.

- Hey! Is that how you thank me? You can't embarrass me like that! I have an image to save! – His cheeks inflate at that comment; glad they are not in public.

Capitano mocks; when teases the boy it is as if a 5-year-old kid’s world falls apart when his idol doesn't appreciate him with compliments. He laughs under his breath and the room goes silent…

Neither knows how to talk about what happened… god, what a disaster… Capitano sighs heavily, while lowering his head slowly – “Did you see everything?”

- When that weirdo Columbina told me you weren't okay when you passed her by, I knew I had to run to see how you were… you undoubtedly put on a show that I didn't know how to react to, to put it mildly – Shrugs, thoughtful, choosing his words softly.

- I’m sorry…

- We don't solve anything with apologies. They are not necessary, Captain – Shakes his head – “You don't have to apologize to me. Don't weigh your heart down so much because of that and focus on the now, please”

The black-haired man remains silent at that, swallows hard and nods looking him in the face; he is right, those words calm him a little, focus on what he did a few moments ago; for now should talk… although it feels uncomfortable, strokes his fingers slowly – “You are… quite good at calming people down, medical experience?”

- I wish I were, Captain, I don't think that’ll happen – Smiles with those empty eyes, moving his hand at something so funny about being a doctor – “I am a soldier before anything else. Let’s say…” – Scratches his head with a small blush – “Let’s say I have experience calming my siblings when one has a panic attack, fear, or can't control themselves when a situation is too much. You have to ground them and have them breathe before talking to them about anything else; a person who isn't grounded in what they are doing is dangerous and when they don't calm down, even more so”

- Hmph… you're a good brother – Sounding light, appreciating his colleague for saving him.

- Ohhh Captain, don't flatter me like that, you'll make me blush. It's what an older brother would do – He is glad at that, but calms down for a few moments before having the courage to speak; he will admit he is not good at talking about deep topics; it has taken him a few weeks to have a private conversation with the captain but it was always left for missions or because the other didn't have time; now is the moment…

Doesn't know if he will manage to get anything out… but he cannot remain silent – “And also a good colleague for whoever needs it.”

- ……………………………. – Remains silent, already fearing what Tartaglia will say, but… he can do nothing.

- Look… I’ll be honest. Talking about deep conversations isn't my thing; I am a weapon for the Tsaritsa and capable of anything except emotional matters – Admits that about himself – “But I’ve wanted to talk to you about what’s happening to you. You’ve been weird since the incident at the Zhar-Ptitsa tavern… I had never seen you behave like that. Much less now that you’ve lost touch with reality”

- ………………………………. – Listens but clenches his fists slowly.

- Among all of us here, you are the sanest and firmest of the Fatui; that this has happened must mean a lot, right?

- ……Yes…… - It hurts to admit it… but it’s true.

- …………………………….. – Sighs, making the maneuvers he can to advance; truly this is difficult, this is the furthest he has been able to get the truth out of the other; one false step and he could screw it up.

Approaches to lean on a chair as calmly as he can and confesses.

- I am not going to assume I know you, Captain; we all know that you don't reveal much of yourself, even more so with that mask. It saddens me, since you are the best warrior I could ever know… but I don't know the person I have in front of me, and if I want to help, I don't know how to start… – He says in a low voice, always looking at the man.

- You don't have to do it; I doubt saying anything will fix the situation.

- Yes, you are right; it might not fix whatever is happening to you… but… - Builds up courage, giving his Captain his confident smile despite his furrowed brows in worry – “Sometimes talking things out helps you organize what to do in the future when everything is dark and you don't know what to do with yourself; sometimes it happens to me with Arlecchino when I visit her whenever something happens to me that I can't express with my own feelings other than fighting until I drop dead; we have tea at the House of the Hearth, and one has a saner head about things”

- ……………………………………..

- Besides… I worry about you. Maybe I’m not the best person you want to talk to; to make things worse, knowing our colleagues, it could even be the end of your career if someone else finds out your secret… but above all, I am a man who protects his promises and silences until the end even when they put a knife to my throat. You already know that. You can trust me, but I will understand that you don't want to do this. I just want you to know that at least there are people who worry about you even if it’s a little; that’s all… – Finishes in a low voice, lets the silence in; saying he is a little nervous, whether it works is yet to be seen.

Clenches his hands in anticipation, breaking out a sweat on his forehead at the silence and lack of movement from the other, fearing that he will reject him, until his ears twitch at the Captain's long sigh. He gets up from the bed, walking from one end to the other slowly, looking at Childe from time to time, as if he were deciding whether to let go of something he has carried for centuries or not. His voice resonates hoarse…

- I know you are a good guy when it comes to pinky promises, someone admirable despite your flaws. I doubt you want to stay up late because of all this commotion… I don't know where to start or what to feel now – Does not look at the boy, he takes his own arm and strokes it. The cold is not there to defend him like before; his body hurts in ways he cannot stop and he can be volatile if he speaks… but needs something, anything to decide his next action.

Tartaglia’s eyes open wide at that… he did it… he fucking did it… the mouth opens and closes and he straightens up; a serious air that is not characteristic of him is accentuated but he always has a ghost of a smile and relief that this worked – “Start wherever you want, I have no desire to sleep today; the room is yours and I doubt anyone will look for you at this hour. I closed the door just in case”

- You are a boy of your own breed. Sometimes I don't know what to do with you – It sounds funny and soft when Capitano comments on it.

- I am Tartaglia to you – Smiles from ear to ear with his eyes closed – “There are no heights I don't want to reach; if this means entering unknown territory, I wouldn't earn the title of Harbinger for nothing… I simply couldn't stay silent.”

- Truly… you are admirable, I am glad to have you under my wing – He is sincere about that, looking at the snow falling on his window, remembering the Archon now a dummy, the ghosts in the mirror… his past.

Hates everything… for once that he is cold here after 400 years in this limbo, he hates being human… still thinks this is ridiculous and should stay silent, that he has nothing nice to say.

Maybe that is the idea, even if it is not pleasant, even if he doesn't tell everything because it would be too much to contain.

Doesn't stop when he begins with the minimum.

A frozen, empty, black heart of 500 years that he didn't want to return…

As always, it is Fate; many things do not remain forever as one want. His hatred remains the same, the pain of years of ice agonizes him again until it cuts the wounds with a knife.

Everything remained the same…

Has he… changed?

……………….

………

The blizzard finally stopped, leaving behind a sepulchral silence that was only interrupted by the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Dinner was about to arrive, but hunger had become a secondary issue, almost irrelevant. The immersion in the past had ended the moment Capitano closed his mouth. With a clenched hand and a heart beating with a dull heaviness, the First Harbinger questioned the point of what he had just done; however, he felt that Tartaglia deserved that honesty after having picked him up from the ashes of his own collapse.

In front of him, the young redhead remained contemplative. Had a frown and his gaze lowered, hunched in a chair that seemed too small for him. Childe covered his eyes with one hand and let out a laugh laden with an irony so bitter it bit deeper than the cold outside.

- So... you too? - Muttered between his teeth.

Capitano, confused, didn't manage to grasp the meaning of the question.

- I mean being deceived and cast aside by an Archon - Continued, lowering his hand to reveal empty eyes that flashed with a past resentment – "That not even she trusted you with her plan for salvation. What a coincidence... It reminds me horribly of a certain «God of Rock»"

The tension in the dark-haired man's shoulders yielded slightly at the understanding.

- Morax... right? - Asked in a hoarse voice – "Were you... close? Boyfriends?"

- Oh, if I were to tell you, Captain - He let out a bittersweet sigh – "When I confessed my feelings, Zhongli-xiansheng didn't know how to react at first but accepted because, according to him, he liked me too. I pampered him like no one else; an incorrigible forgetful one who never carried a single Mora, a know-it-all who could talk for hours. I loved listening to him, you know? He was so calm, so sophisticated... He always invited me for walks, for tea under the stars, while I wondered how someone like him could know so much about the world"

His gaze hardened, and the fury emanating from his figure made Capitano himself shudder at the familiarity of the feeling.

- I should have realized - Childe chewed with contempt – "From the first moment in Liyue when my mission was to lure Morax by causing chaos. I should have investigated why he knew so much about the Adeptus, why his way of fighting was so perfect, why he looked so much like every damn statue I saw along the way. But I guess the name «Fatui» suits us well... in the end, it just means «Fools». And I was the biggest fool of all"

The First Harbinger shudders; the mention of the statue is a very cruel joke to him.

Childe stood up, bitterness overflowing in every word.

- He never told me he was the Archon. I never told him my mission was to tear the Gnosis from him. In the end, he just used me as a pawn to test if his nation could survive without him. He didn't even deign to look me in the eyes when he handed his power to La Signora instead of me. Everyone knew about the contract except me. The coward didn't know how to face me; I didn't even let him explain himself when he looked for me afterward. There was nothing to talk about. I still remember his look of sadness... How pathetic"

The Eleventh sounded cruel, hardened by a betrayal that still boiled in his blood. Remembered the hurtful words he threw at him when he left and how those eyes, golden as the most precious diamonds, were sad but he ignored it; in the end, the God of Contracts accepted the accusations with a mature resignation that only served to anger him more.

Why doesn't he fight for the relationship? He is the one betrayed here; Morax didn't tell him his identity during their 3 years of dating, he never trusted him in his test for his beloved Liyue, he left him like a fool while watching him hand the gnosis to that red witch... He should have gotten over it... Why can't he forget it? Doesn't want to know the answer himself, even now.

- I know it's not the same - Softening the tone a little – "You have suffered for centuries while she was preparing to save Natlan again, preferring to defend her nation rather than trust the man she had by her side. But the pattern is the same... these gods are complete fools"

- Yes... they are - Capitano nodded in a whisper.

Both remained silent, looking at each other without really seeing each other, seeing instead the faces of those Archons who still ruled their nightmares - "We are absolute fools" - They thought in unison, but neither was capable of verbalizing it.

- Do you still have beer in that small fridge? - Childe asked, trying to recover his usual mask.

The dark-haired man pointed towards a corner behind his desk, where a small refrigeration unit was hidden among elegant furniture; there was plenty of frozen food and drinks of all kinds. The boy threw a bottle that the dark-haired man caught in mid-air. The hiss of the cork opening marked the beginning of a silent toast to heartbreak and betrayal.

- Mavuika... - The boy murmured after a long drink – "I'm not surprised you fell in love with her. From what you say, she was a formidable warrior... just as he was to me. But she turned out to be a coward"

Capitano only nodded with a grunt. The boy then looked at him with a seriousness improper for his foxy character; assumes with everything told... he will have to ask difficult questions.

- So... the rumors are true. Pierro must already be informing the Tsaritsa. Tell me, Captain... what do you plan to do in Natlan? Your soldiers are already there, they say you already have certain plans against the Abyss... What will you do now that she has returned?

- I... - Squeezed the ceramic bottle; his gaze fixed on the floor. The hatred was still there, intact, but the confusion overcame him.

- Can I give you my opinion, Captain? - He asks, something the dark-haired man accepts slowly. Crossed the arms, tilting his head – "It will sound insensitive, but I think you should leave this to me. You should abandon Natlan while I go for the gnosis"

This surprises Capitano; the jaw trembles under the helmet. A spark of anger sprouted in his chest, and to protect a certain character from a certain nation, but quelled it before it exploded.

- Why do you say that? - Asked in a low voice.

- Because it's not fair to you - With brutal honesty, for many it sounds insensitive but the young Harbinger's features are of concern – "It's not pity, it's respect. You say that «that man» died centuries ago, but going back there is stoking a flame that has already burned out. If the Archon has her own plan, why don't you let her handle it? Not just her, but that whole nation. You need help, Captain. What will happen if you have an episode like todays in front of your enemies or in front of her? You built a life here in the winter... Do you really want to throw it all away for a ghost? For a Nation? For the people who left? For her?"

The air in the room became oppressive. Tartaglia gritted his teeth at feeling the icy gaze of the dark mask, but didn’t back down. He knew his words could be an offense, but to him, Mavuika was an idiot who didn't deserve Capitano to suffer a second longer. Willing to go fight and snatch that Gnosis for him, as long as his mentor didn't have to face the abandonment of 500 years that he was sure would end up destroying him.

Damn, he can receive the order from the Captain to make her suffer for what she did. Tartaglia doesn't think could endure Morax's deception for 500 years, nor could he live with himself.

- No...

- Huh?

Capitano stood up suddenly. His body moved with an unnatural stiffness, as if a corpse were governing the muscles from an outside will. Tartaglia's proposal was logical, even merciful, but every fiber of his being rejected it with a silent violence – "No, Tartaglia"

Responded with an icy firmness that penetrated the Eleventh. The refusal hurt him personally, a slap to an open wound that refused to heal for 6 years.

- But why, Captain?! - Exclaimed, losing his composure, a tone resonating against the stone walls – "You know she will be there! You know there will be no turning back if you cross that border! Why do you insist on returning to the flames?!"

- I DON'T KNOW! - The scream cut the air, paralyzing the young man. It was a voice he had already heard: the broken voice that begged for a doctor before a wooden dummy. A sound so vulnerable and sharp that it pierced his chest – "I doubt you want to know now, Tartaglia! I don't understand myself! I've spent five hundred years trapped in this limbo! Do you think I haven't wished to stay here so I wouldn't have to see her again? I think about it every blessed day since I left those lands!... But...!"

Stepped forward and grabbed the boy's shoulders, his hands trembling with desperate strength. The orange-haired one widened his eyes; under the silvery moonlight that filtered through the window, he could see the traces of the abyssal curse marking the man's skin, and those starry eyes that battled against a thousand demons at once. The pain emanating was so dense it almost made him falter, bringing him back sharply to his own ghosts of Liyue.

- I just know that I cannot stay... - Continued the First Harbinger in an exhausted whisper – "I haven't changed at all in five centuries... This problem is mine, Tartaglia. As much as I want to run away, I have scores to settle with the Archon. I cannot be here because I will continue to see everyone in the mirror. I want to end this here and now, wherever the road takes me. She is still there in my head, too bright... I don't trust what I feel, but I must try... because I no longer know what to do with myself"

The disgusted by his own words. His logical mind fought against the man he swore to bury, but that specter of his past looked at him with a courage he couldn't ignore.

That confession hit the boy in a brutal way, forcing him to face his own hell. Remembered the last six years; suicide missions, fights that made no sense, and a frantic search for pleasure to silence the void. Remembered the nights in taverns and low-life hotels, giving himself to sex with men and women who had an air of the Liyue consultant.

Remembered how he struggled to fuck the ass of strangers imagining that it was that dark-haired man who moaned beneath him, only to end up coming in the arms of strangers while reality hit him again with the coldness of the Zapolyarny palace. In the Captain, he didn't see a leader... saw a reflection of his own misery.

Childe looked away, clenching his eyelids to hold back the tears that were already burning. There they were, the two of them: two broken men who realized they had never taken a step forward.

- Childe... - Sounded exhausted. Upon feeling the trembling in the young man's shoulders, the armored heart softened – "I'm sorry for..."

- No, Captain - Cut him off with a raised hand – "Don't apologize. The one who should apologize is me; I was cruel for giving my opinion after you stripped yourself emotionally with me"

The dark-haired man shook his head and forced him to sit back down.

- No, I appreciate your sincerity. I know you care... and your questions are reasonable"

- But in the end... do you really want to do this?

The First lowered his head, clenching his fists until his gauntlets creaked. Two wills were still at war, but the decision was made. No longer found the closure he was looking for in these towers of ice; needed to face the sun of Natlan, even if that meant his definitive destruction. Nodded towards Tartaglia and sat on the bed, letting his treacherous heart guide his next steps.

The Eleventh looked at him with an admiration that bordered on devotion. Despite all the shit, Capitano was much better than him.

- You... are truly admirable.

- I'm not. You already saw what's in here.

- Hahaha, I know. Neither am I - Forced a small smile.

Capitano didn't have the strength to return it, but used his hands to draw a "U" in front of his mask, simulating a rough smile.

The orange-haired boy let out a tired chuckle and leaned back in the chair, exhausted by the outburst of emotions. After a while of shared silence, the man accompanied the young man to the door.

- I imagine that in a few days there will be the meeting with the other Harbingers - Childe said before stepping into the hallway.

- Yes.

- Captain... please, don't regret this decision.

The man breathed deeply, the winters air filling his lungs, and nodded.

- I won't.

That seemed to give peace to Childe, who said goodbye with a gesture before the closing of the door resonated in the room.

Remained motionless in front of his bed, his mind thousands of miles away. He bathed slowly; the broken mirror was gone, and the hot water felt strangely pleasant on his scarred skin. Took off the mask, avoided looking at his reflection in the water, and sank into the bath before going to bed. Fell into a heavy unconsciousness, dreaming of the sweet smile of a woman made of fire.

Tartaglia, for his part, arrived at his quarters without a shred of hunger. Locked himself in the dim light and, after washing up to sleep, opened a drawer he hadn't touched in years. There, covered in cobwebs, rested the box with the Dragon and Phoenix chopsticks that Zhongli had given him before everything fell apart into pieces.

Held the wood with almost sacred care. After discovering their matrimonial meaning years ago, had thrown himself into fucking and fighting to forget the mockery he felt, the pain of being the "fool" of a god. Tears were released again as he pressed the chopsticks against his bare chest, sobbing in a silence that no one would hear.

- We are fools... you and I... Xiansheng... - Whispered to the darkness before exhaustion closed his eyes.

…………………….

……………

The large circular table of Zapolyarny, carved from stone and frost, seemed to absorb the heat of those present. In the center, the Tsaritsa remained like an idol of eternal ice, with Pierro flanking her like a helpful, frozen shadow. Presided from her throne, a vision of purity and coldness that silenced the air.

- My faithful Harbingers - The voice of the Ice Archon resonated, devoid of emotion but charged with absolute authority - "The board is almost complete. The flame has returned to burn. Archon Mavuika has been reborn in Natlan. She is the last bastion and the last Gnosis that separates us from our final goal"

- Finally - Sandrone let out with absolute disdain, her voice dripping with animosity - "It was about time they stopped chattering in the hallways. I've had to endure exasperating rumors even in my laboratory. Does no one in this palace know how to keep silent?"

Pulcinella looked at her with an indignation that made his whiskers bristle - "Have some decorum, Marionette! Don’t interrupt Her Majesty with your hermit complaints"

- Screw you, old man! - She said, hitting the table lightly - "I have waited for this news more than anyone; my research doesn’t feed on cheap diplomacy or your office politics. Incompetence exhausts me and you should know that by now!"

Both became embroiled in an argument of insults and open contempt. By her side, Columbina hummed a sweet, unfocused melody, swaying slightly. She was not paying attention to the dispute; she simply enjoyed Sandrone's closeness, as if the other's hatred were a pleasant fragrance.

At the other end, Dottore drew a sinister smile behind his mask. Fingers drummed on his arm, already mentally dissecting the possibilities. The Sacred Flame of Natlan, linked to the Shade of Death and the secrets of Celestia... he needed that opportunity. Wanted to "talk" with the Archon of Natlan, Haborym, even though that chat would probably involve a scalpel and a soul opened wide.

Pantalone maintained his frozen smile, although his mind was on the flows of Mora and pending business; wanted this to end quickly. Arlecchino, for her part, sighed elegantly while drinking her tea, observing the dispute between Sandrone and the old rooster with exhausted patience.

Tartaglia remained motionless, arms crossed. His empty eyes didn’t leave Capitano. Could feel the deadly silence emanating from his mentor, a physical pressure that the dark-haired man wanted to crush, especially Dottore. Childe clenched his fists; knew what Capitano was feeling, and if the Doctor dared to suggest that he should go to Natlan to experiment on the Archon, he was ready to unsheathe his water swords and cut his head off right there.

- SILENCE! - Pierro took a step forward, silencing Sandrone and Pulcinella's fight - "This meeting is the pillar of our victory. No mistakes or childish distractions will be tolerated. In a few days, the Pilgrimage will be held in Natlan where the Archon will fight for her position. Whoever speaks up today will leave first thing in the morning, without exceptions. The Gnosis is the only acceptable outcome"

The Tsaritsa nodded and looked at her Harbingers. Her eyes stopped on Capitano. Knew that aura; remembered Pierro’s report from 400 years ago about that Sentinel. Knew that beneath that armor beat a black heart, splintered by a love and a loss that time could not erase.

- Unlike other missions - Her gaze fixed on the First Harbinger - "this will be by choice. Whoever decides to go will have all our military and technological advantages. The other Harbingers will collaborate if the individual needs help or agreements. Someone with a deep interest in that nation is needed, persistent enough not to fail, and to combat the Abyss that threatens it"

The Archon and Pierro shared a knowing look. They knew who would do it. The Tsaritsa raised her delicate hand.

- Raise your hand who want...

A violent crash shook the table. Capitano had stood up with such force that the vibration made those present recoil. Everyone turned around, surprised, with the exception of the Tsaritsa, Pierro, Columbina, Arlecchino, and Childe.

The hand was raised, stiff, and his body emanated a coldness that rivaled that of the Cyro Archon. Through his mask, his gaze was icy, conflicted, but possessed a deadly resolve.

Sandrone held onto her robot Pulonia, so as not to stumble before the air pressure - "Ehhh?..." - Muttered, not understanding what had provoked such a reaction in the man of steel.

Pulcinella was stunned; in centuries he had never seen the Captain act so aggressively. Pantalone's smile cut off abruptly, and Dottore felt his enthusiasm sink; his grimace fell sharply seeing that his "test subject" had just been claimed by the strongest man in Snezhnaya.

- Me, Archon - Capitano's voice boomed in the room, firm as a cracking glacier - "The entire responsibility falls on me for this mission. It doesn't matter how long it takes. It doesn't matter the price. The mission will be a success. You can count on me for that" - He bows to her deeply - "It will be an honor to be the sword of this mission"

The room was left in a sepulchral silence, only broken by the echo of his words. The orange-haired one from his place stared at him fixedly. His eyes, previously dulled by the cynicism of his own betrayal, shone with a spark of pure hope. Seeing his Captain that way returned something to him that he thought was lost.

Dottore, after a few seconds of disbelief, let out a dry, screeching laugh that broke the tension in a maniacal way. Adjusted his mask with a finger, hiding the gleam of fury in his eyes behind a facade of calm.

- Well, well... this is certainly fascinating - Laughed in a soft voice - "Our illustrious Captain, always so upright, always so... impassive, suddenly rises up. I wonder, are there pending matters in that nation of fire? Some ghost that has not finished being buried?"

Capitano turned toward him. His physical presence seemed to double in size, a tone coming out like the edge of a freshly sharpened sword, cold and direct.

- I have no personal matters with Natlan nor with its Archon, Doctor - every word dripped with a disdain that made the air around the doctor drop several degrees, remembering very well the suffering he has inflicted on the Captain's men, even his mockery of his people from Khaenri’ah a long time ago - "My loyalty is to the Tsaritsa, even if that were true, your head must be smart enough to shut your mouth before matters that never call you"

Zandik tensed his jaw, but the dark-haired man was not finished. The First Harbinger let out a subtle, polite sneer, but loaded with frozen venom that sought the scholar's most sensitive nerve.

- I regret that your reflexes were not as fast as your ambitions - Continued, tilting his head barely a millimeter - "It seems that after all, even for a genius of your caliber, there are things that are simply out of your reach. Perhaps you should settle for dissecting your failures in the comfort of your laboratory; Natlan is territory for warriors, not for butchers who arrive late to the battle"

Zandik's face transformed; the anger was now a horrible contortion of wrinkles peeking out from the edges of his mask. The Marionette's laugh exploded immediately, a hostile cackle that resonated off the ice walls. The Rogue and Childe shared a complicit and satisfied smile, the Damselette looked at Capitano with that melancholic intensity, as if she were seeing the thread of destiny tangling around his neck.

The Rooster observed the scene horrified, fearing that the two pillars of the Fatui would tear each other apart right there, while Pantalone clenched his fists, about to intervene to defend his partner. However, before the Regrator could articulate a word, Pierro struck the table with the palm of his hand.

- Enough - The Jester sentenced, leaving the room in a sepulchral silence - "Doctor, don’t interrupt further. The mission is our absolute priority and we already have the candidate. Capitano is the right man; no one knows the paths of that nation better than he who was brought from it"

Dottore let out a muffled growl of frustration, letting himself fall into his seat with his arms crossed - "As you wish" - Muttered with contained rage - "In the end, all fires end in ashes. I don't care"

He went quiet, but the aura of resentment didn’t leave his seat. Anastasya then fixed her gaze on the dark-haired man, and for a brief moment, the eternal coldness of her eyes seemed to give way to an almost maternal understanding, a frozen smile but warm in her own way.

- It decided - Declared the Queen of Snezhnaya - "Il Capitano will be the chief operator of Natlan. I trust that you will bring victory. You will leave early at the first hour of the morning"

- Thank you, my Queen. It will be so - Bowing one last time.

Beneath the armor, the man who swore to be a living dead felt a roar that was not of the storm, it was a cry of triumph, an echo of hope and terror that roared in his soul. The meeting dissolved, and Childe, observing the imposing figure of his mentor as he retreated, felt a fierce joy burning in his chest. He says goodbye to the girls when he attends a tea party of Sandrone with Childe by his side; in silence, the dark-haired man gives an order in a letter to his men to put into the inventory with his money the damage he has done with the dummies, thanking the Maiden when she told him that she cleaned the mess and no one suspected anything for now.

The progress he made in the room was surprising even to himself for a long time; with that, he goes to sleep early… the first hour will be his departure from these lands.

The port of Snezhnaya was a hive of icy activity under the gray mantle of dawn. The metal of the warships creaked from the extreme cold, and the steam of hundreds of soldiers' breath rose like a thick fog. Capitano’s men, disciplined and silent as shadows, were loading supplies, heavy weaponry, and cutting-edge Fatui technology.

Set apart from the main ramp, the man remained motionless, a tower of obsidian facing the frozen sea. His cape flapped violently in the sea breeze, along with the scarf that the Eleventh had gifted him. A few steps away, Tartaglia watched him with his hands in the pockets of his gray coat, trying to maintain that facade of unconcern he always used to hide that his heart beat with a mixture of envy and relief.

- An impressive ship, Captain - Said, approaching until he was by his side - "It almost makes me want to sneak into the hold just to see the Archon's face when you appear at her door"

Capitano didn’t move, but his voice, now stripped of the aggression of the meeting, sounded deep and calm.

- Your place is here, Tartaglia. Snezhnaya needs its youngest executors ready for whatever Her Majesty needs.

- I know, I know - Sighed, letting the icy air fill his lungs - "Just... be careful. Dottore is not the type to forget such an easy humiliation. His eyes yesterday looked like those of a snake that has just had its tail stepped on. He will settle the score sooner or later"

- Let him try - Capitano declared, and for a moment, the pressure of his aura made the nearby soldiers stop by instinct - "In Natlan, the only judgment that matters are that of ice and fire. The Doctor has no place in a war between her and me"

A heavy silence fell between them. Childe looked toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to tinge the sky for a moment with a gold that inevitably reminded him of a certain man's gold.

- Captain - Childe murmured, his voice becoming serious, almost private - "What we talked about last night... about being fools. Whatever happens in that nation, be strong and look the Archon in the face, let her know what you feel. If nothing works, try to come back... even if it's just to tell me I was right and that all Archons are cowards"

Turned his head slightly toward the Eleventh. For an instant, the boy felt that, through the mask, the First Harbinger was looking at him not as a subordinate, but as a brother-in-arms who shared the same scar.

- I’m not going to Natlan to die, Childe - And there was a small, human note of resolution in his words, only to be wrapped in ice afterward - "I am going to see if there is still something left of that man I left behind five centuries ago. And if that is not the case... then I will bring back the Gnosis and burn the remains of my past with it"

Does he mean the last part? ...His future self will tell.

The Captain placed a heavy hand on Childe's shoulder, squeezing with the force of a silent pact.

- Take care of your younger siblings. And Childe...

- Yes?

The First doesn’t believe he is saying this, but does it anyway; if anything as small as hope remains in his dark interior, says it before he regrets it - "If this turns out well in Natlan, keep your head held high, go to Liyue and find Morax, whatever happens. Don't end up staring into a corner like I did centuries ago"

The boy nodded, clenching his teeth to keep the emotion from leaking onto his face - "Then safe travels, Captain. May the cold winds be with you"

Capitano let go of his shoulder, turned around, and walked toward the ship's ramp with steps that made the wood rumble. Didn't look back. As the icebreaker's engine roared and the heavy anchor chains went up, his mind still told him to flee. But held onto the railing; his body felt familiar, traveling the same path where his journey began. His heart still hurt, the cold was still upon him, and negative feelings for the Archon were there, as strong as ever.

But could only look ahead. Whatever his heart told him, he did not plan to return to Snezhnaya until this story was finished. With his doom, or his surrender to the slaughterhouse. With the sight of the redhead's face illuminating the sun again.

Tartaglia stood alone on the dock, watching how the imposing silhouette of the man of steel was lost in the sea mist.

Brought a hand to his pocket, brushing for a second the box of wooden chopsticks that he still carried with him, and whispered to the wind while clutching the chopsticks against himself firmly. As if Xiansheng were there.

- Good luck... old fool. You're going to need it.

………………………..

…………….

Chapter Text

The sun only leaves him blinder than he ever gave it credit for in all the visits he made to these hot lands.

He is covered in pieces of frozen metal down to his ankles; he has barely disembarked, somehow those rays pierce through him and he pulls away at the slightest contact, hidden in the shade. He can already confirm how awake and conscious he is of everything, unlike his other visits.

Yes, he has visited the nation, only for missions ordered by the Tsaritsa or his own personal ones… but each of them is now a storm in which he has no memorable memory; in each one, there was only indifference, like being in impostor lands that are not yours. He seemed like a stranger in front of crowds that did not recognize him, where everyone has moved on and he would indiscriminately stand there to contemplate. There was no beauty to admire, no one to visit; the new structures did not cause him any astonishment.

Most of what Capitano did was fulfill his objectives and leave without remorse, without any sadness or impression to tie him down.

It was ridiculous now that he thought about it; he was welcomed when he had lost everything, and that was how he treated Natlan since he left.

Well, that was how things were; he left so that his past self would die before the ice in his heart… now that same heart brings him back where everything burns like the first time.

It’s truly returning: the cry of the seagulls when the ship docks at the port, the flowers dancing before the tenderest morning, the happy workers who give their best every day to work and provide the best lives for their families. Children who fight to be the best warriors and run around the food stalls.

Indifference is not on his side, only the impact of something he let die… memories of the past come to him, of easy and agitated moments, of defeats and songs in the night air, of tasty meals until falling asleep in bed. He sees those familiar faces…

Only to blink and see that they are not there. Everyone is continuing with their lives, and he stands before the idea of appreciating everything around him like a child before a new world, but it is not.

And so it feels… How ridiculous… to feel again… this nation will be my downfall…

What is the difference between yesterday and today?

Perhaps… that something dangerous awoke within him, and he no longer has the intention of hiding in an ice castle again. Where he can see the warm beauty of this nation that both the Archon and I wanted to protect so long ago. The enchanted landscapes, the Saurians and their children playing between the sea, sky, and earth, the people…

Lives it in his skin now; how much he has forgotten… that this nation is so alive when she was by his side…

Finally savors what it is to return to where he came from and not have any excuse to escape. He is laughing at himself in mockery; so much that proliferated in not returning, now everything is something else.

Because there is a real and living motive for why he returns. Of a ghost that begged a goddess to stay, a promise that an Archon promised him 500 years ago, a reality that is here and leaves him in a bad spot in many ways. Mocks that redhead, getting angrier with himself because the effect of his hatred is not as strong as he wants it to be.

Came to settle things, and it goes so badly in his head when he sees the locals, those smiles, talking about the Archon who will fight for the gnosis again after so long. She is everywhere now, has nowhere to hide, and he hates her. They can be seen having ice cream years ago with Hine, fighting side by side in the war…

Everything is coming back, shakes aggressively, cannot take it all at once… give him a break, please…

All the good and the bad of his memories attack him and his mask covers what he licks from his lips… doesn’t want to recognize this now… he does not want to know the drops that fall from his eyes, those stupid frozen tears now taste like soft warmth that he cannot tolerate, wiping them off immediately.

The pain only destroys him for what he left behind; everything happens at the same time that is overwhelmed. Asks one of his men to bring him a chair and water.

- Are you okay, Captain? Do you want us to bring you something else? - A worried subordinate asks him.

Capitano denies softly, swallowing the fresh water, counting again and again to ten. He cannot fall apart in front of his men now; they are barely arriving, this in itself is suspicious, he has not seen the Archon face-to-face as Childe told him, and he is already losing his composure a little. He looks at his subordinate and nods firmly, the one he believes is his.

- I am fine now. It must be the heat; it doesn't matter right now. Let's go to the camp; I will need the updated situation report when we arrive - Orders without wavering, not accepting no for an answer.

- Yes, sir!

They have asked him if he wants transport, a Yumkasaur, or a horse; he denied all of that, wanting to go slowly… needs to see what he lost and familiarize himself again…

- No, we will walk. A trotting trip will put us in the situation. Anything you notice, put it in the report. Tell my men who are around the tribes to say the situation of the Abyss and how they have contained it. Have them come to the camp immediately if they are not there - Delegates orders, being fulfilled just as he asks, that is good, he needs this.

Despite the Fatui's reputation, several look at them with mistrust, but given the missions to destroy Abyssal hordes and other aid the Fatui have provided here, he has gained a bit of the trust and familiarity of others. They are warm and welcoming; when they see the Captain pass by on the road, they give him the best food, answering questions about how the day-to-day is so far facing the Abyss.

Doesn’t feel that he deserves that food and the rest, but just like in the past, the locals are stubborn and insistent, and the man can do nothing but accept and eat sitting next to his men. The first bites produce something… damn, could not avoid it and ate until the last piece, how long has it been since he ate Tatacos, his favorite… how many centuries has it been since he enjoyed Natlan's food, the taste is just as he remembers.

A dark-skinned soldier named Rafael, a Pyro Fatui Skirmisher, a good prisoner guard who watches the subordinates who commit a serious fault or treason under Capitano's orders, who eats by his side, could not help but comment in a low voice - "The Captain is going to finish all the Tatacos in one bite, we should be careful haha"

That stops Capitano, but Rafael does not notice, but his friend next to him does - "Rafael, don't talk and eat!" - Says his friend in a furious whisper, who is another Geo Fatui Skirmisher.

Rafael retracts and guiltily apologizes for making that comment to his leader. The black-haired man is silent while stares at his Tataco about to be finished. Murmurs in a low voice to the Fatui Skirmisher - "It's fine, Rafael… it's been a while since I ate this"

- Really? Not even on your visits here? - Asks a bit surprised and genuine.

The Captain truly doesn’t trust himself to talk about that, only nods in silence. Rafael is fascinated in some way without knowing anything about the conflict in his boss, and without thinking, gives him his last Tataco - "If you want, you can eat mine, I'm already full" - Smiles without problems; his friend next to him can only hit his head and call him an idiot in a whisper at this.

Capitano swallows his food, looking at that offered Tataco, the temptation gets the best of him, perhaps will regret it later, but hears his own stomach roar, and growling, carefully takes Rafael's, thanking him in silence. Ignores the argument that the two Fatui Skirmishers are having, concentrated on the comforting taste of the food.

Spits in silence and fury at what he is doing, what promised not to do, but everything is so treacherous now; eats and moans at the delicious bite. Says nothing more while giving the order to continue the trip, seeing the landscape at sunset when they arrive at the Camp, still savors the spicy sauce on his tongue, believing that the centuries would have taken away his tolerance for spice… and it was not so…

Doesn’t admit more than he should, his eyes… they become soft seeing everything while the cool wind makes his hair fly, one last thought before returning to the cold of Capitano in his tent.

How beautiful… is this landscape.

The command tent was a colossal structure, reinforced to withstand the hot winds and dust of Natlan, but inside the atmosphere was as dense and icy as a Snezhnaya blizzard. Capitano stood before the map table, arms crossed over his armored chest, listening to the reports in absolute silence that made his subordinates nervous.

- The Abyss has increased its forces on the borders - reported one of the commanders, pointing to several points on the map of Abyssal Attacks from past years and their recent increase – “Our soldiers who have operated in the shadows infiltrating under your orders have followed your guidelines of direct support to defend the nation and any secret information we may have. The attacks have been hard; the protection that the Archon left 500 years ago has finally ended”

Capitano didn’t move. The dark mask revealed nothing, but beneath the metal his star-like eyes were fixed on the technical reports. They spoke of new technologies developed by the possible Archon to mobilize armies, an engineering that he didn’t know five centuries ago.

The infiltrated soldiers have secretly eliminated a good number of abyssal points that the warriors still have not discovered who it was. The man in his visits has been part of that personally, he still remembers driving his sword into the neck of those Hilichurls.

Then, a local subordinate stepped forward with a paper in hand.

- Captain, the Pilgrimage Tournament has undergone a change of plans - Said the soldier with a trembling voice – “The Ancient Archon, Mavuika, had to postpone the date due to an urgent abyssal attack in the tribes of the Children of Echoes and Scions of the Canopy. She had to intervene personally with her warriors”

- When will be the exact date? - Asked Capitano. His voice was a blade of ice that cut through the air.

- February 14, sir.

The room was plunged into a deathly silence. The soldier continued quickly, trying to fill the void.

- Because the enemies are invisible and the attacks constant, it cannot be postponed further. It’s the closest date to select the new order of warriors, choose the new Archon and obtain the Gnosis. It is vital for the salvation plan.

Upon hearing that name and that date, his heart contracted with a painful force. Under the table, he subtly gripped the report, crumpling the paper.

- February 14? - He thought with a bitterness that burned his throat – “Of all the possible dates, she had chosen the day of love and friendship to hold a war tournament? Could she not celebrate anything without duty poisoning it all? Does she want to mock the date... in which we confessed our feelings?”

More memories struck him with the violence of a hurricane: the Throne of the Sacred Flame, her revealing her 500-year plan at the last minute, him fighting to hold her back, the roar of the statue breaking and his own exile.

Darkness returned, more violent than ever – “You might have changed in everything and nothing at the same time... you are still just as much a slave to your duty. How weak you are, Archon” - His mind screamed at him to turn around and return to the cold of Snezhnaya, but the pain of what was lost kept him anchored to the floor of Natlan. It was too late to flee.

Amidst the murmurs of the soldiers, a recently recruited Cryo Legionnaire leaned toward his companion, a Cryo Cicin Mage, with a triumphant smile.

- This is the perfect opportunity - Whispered the Legionnaire – “Our Captain should steal the Gnosis while that Archon is distracted with her tournament. It would be a masterstroke for the Tsaritsa”

The murmurs stopped abruptly. The dark-haired man whose hearing was as sharp as his instinct, hardened his posture.

- No - Sentenced with a firmness that made the stakes of the tent vibrate.

The Legionnaire was stunned. Capitano stood up slowly, looming over the table with dangerous sharpness.

- I have heard enough - Sweeping the room with his gaze – “We will continue to safeguard the nation and wait for the next abyssal attack. But let it be clear: we are not going to steal the Gnosis in this event, nor will we launch a surprise attack. I have never attacked anyone from behind and I will not start now. If I am to obtain the Gnosis, it will be in direct combat between the Ancient Archon and me”

Stared at the newly arrived Legionnaire from Snezhnaya, ensuring his words sank in deep.

- For those new to these lands, I will repeat it once: beyond our mission, Natlan is a priority. If the Abyss advances here, it will destroy everything, including the Gnosis. Don’t forget who the true enemy is for Her Majesty apart from the Heavenly Principles. What happens in Natlan will be everyone's problem.

The veterans nodded with devotion, but the Cryo Legionnaire kept a silence charged with icy fury despite nodding and smiling, not understanding why his idol wasted such an advantage. Then, the Cicin Mage raised her hand with a feigned innocence that hid a pinch of doubt and malicious discomfort at not going for the gnosis at once but above all....what to do with the ancient Archon...

- Captain... How will our soldiers' treatment be toward the Ancient Archon if she wins the tournament?

The question was daring, almost rude. Rafael, the soldier who had eaten with him before, gritted his teeth indignantly, but the First Harbinger answered before anyone could react.

- Nothing improper will be done. Act with neutrality and follow the mission - Said Capitano, although inside the memories of 500 years ago devoured him. That peaceful walk a moment ago felt like a distant lie – “In the end, don't worry about her. In the Tsaritsa's new system, whatever happens between the warriors and the Fatui, whether they collaborate or not, she’s part of the old….and the old has no place in this world”

How cold...how cruel...

It was a cruel phrase, a verbal stab that he threw into the air hoping that the ghost of the redhead would hear it. However, in the depths of his being, the horror at his own words from that dead man destroys his head again, but he silenced it violently.

- The session is over. Withdraw.

The soldiers left in silence. Rafael left with a heavy heart, confused by the coldness of his leader, while the Cryo Mage walked away with a twisted smile at that last phrase. The room remained deserted. He stayed alone, knitting his brows with a fury he could not stop, wondering in the oppression of the silence if this trip would have any end.

If everything he said to Childe... Is there still something left of that man from 500 years ago? Hates being completely powerless against this war against himself, for once, would like things to be easier...Why did he have to tell his subordinate that?

Because it is the truth...it has to be...

No, I do not regret...

The disgust is so deep that it leaves a mark on the table.

…………………..

Do you want to leave?

No.

In the end the thing is clear, he does not plan to return to the frozen lands...whether he finds the end he has to achieve.

Suddenly, a spy called at the entrance of the tent.

- Captain, I bring the information you requested - Announced the subordinate from the outside.

- Come in immediately - Ordered without moving from his position.

The Pyro Agent entered with a firm step and headed directly toward him, extending a sealed envelope that contained the fruit of years of clandestine research.

- Several of our contacts have finished translating the prophecy you ordered to investigate, sir.

- Perfect. You can withdraw. Rest - Sentenced the First Harbinger with an icy brevity.

The Agent nodded with respect and disappeared in a brief burst of flames, leaving behind only the smell of ash and smoke. He lowered his gaze toward the envelope. Let out a long and heavy sigh; it was not his body that was exhausted, even though it was barely the first day back in Natlan, but his soul that dragged the weight of five centuries.

During his previous visits to the nation of fire, he had been in charge of moving invisible threads. He knew that the key to his torment resided in that prophecy she mentioned before leaving; the ancient pact between the Archon Xbalanque and Ronova, the Shade of Death. It was the foundation upon which Natlan rose, but also the madness of the loss. It seemed a cruel mockery to him that she had never revealed the exact conditions for the salvation of the nation to be effective, beyond the obvious sacrifice.

Obtaining this translation had been an odyssey of years. That archaic language was a secret kept under lock and key by the shamans of the Masters of the Night-Wind and the successor Archons. It had taken studying versions, verifying manuscripts, and bribing with money, favors, and a good threatening sword in one or another of the connoisseurs of tradition to finally have the truth in his hands.

Opened the envelope with an almost ceremonial slowness. His gloved fingers extracted the scrolls and began to travel the lines.

In Snezhnaya, Capitano avoided mirrors as if they were cursed despite having one in the bathroom. If he crossed paths with one in his quarters, ended up breaking it or fleeing from his own reflection; could not stand to see the mask because he knew that underneath was the face of a man who felt like a stranger to himself, even though he practiced a little to remain looking, it’s so difficult...he already takes into account what happened in the bathroom. Now, in the solitude of the tent his forehead wrinkled under the helmet upon reading the content. His breathing stopped, the air became heavy in his lungs upon reaching a certain specific condition... one that involved him, if she...

A Déjà Vu invaded him, a bitter premonition of what would happen when he was in front of the Archon, demanded that she look him in the eyes, Will she have enough guts to reveal what he does not want to understand, what he does not want to validate after suffering 500 years.

- Why? - Whispered to no one.

He is a fool. The content of the parchment gave him the answer, but his mind refused to accept it. So much that she has professed that no one fought alone...that she trusted others...that she trusted him...

Liar.

The rage began to mix with a devastating sorrow – “Sacrificing yourself was really your only solution?”

This sacrifice was ne-

NO! IT NEVER WAS AND WILL BE!

CAPI-!

SHUT UP!!!

…………………

……….

Screamed in the tent alone...at least...he is happy that no one saw him.

He is so stupid for not being able to handle the magnitude of what he had just read. His mind wanted to erase the information, he desperately wished to stop suffering, but his body betrayed him, crouching under the weight of a truth he could not carry. He took a hand to his eyes, hidden behind the visor, feeling not only his own weight, but the weight of the person he professes to hate.

Was it really hate? He wanted it to be. Its hate, It has to be! He wanted to forget what she hid from him for five hundred years; what she kept quiet to be the leader of a nation while he rotted in exile because of her stupid cowardice.

But at that moment...

Capitano disappeared. The First Harbinger vanished into the mist because he could not take it anymore.

Only Thrain remained...for a moment that remained before the coldness of Capitano returned.

I deny it...I deny everything...

Thrain just wanted to cry. Lay back on his camp cot, looking at the ceiling of the tent with fixed and dry eyes. He did not shed a single drop; the cold of Snezhnaya seemed to have frozen even his tear ducts even in warm lands. He stayed there, motionless in the gloom, feeling incredibly tired.

Very... very tired.

The sun of Natlan is not the same as that of Snezhnaya; that one not only illuminates but beats even five centuries later. Still lives the heat on his neck, the bustle of the people and the aroma of toasted cocoa that floats in the air. Everything around him was a chaos of colors, balloons shaped like saurians, couples holding hands and the bustle of a Valentine’s Day that, for some reason, felt more vibrant than ever.

He never understood why Mavuika announced this celebration despite the war, Valentine’s Day was celebrated in a normal way without it being a national holiday...Why now?

Thrain exhales, feeling the cold sweat of nervousness. His fingers close tightly over the small gift. Still remembers the disaster in the kitchen, the first failed attempt where Hine confused the salt with the sugar. But the final result is there, a small offering for the woman who has invaded his thoughts. Everyone knows it; Mrs. Haumia throws hints at him every time she sees him, and Tanok observes him with that mixture of severity and acceptance that only a father possesses.

- Are you going to keep squeezing that box until the chocolate turns into dust, brother? - Hine’s voice brings him back to reality. She walks by his side, amused, enjoying his nervousness.

- I’m fine, Hine. I just... this outing to go well - Adjusting his grip on the small package. Still remembers yesterday’s disaster with salt instead of sugar and they almost ruined everything.

- Mom already considers you one more son, and dad... well, he hasn’t kicked you out of the house yet, so that is a victory - Jokes, giving him a push with her shoulder – “Look at her! She is already there”

At the foot of the Archon’s statue, in the heart of the stadium, a spot of fire stirs. It is her.

- THRAAAINN! HINE! HERE I AM! - Mavuika waves her hand with an energy that would disarm any army. She runs towards them without caring about protocol, dressed in her combat bodysuit and her metallic shoulder pads that shine under the sun. Not even today does she take off her armor.

The little orange pumpkin gives him a violent push from behind.

- Hine! - He protests stumbling.

- Do something with your life and confess! - She yells at him with a mischievous smile – “This day is yours, don’t ruin it! Luck! I’ll kick you both if you don’t resolve those ridiculous lovesick looks that you have given me like a stone in my shoe for not doing anything! Byeeeeee!”

Before he can protest, the girl slips into the crowd, giving him a thumbs up before disappearing. He is left alone, advancing towards the redhead who is coming at full speed. The Archon in her enthusiasm, does not see a protruding stone and trips.

Reacts by instinct, extending his arms and catching her before she touches the ground. Remains suspended in his arms, with her face just a few centimeters from his.

Both are ignited, a deep red decorating their cheeks. Mavuika lets out a nervous laugh while he helps her straighten up.

Mavuika sees that Hine will not accompany them, god...her little sister helped them so much.

- Thanks... - Laughing nervously while she fixes her hair – “This day took me a long time to plan. I wanted it to be a free afternoon for us so...” - She bites her lip, cutting off the sentence – “It doesn’t matter! Let’s go!”

Snatches his hand and drags him away from the crowd. Her fingers interlace with a firmness that makes Thrain’s pulse accelerate. They run, laugh, dodge food stalls until the noise of the city fades.

The ground vanishes under his feet, but doesn’t care. He could do nothing to stop it, and the bitterest truth is that he did not want to do it. Abandons himself to the whirlwind of the memory, letting his consciousness sink into the magnetism of that hand that squeezes his with a force that promises eternity.

They run and chase each other, if they had met before they would be children whose feet would guide them towards the other regardless of the time it took for one to arrive.

Arrived at the foot of the great tree gasping, with their lungs burning from the laughter and the unbridled race. Mavuika leaned against the rough bark, trying to catch her breath while her golden eyes shone with a playful intensity. Thrain watched her, captivated by how the light filtered through the leaves danced over her armor, making her look like a deity descended just for him.

- You almost left me behind, Archon - Joked, private and with no one to look at him strangely before such a serious man, resting his hands on his knees while trying to calm the beating of his heart – “Is that a new combat tactic or did you just want to see me suffer a little under this sun?”

The redhead let out a crystalline laugh and straightened up, drying a drop of sweat from the forehead with the back of her gloved hand.

- If you can’t keep up with a "simple" race, Thrain, I am seriously worried about our next training - Winking at him with a confidence that always disarmed him.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed; the lightness of the joke evaporated to give way to a sweet tension charged with electricity. She searched for something behind her metallic cape, avoiding the Sentinel’s gaze for the first time all afternoon.

- Here - Said suddenly, extending a box wrapped in bluish paper, decorated with a clumsiness that he found extremely adorable – “My mother taught me yesterday, I thought I screwed up when I confused the salt with the sugar, but mom saved me...I hope you like it” - She confessed, with her cheeks turning a deep carmine.

He remained frozen, with his gaze fixed on the small package that she held with a mixture of pride and shyness. The surprise illuminated his face upon understanding that the fear of not being reciprocated was a shadow that both had been carrying in silence.

- You... cooking for me? - Whispered feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the weather of Natlan – “I hope it’s not a strategic poisoning attempt, because if it is, it has worked; my heart already stopped” - Added recovering his usual charisma to hide his nervousness.

The redhead let out a nervous giggle and gave him a playful push on the shoulder, urging him to accept the gift once and for all.

Thrain, with trembling hands that didn’t correspond to those of a warrior, took out from his own bag the box he had prepared with Hine.

- Well, it seems that we both had the same "dangerous" idea - Handing him the chocolates that had cost him so much effort.

She took the box as if it were the greatest and most sacred treasure of the entire nation, holding it against her chest with absolute devotion.

- Hine almost made me put salt instead of sugar in it too, so if you bite one and it tastes like the sea, you already know who to blame - Scratching the back of his neck.

Looked at the sweets and then at him, with a tenderness that made the outside world disappear completely, leaving only the rustle of the leaves.

- Then... - Murmured, taking a step towards her, feeling that the air became dense and charged with unfulfilled promises.

- Then... - She repeated in a gentle voice, shortening the distance until their armors brushed with a slight metallic clinking – “Does this mean that the great Thrain has been defeated by a box of sweets and a stubborn Archon?” - Asked, challenging him with a smile.

- It means that I surrender to you, Mavuika. There is no battle I want to win if the prize is not you - Responded with a sincerity that cut off her breath.

Mavuika could only stare at him in silence, her face softens, a bravery that springs from her hands when raises them before – “Then I suppose...that you and I are the sun and the moon found after so much silence...Thrain”

Pulled him towards her, holding him by the straps of his shoulder pad, forcing to lower his head so that their breaths mixed.

The first kiss was a collision of clumsiness and contained desire, a clash of teeth and noses that made them laugh softly against the other’s lips.

But the second... the second was the explosion of a volcano, the latent fire of a young warrior who had lost everything, was released suddenly.

The chocolates fell to the ground, forgotten in the grass, while he surrounded her waist with a possessive force that knew no limits. There was no delicacy in that grip, only the primal need to feel her. Pressed her against the trunk of the tree, devouring with a passion that burned him inside, feeling that the sun of Natlan had moved into his own chest, threatening to melt them into a single being of fire and ice.

The woman let out small guttural sounds, moans of surprise and surrender that made the man’s mind cloud over, dragging him into an abyss of desire. His hands sank into her burning hair, pulling gently while their tongues met with a feverish desperation, a wet and deep dance that took their breath away. The excitement grew uncontrollable, a burning tide that he could not repress.

Wanted her to feel him, wanted her to know the effect she had on him. Pressed her even closer, leaving no space, so that she would perceive against her abdomen the erection that was rising with force under the fabric of his pants, pushing with an unmistakable hardness. The message was clear, undeniable, burning.

- Ah! - Mavuika let out a small cry of surprise, a sharp exhalation that drowned on her lips, separating just a few centimeters. Her eyes were wide open, fixed on his, and her face lit up like a live ember, tinted with a red that surpassed the sun of Natlan.

Stopped, with erratic breathing, his heart hammering against his ribs with brutal violence. Looked at her with a mixture of unbridled desire and a sudden fear of having crossed a line, of having ruined the purity of that moment. But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t move, only observed him with those golden solar eyes and then, slowly, a smile was drawn on her lips.

A red, wet and vibrant smile that confirmed to him, without words, that she desired that heat as much as he did, that the fire that consumed was reciprocated with the same intensity. Took her in his arms again, with a sudden tenderness that contrasted with the fierceness of his previous embrace.

Kissed again and again, losing the notion of time, until their lips were swollen.

They returned to Mavuika’s house hours later, walking with a calm slowness, holding hands and without caring who might see them.

Hine waited for them with a triumphant smile, one that said – “I told you so” - While Mavuika’s parents watched them with a silent blessing.

And for all the perdition that is the world, life and himself... stops, from the heat that did not stop, doubting his own memory when he wanted her to feel his hardness..

No…

………………….

- Why?....Why? - The whisper escaped his lips in the present, breaking the spell.

………………….

The sun of Natlan goes out suddenly. The aroma of cocoa disappears, replaced by the rancid smell of the canvas of his tent. Thrain screams in the silence of his mind the name that is forbidden to pronounce. He wakes up with a jolt, with agitated breathing and a hand suspended in the air, trying to reach a warmth that no longer exists.

Remains motionless under his heavy weight, feeling a freezing horror running down his spine. He was right. The memory of the heat was not real; under the sheets of his cot, his body has reacted to the lie of his memory. His penis is still raised inside, hard and throbbing, painful and uncomfortable, pre-cum coming out at the tip.

Everything goes blank, his mouth opens and closes. Gets up carefully; the silence of the night offers him no comfort.

- Why? - Repeated again, with his voice broken by self-contempt – “Why...? Why...?”

He was dirty. Sought comfort in a memory that now seemed like a betrayal to him. She had ruined the purity of that day with her silence of five hundred years, her stupid cowardice of dying alone and putting duty above everything. But his heart, treacherous and tired, didn’t want to let go of the memory.

Let himself fall back onto the cot again, defeated by his own weakness. In the end, exhaustion was stronger than rage and sank back into sleep.

Dreamed of the sun burning his skin, with those lips that his mind called bitter years ago, they still tasted as sweet as the first Valentine’s Day.

It’s a guilty pleasure.

An addiction that could not stop and that in the darkness he refused to acknowledge. To leave his standing annoyance in solitude, with the gram of dignity that he doubts will serve at this point.

Repressed again. Guilty because that gram of happiness is what makes him sleep peacefully for once.

In the shadows of the nation, kills the Abyssals that approach the tribes, as brutal as... and the order to his men is clear, shots and blood running through the grass, the laughter of those monsters who still have the audacity to mock while he drives his sword into them again and again.

As much as he wants to remain hidden, with all these missions and battles, the inhabitants will take notice and spread rumors that the Fatui are here, it must have been evident at the port when he arrived, it is inevitable…simply…

He was not ready to see her even in the distance.

…..He does not want to give an opinion on what he read last night, touching his own lips from the memory of Valentine’s Day, at least his erection is gone…besides…

Tomorrow…is the Pilgrimage.

……………….

Finished with the day, the mission and containment of the Abyss is going well, a short victory that at least his heart can grasp as happy…but it’s not enough…

Needs…air…

Needs strength…to face her.

……….

He is already having more regrets than victories…

Only knows one place where he can grasp strength. Against everything his own mind screaming at him to stop. But silences it again.

His feet lead him far away, walks the path he walked on his visits, always returning like an indifferent ghost, with rage, watching the sunset, waiting for something, for someone he doesn’t name. Everything was blocked so wouldn’t remember how it felt before the tree he sits by, the soft grass and hearing the waves in the distance, the flowers swaying carefully. And it hits him…it hits again…

The indifference of sitting in this same place is gone and doesn’t recognize why, he knows but stays silent.

All those memories, the good ones, the bad ones…and there he sees himself, like a fool who failed to prevent that light from leaving, again not being able to retain the people he wanted to be there. It was already night again and far from any person. Doesn’t think of anything else, perhaps what he left behind…but with everything that was inside his heart is present.

That he is back. That he will see that Archon, of her stupid and naive promise, that he will not return to Snezhnaya until their weapons clash, that she sees what her decision did, whatever has to happen between them. It’s a fact.

But…relaxes, sinning again by leaning against the tree and not leaving immediately, wonders what his parents must be thinking of Capitano and the Archon of him, they must be crazy about the man he became, a turbulent journey where again his own emotions are clear and doubtful at the same time.

A rage and hate that will return when he looks at her.

But now just wants to recompose, he doesn’t think, silent while the leaves fly. Something close to the peace grabs before the storm arrives. Must fulfill his promise to Childe to look at her even for seconds. And before a Harbinger like him…he knows he will look at her, it doesn’t matter, because doesn’t want to see her nor anyone in a mirror again.

Almost falls asleep, waking up without being…rushed, he should be but no, truly what peace that he knows will end, for once didn’t care about that carelessness.

Before the moon above him, his hands move to his sword and illuminates the ground with frost, using his hands to dig and there it is…

The cup that broke 500 years ago.

The pieces still remain there; takes the pieces…

Destroys all of it with his ice power. Leaving nothing of that cup. He finds no contempt in what he did, still remembers on the visits bringing a cup of coffee with milk, only to blow all that up and leave those indifferent cups among the Fatui kitchen, but that buried one is special.

Because it meant that…his soul kept waiting.

There is no point in waiting anymore.

Because she is here.

Leaves feeling light although, a certain tremor of tomorrow that was approaching.

Because the promise will be present again in the stadium.

500 years seeing her again.

…………………………

The architecture of the mind is a labyrinth of mirrors where most human beings walk blindly, ignoring the gears that move them until their last breath extinguishes their light.

There is the arrogant belief that we possess total control, that we choose which thoughts to allow, how to react to tragedy, or which memories to invoke in the penumbra. But consciousness is a thin veil; beneath it, the repressed beats with a force that knows no reason.

There is a breaking point where the mind ceases to obey the individual, especially when they have spent centuries neglecting the existence of what they carry inside, refusing to acknowledge their own cracks so as not to finish breaking. They fight and contradict, that is where one cannot trust to be someone stable.

The past and the present cease to be parallel lines to collide head-on. Experiences it now, while takes shelter in the penumbra of a room in the stadium. Has paid for that space of isolation together with his men, seeking that no foreign gaze from Natlan profanes the fragility that feels boiling under his armor and the Fatui present in the Stadium.

The Valentine’s Day decorations upon arriving at the Stadium, those balloons and ribbons that once evoked sweetness, now seem like mute reminders of a life that cannot return without betraying himself again in dreams, suffocated by the metallic clamor of swords and the thirsty cry of a crowd that celebrates its millenary culture of war.

Not even by crossing his arms with the habitual military rigidity does he manage to contain the tremor that runs through his extremities. Upon observing the contenders in the arena, Natlan throws its own history in his face like a slap of fire.

Sees himself again in every clash of steel, every gasp of fatigue; he remembers that familiar fire that allowed to rise again and again, unstoppable, until the enemy was just dust at his feet. The Sacred Flames invite him to combat again, awakening a ghostly craving in muscles, a need to descend and demonstrate to this nation that the Sentinel has not died, but has mutated into something much darker.

When the chosen ones finally appear and the air is saturated with expectation, Capitano’s breathing stops completely. Presses his forearms against his chest as if were a granite statue trying to contain an internal tide of stone and mud.

Then…

A gust of scorching heat cuts the atmosphere and crimson hair, so alive that it seems made of pure energy, hits the air while she advances before her people.

…………………..Oh…………………….

The screams of the crowd are not normal; a physical force, a roar that shakes the structure of the stadium and which almost is grateful for, because that deafening noise is a dull balm for the chaos that reigns in his head. The amount of mental strength for this encounter is not enough to protect him from the heat of the reunion.

An explosion of igneous particles converges towards the throne, and from among that hell of light arises a figure that defies time. The sound of a heel hitting the stone floor resonates in his ears with more force than any broadsword. Everything inside the Harbinger goes blank. A pain that destroys, an agony that feels as if his soul were being ripped from the floor downwards, leaves him breathless.

Under the mask his mouth opens intermittently, looking for air that suddenly seems to have disappeared from the world. The promise that she made to him five hundred years ago returns to resonate in his temples with the power of thunder.

Never, in a thousand lives that lived could confuse that Archon with any other woman. Is a sun that has decided to land on earth and torture him once more, illuminated and radiant as never dared to imagine in his most feverish dreams.

Mavuika addresses her people as the definitive leader who has returned from the Throne of the Primordial Fire, and the energy is so vast that doesn’t use the Gnosis in her chest so much to claim her place in combat, continues to be the force to reckon with in the entire nation, with or without a gnosis her enemies have no chance. The seriousness while fighting is a dance of brutality and precision that leaves him petrified, seeing how each participant falls at her feet without remedy.

Her solar greatsword is an extension of a will that has continued alive for five centuries, Capitano observes the blood that runs down the corner of her lips and the wounds on the skin, with horror and admiration that nothing of that stops her.

When the victory is absolute and the Gnosis healing her body in a flash of power, raises her fist to the sky. The roar of the stadium is religious, a massive adoration to the goddess who has returned to save them from darkness.

Her smile... oh…her smile.

That smile is what ends up short-circuiting him.

Her ignited hair shines with the same intensity as the Sacred Flame, and when she raises her arms before her people, He sees in her a sun that leaves no space for shadows, except for his, which extends vast and invisible from his private room. Can only be strong so as not to fall.

That voice that he had not heard in five hundred years, buried under the ice of Snezhnaya, statues and broken mirrors, shakes the very foundations when she begins to speak with an authority that admits no reply.

- Those who have doubted me only bury themselves under the embers of my will - Proclaims Mavuika, and her voice reaches Capitano like a whisper direct to the heart – “Before you there is nothing but a human who has returned so that Natlan sees the end of the darkness, of a pending wound that still festers. Here I am to stay again and so that the sun makes the shadows vanish”

Extends her hand forward; a gesture loaded with a warmth so nostalgic and powerful that the man almost betrays himself again. For a second his body leans forward, the irrational impulse of wanting to take that hand for himself, responding to the call of the sun.

- Haborym, Archon of Natlan... but for many who are no longer here, in the name of everyone, me, Mavuika, warrior of this nation that has seen me born and die, I ask that you have in your heart the fury to fight one more time by my side. No one fights alone because...

Pauses. Her golden eyes search desperately among the crowd, scanning the faces with a rapidity that denotes a personal search. For a fleeting instant, a deep and devastating sadness is shown on the face upon not finding that Sentinel among her people. A darkness that silences in solitude since everything of hers began, the demons that she silences.

But regains composure immediately and a war cry sets the air on fire again.

- I HAVE RETURNED!

The stadium trembles under the cheers.

- HABORYM!

- MAVUIKA!

- OUR PATRON HAS ARRIVED!

A subordinate, prey to nervousness, breaks the silence in the room.

- Sir... - Whispers the soldier – “Are you going to do something about the Gnosis?”

Capitano does not respond. Rafael can only look at his boss without understanding what is happening but notices that he does not want them to speak to him about the increase in the cold, silences the other with a cutting gesture. No one dares to mention the oppressive silence of the First Harbinger.

The inner river overflows; the ghost man who inhabits him fights to free himself, to scream his blackness against her splendor. However, remains there motionless, while the warmth of the Archon burns him inside and out. The words die in his throat, leaving only a broken whisper that barely escapes lips like a lament, grabbing his heart that palpitates.

- You returned... you returned... five hundred years later... and you returned.

The sun before the cheers still looks for the moon, even when she returned from the Throne could only see her house in ruins, her family is gone…Has Thrain not returned? Does not say what hurts her and the scars carries, only smiles and celebrates with the people, hoping that someone doesn’t start a scandal so that everyone doubts and turns against her. Nor having time to look for him outside the Stadium on Valentine’s Day.

The boot of a black knight turns to the exit with his men when the show ends, leaving the room in silence just as the Archon left it 500 years ago. But that the heat only leaves him naked and something else that grows aggressively and forbidden like that memory.

How beautiful is Valentine’s Day…

When the Sun and the Moon were in the same place again…but the wounds only continue to drag them to devour them again, a line that fights to be left clear, breaking again and again.

From love to hate there is a step, everything comes to light in an unbearable way, a line that is erased only to remain an image that he does not recognize. He cannot stop…

He…can take no more.

……………….

……….

THAT SAME NIGHT…

The streets of the Stadium are empty at nightfall, the celebration of the Archon’s victory and Valentine’s Day started quite early and people are already exhausted enough to go home. The shops are closing and those who remain are there to clean up. The crickets are the only company that a drunkard around there might have.

Mavuika’s Statue, the same one from the past Valentine’s is still intact, beautiful and holding the fire of a nation that promised to return.

And the staggering footsteps of armor are a clear witness that the lonely streets and the Statue that watches in silence the night are not as alone as they seem. They are slowing like a sheet dragging.

Those footsteps stop near the Statue.

The man drinks his last gulp of butterbeer, without stopping looking at the statue, licking his lips with tension and a bored attitude, lets out a small chuckle at the face of his subordinates at the inn they stayed at when they invited him to drink, they have never seen their boss drink, thinking was going to decline the invitation as he always did in Snezhnaya or they haven’t seen him drink being with Tartaglia, only to see him swallow the butterbeer so calmly.

That says a lot about how he is a vital example for his soldiers, it’s not typical of him to exaggerate with drink, he is not irresponsible, he likes to be sane and be someone well prepared for any eventuality, to say that he likes to drink would not be correct, only does it out of courtesy, because at least it produced something to distract himself with but maybe it makes him feel more relaxed and to want to spend time without thinking about the weight of his existence.

That this was the exception of not being an exemplary being, lost count and has a lot to think about.

His soldiers have already gone to sleep and in truth wanted to be alone from what happened today, walking through the streets, closing his heart against any sight of a redhead in the street.

Only to find the Statue, the feet moving on their own towards it. Knows there are statues all over Natlan but it seems like a cruel joke, destroyed one into pieces in the past, finding himself with another one leaves with the bitter taste of butter. Just like the real Archon, this one has not changed an appendage, same marble, same pose, hair falling down, sitting holding the Pyro in her hand, a work of art by the best sculptor there could be.

The indifference is different from the past, as if were not the one looking at it, neither does he know why decided among all things to approach when his hatred for these statues is as clear as day, mocks with his gaze, as if it were real even though it is not, if he had the courage to do the same with the real one...but he only wants to say the things he could not with the other, at least not now.

The body is hot from so much drinking and something else forbidden that does not dare to name, nor since that night at the Zhar-Ptitsa Tavern has he gone so far. The cold is nonexistent to save him at this point…does not care; he does not want to care.

Walks slowly, from one side to the other while watches her from top to bottom.

He doesn’t miss her.

He doesn’t love her.

He doesn’t desire her.

Caresses the platform softly, furrowing his brows when repeats with fury what he feels for the Statue, for her.

She is not beautiful as he remembers her.

She is not dazzling.

She is not pretty in her own way.

She is not any of those things.

She is pure marble.

He hates her.

He loathes her.

He never waited for her for 500 years.

No one fights alone? What a liar she is.

She sacrificed herself for Natlan alone.

How does she dare?

He doesn’t miss her.

He doesn’t love her.

He doesn’t desire her.

No.

No.

And no.

Mocking when his hoarse tone sounds, letting out a dry laugh that tasted like gall and butterbeer.

- Look at yourself... - Muttered, pointing with a finger at the impassive face of the statue – “So quiet. How familiar this silence is to me, isn’t it? It’s exactly the same one you left me with five hundred years ago”

Took one more step closer, losing his balance for an instant before resting a heavy hand on the base of the monument. Eyes, hidden behind the emptiness of his mask, roamed the carved features with a cruel intensity.

- Are you happy, Archon? - Snapped at it, voice rising in tone charged with an anger that alcohol only managed to sharpen – “Is this the result you wanted? Look at me well. Look at what I became while you slept in your own sacrifice. You left me alone in a darkness that you cannot even imagine and now you expect me to celebrate your return with the rest of your people. If we talk about nerve, you would carry the head”

Mocked with an erratic gesture, circling the statue as if he expected the stone to react, for the marble to crack before the poison of his words. Desperate for an answer, for a sign that the pain that devoured him could be heard, only responded to with another silence just like 500 years ago.

- Five hundred years of shadows for a day of glory…absolute shit - Continued, becoming dangerously low and hoarse – “What a waste of life. What a waste of us. You think yourself a savior, but you are just a coward who chose to leave instead of facing your people, your parents, your sister….me”

For a moment the silence of the statue returned to him exactly the same cold that he felt the day she left for the Throne of the Primordial Fire. That silence, instead of pushing him away, acted like a cursed magnet that dragged him toward the center of his pain, climbing his own agony until he was at the height of her sitting face.

Thoughts were going a thousand miles an hour, an amalgam of hatred and fragmented memories of Valentine’s Day that made his blood boil under his armor.

Should stop, his logical mind screamed at him that it was only inanimate stone, but the volcanic heat of his chest no longer knew reason, nor mental limits of a lost battle.

Extended a trembling hand, stripped of his habitual firmness, and for the first time in five centuries, did not use his strength to destroy the monument that represented his loss. Instead, wrapped the cheek of the statue with his fingers, caressing the marble with a tenderness so heartbreaking that the air itself seemed to become dense around his touch.

- I don’t miss you – Whispered, solemn and broken for an instant – “I haven’t thought of you for a single second in all this time. You are nothing to me... just a ghost that refuses to die. I didn’t love you for 500 years, I never desired you for an instant while being alone…never”

The statue did not respond. Leaned in closer, everything became blurry, the smoke of the night came out of his mouth like the breath of a pressure cooker about to explode, fogging the cold stone. His fingers sank into the contour of the marble face, holding her with desperation.

- Look at me... please, look at me one more time - Begged in a thread of voice, the trace of his will crumbling before the memory of her golden eyes, seeing her again – “If you don’t know now... if you don’t understand what these years have done to me...”

Gets comfortable, one knee between her stomach, the breath stops on the face of the statue.

- I will show you what I am made of. I will show you what I became to survive your absence…let me show you – Grabs her cheeks with delicacy, murmurs until he gets lost in his daydream – “Let me show you…how I have fallen into my own perdition”

The environment inside his own armor was unbearable, a pressure of steam and desire that threatened to burst its metallic seams. Imagined that she sighed against him, that the stone yielded to his agony and became willing flesh. With time stopped and his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal…

Finally…he closed the distance between the stone and him.

There was no turning back…

Since he returned to Natlan there would be no compassion before the ghost of Thrain to return to claim what corresponds to the time lost in the cold of his own prison.

…………………..

……….

Kissed her softly at first, with a tenderness that he only allowed himself to feel in the absolute clandestinity of the night, letting a heavy sigh get lost in the empty street. Moves his lips against the cold marble, in drunken delirium, the stone begins to feel strangely warm, the fire of Natlan responds to his caress. Stopped for a moment to admire her up close, feeling that she was soft in his arms.

Wanted her to see what he was really made of; to savor every gram of the bitterness he had accumulated in her absence.

Kissed her again,

And then another.

Losing the notion of reality. The kiss became deep, charged with an urgency that defied the logic of the cold metal, while he repeated again and again the name that the next morning he would deny with all his soul – “Mavuika...”

Clung to the marble with a possessive force, devouring those stone lips as if in that cold contact he could find the spark of life he was missing. There was no delicacy, only the brute need of a man who has died a thousand times in solitude.

- Mavuika... - Moaned against the statue. Under the armor, his own heat was suffocating him. In delirium the stone face softened and she returned his gaze with the same passion that was burning in red and blasphemy.

What blasphemy….how far a foolish Fatui Harbinger has fallen.

Not wanting to recognize the image of him in the mirror that he has broken.

Becoming armed to fall again.

It was a sick pleasure, an addiction that made him tremble while the heart finished breaking.

The kisses are a confession of everything had kept quiet. Begging for an answer that his imagination gave him for the end of deep hunger. The smoke of his agitated breathing enveloped the marble face.

- Tell me you know it’s me - Whispered, biting the stone lip.

Separated just a few centimeters, gasping, with the hands still squeezing the statue’s face. A man cut into pieces in the shadows by the trail of light that is Mavuika.

- Tomorrow I will be your enemy again - Sentenced brokenly – “Maybe I will hide again behind the mask and the ice” - Puts his forehead on the cold stone – “But tonight... tonight you are mine and I am the man who did not stop waiting for you”

A tomorrow that he will surely regret. But today…

The stone is gentle when turns his lips on the ceramic, delicate and hungry, a cat licking its last supper carefully before dying.

The metal of his armor screeches against the effigy while swears to hear the moans of Mavuika, a forbidden melody that incites him to continue – “You’re so beautiful, even out of my reach” - Murmurs in a hoarse voice, kissing every feature of the sculpted face.

Following her line down the straight neck, begging for pure flesh so it’s real. Before going down towards the robe and the stone veil. His hands run over the marble curves with veneration, licking the surface of something pulsing the boiling blood of the Archon.

He wants to give her more.

He wants to give himself more.

Each moan he lets out is an offering to the woman who left him behind.

A great wounded animal, seeking heat in a mausoleum, descending along the body of the statue with a devotion that borders on madness if he saw himself sane – “Tell me you feel me, Mavuika, that you still remember this day as ours sometime” - Whispers against the stone, while heavy breathing fogs the polished material.

Upon noticing that the sitting position of the statue prevents him from reaching where desire claims him, he stops, looking into the empty eyes with an intensity – “Do you let me? Will you open yourself for your Sentinel this time?” - Asks, and in the echo of his mind, the Archon’s voice answers him with a "yes" charged with the same surrender of that Valentine’s Day in his memory, what it would have been at that moment.

Invoking ice in his claw, squeezes and scratches the marble, creating a raw and deep hole near the intimate area of the effigy. The pieces of stone fall to the ground with a crash that seems like the applause of demons, leaving the path free of an uncomfortable fact that if it were seen by someone it would already be evident, a fact that the next morning he will quiet.

That Capitano would return to drag and kill him again for this abominable betrayal, and Thrain Christensen doesn’t want to reason with him for anything in this paradise that he has dug for so long in the dungeon.

Without losing a second, returns to kiss the path downwards, finally reaching the opening he has carved with his own hands.

Grips the waist of the statue with a force that would make the bones creak if they were flesh, bringing his mouth to the hole to give a deep and wet lick.

Mavuika moans with sensitivity, a sound that drives him crazy and makes him mock with a predatory smile – “You should be more sincere with me, my sun; your body has always spoken much more clearly than your stupid sacrifices” - Rasps, amused.

They say that Alcohol shows you a side that one would not normally show before others, this is undoubtedly the case.

His mouth salivates when removes her with his hand and descends…

Deeper and deeper into his own darkness, his own truth.

Enters the hole with his tongue, exploring the roughness of the stone that tastes like sweet and honey, like training sweat, a campfire, innocent sunflowers waking up in summer, like food he didn’t think he would consume more than he should, penetrating her with rhythmic movements.

Grunts fill the night; no one believed those sounds came from a man everyone respected.

Sucks on his palate the taste of fire and sunflowers that imagines in Mavuika, moaning with an intensity that makes him tremble. The environment inside the armor is a hell, a pressure of steam and desire that finally makes him come with a suffocated shout.

That she explodes in pleasure from being freed from her chains, seeing a world she has not known. A world where maybe masks are taken off.

Stops for a moment, gasping, with his eyes fixed on the effigy that now seems more alive than ever. Kisses her lips again, caressing the marble breasts with a tenderness that contrasts with the violence of his previous acts.

- I want you to feel good, I want you to know that no one will desire you in hell like I do - He murmurs, while the hands move with furious urgency towards his own pants – “..Mavuika..”

With a liberating grunt, sheds the garment, letting his member.

Charged with 500 years of repression, its freed before the Archon’s gaze – “Do you like what you see, Mavuika? The monster you created?” - Asks with a loving filth, stroking himself with force while letting out grunts of pure pleasure at the touch of touching himself without the shadow of hatred, repression and Capitano. The friction against his own skin makes him gasp, feeling the heat of the night embrace his nakedness.

Approaches the breasts of the statue, shaking his cock between them, seeking a friction that makes him feel close to the heart of the woman who has that empty gnosis. The hips move with a hypnotic rhythm between the marble tits, moaning directly into the figure’s ear while gets comfortable. Holds the statue’s head firmly, accelerating the movement before the minutes he counts, feeling how a white drop begins to bathe the decorated stone.

Stops abruptly, with his face inflamed by heat and drunkenness, looking at her with a mockery charged with a twisted affection.

- I would love to continue here, but it’s not where I plan to finish tonight there, Mavu… - Whispers an intimate nickname that he could not say in the past, kissing her lips with a softness that promises an imminent storm. His fingers seek the entrance himself carved, opening it, preparing it.

One finger.

Two fingers.

Three fingers.

Four fingers.

All being absorbed with fascinating admiration of his sweet sun, so red until the air is nonexistent for her.

Breathes like charcoal, looking at the beautiful disaster in his hands.

Strong and sensitive before the human collapsed in his arms…

This is what he has desired most.

Is it….so hard for her to understand?

For himself to understand that?

A tear that he cannot identify what is tightened from himself.

Thrain wipes it away gently…or perhaps Mavuika’s hand cleans him to continue without regrets for once.

Positions his large and throbbing cock at the entrance of the marble hole, looking at the impassive face of Mavuika with a devotion that terrifies the most faithful – “It will hurt a little, sun…but to be united at last... is the only thing I have desired since I saw you leave” - Confesses in a whisper.

His cock throbs before the hot entrance of Mavuika, gentle and hungry.

With a slow and decided push, begins to enter the statue, clinging to the marble neck as if it were his only anchor in the world. Because at this moment it is.

A deep moan escapes his throat when feels the imaginary heat of the cavity envelop him, kissing the Archon’s lips while goes in centimeter by centimeter.

Trembles like a child taking refuge in the strongest winters of his soul.

Every fiber of his being vibrates when he reaches the bottom, letting out a guttural grunt of triumph and agony at finally feeling inside her. He stops for a moment to catch his air, feeling like a disaster of raw flesh under the moonlight, but more liberated than ever.

- Mavuika... - Moans her name with a mixture of love and filth that pulls the pure air of Natlan into mud. Surrounds the waist of the redhead with his arm, securing his position.

So warm, so gentle and sweet…

Perfectly he can die right there.

Mavuika…

Mavu…

I can’t breathe…I’m going to die.

And revive again.

Begins to move with a tortuous slowness, getting used to the rubbing of the stone. Whispers phrases to the empty wind of the streets, that he only wants to resonate in the redhead.

He is a madman.

He is crazy.

Is that weird now?

Does it surprise anyone else?

It shouldn’t.

It shouldn’t anymore.

He can’t stop.

Not anymore.

The rhythm of his hips accelerates, and the empty stadium becomes the only witness to the sound of his thrusts crashing against the sacred marble.

The slaps a blasphemy that Celestia, the Fatui and Capitano would condemn him to the stake for.

Thrain buries his head in the statue’s neck, kissing the stone while the sound of penetration becomes a delicious music in his ears. Of the absolute disaster of his Mavuika, red, losing her words every second, not being able to have anything coherent to say.

There is nothing coherent to talk about while being united.

Only her name for once.

Thrain.

Thrain.

THRAIN!

How good. how good it feels...HMN Tsarista I-!

Adores the moans from the lips of Mavuika, moving with a brutality that is pure desire, wanting her to enjoy this liberation as much as he does.

- Ah…ah, mnh…mn…ha… - Moans with more force when he feels his cock is adoring every corner of that cunt, marking a rhythm that seeks the sensitive point of his own delirium. Feels eternal in that space, letting her feel how he has desired her in every night of cold in Snezhnaya.

His cock seems to set on fire; the rhythm becomes an uncontrolled frenzy that makes his armor hit rhythmically.

He can’t anymore.

HE CAN’T ANYMORE!

- I’m coming, Mavuika... UGH! – His hips lose rhythm, looks her in the eyes, touching their foreheads in sweat and sex – “Do you want this?...Ha..ha Let me come inside you, please…Mnn!”

Destroyed.

Breathless.

Everything falls.

She cannot pronounce a word, only repeat his name.

Nodding frantically.

He can only be fascinated hypnotized and laugh.

Broken when the rhythm is paralyzing, there is no logic in his laughter.

Only the humidity and the prison being freed, of the animal that buried itself inside him…of Thrain, oh Thrain…

- Take it a-all – Stronger are his thrusts – “Ah, AH! It is all yours MNN!” - In a frenzy of passion and alcohol. His body tenses, the hands dig into Mavuika with superhuman force, and his name comes out of his lips like a final prayer before judgment.

MAVUIKA!

UGH!

He screams her name in an explosion of white.

Paralyzed on her hip, suffering a short circuit in his brain, the pain of his cook is abundant from so much time without being normal…releasing everything repressed even when tries to move his hips in her hole.

His semen floods her cunt, burying itself deeply in the heart of the stone. Continues giving spasmodic thrusts, emptying himself completely of centuries, moaning with her in a synchrony that not a drop of his essence remains.

And after…

Nothing.

………………

……..

Silence falls again over the streets of the Stadium, heavy and dense, while he remains motionless, united to the Archon.

Let’s out heavy air, his forehead still on the other, breathing with difficulty, pain, disorientation and dizzy. Caresses her to calm her. Losing the notion of time between both, a strange relaxation and sleepiness settle in him, laughing softly, kissing the forehead of Mavuika, his eyes lost and blurry. He has never felt so tired.

Why can’t he stay like this forever?

His lips touching her forehead…they wake him up again.

He stops.

Cold. Without movement…nothing.

His eyes open slowly, the drunkenness of his mirage ends for a second, the acceptable hour to return to sanity in the time sufficient that his sight are like plates when he backs away and looks at the Archon in his arms, the cold returns to his body to leave him alone again…Capitano blinks again and again, his hair on his forehead falls but not even that stops the shock of his own frozen skin.

He blinks again and again, the smile of Mavuika disappears.

…………….What have I done?...............

Only the mockery of reality remains giving him a cold bucket in the streets of Natlan.

The stone gaze returns the gesture to him. The same nothingness, the same contemplative silence. His dreams ended, everything remains in ashes.

But worse.

The stone reflected under the moon returns the image of the sin, of everything he has hidden until it was too much, until it overflowed in the Statue he claimed to hate, in the person he claimed not to desire.

And above all…of that man he denied being him…

He is there…he was always there.

Of a Harbinger who has fallen so deep that he cannot reconcile with the past, of what he has promised so much not to do, How can he have something with a statue? What happened to the real one?

He has done this to her…

He has glorified the statue.

Everything was a circus…everything he said…what he has fought…everything…

……………

Why?

Covers his clothes with horror, with disgust, of what was done to her that he did not have the courage to do to the real one. Of a fool, of the absolute fool for believing that it would be a rock but in reality he only overflows in his sinking.

That he is human.

That he is Thrain Christensen.

And he cannot do anything about it.

There is no one by his side that the person who was always alive of what he always wanted him to be, there is no one at his back to point out that he…of returning to this nation to save what he could not in Khaenri’ah, of those he has seen in the mirror, of her…Of the man who looks wanting Capitano to take his hand, who has always been Thrain.

- Thrain…

- Get lost…

Thrain looks at him angry and sad, wanting to approach until he was pushed abruptly, of that look of vitriol in the Knight that locks him in the prison again.

- WHAT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND A FUCKING WORD OF WHAT I’M SAYING?!! GET LOST!! I SAID GET LOST AND DON’T COME BACK AGAIN!! – He screams at him through the bars, holding his head between both hands, shaking desperately – “This never happened!”

- It did happen!

- NO! I NEVER LOVED HER! I NEVER DID THIS!

- THRA-!

- DON’T CALL ME THRAIN AGAIN!! – He lowers his head, hilarious in the darkness where the radiance points to him, closing his heart once more – “THRAIN IS PART OF THE OLD LIKE THAT ARCHON! YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN HERE AFTER 500 YEARS! WHY IM SLAVE TO YOU?!.....get lost…” – Whispers sobbing.

- ……………………. – The Sentinel only looks at him with that same compassion, frozen in grabbing his cheek. The Harbinger gets none of that shit.

- GET LOST!!!

- ……………………… - Thrain’s look is complicated, he closes his eyes with solemnity and sorrow.

Everything fades.

Alone in the past streets of a Valentine’s Day between thorns of dead flowers.

Remaining the Statue and him.

Everything seemed to lack meaning, what he did never happened.

He is not Thrain.

Continues shaking his head, his winter returns inside him, but the damage remains, no, he shouldn’t look at the statue like that, Where is the hatred when he needs it?!

Only his thoughts and the cold are there. Does not open his mouth to apologize, what blasphemy, to ask for forgiveness to a statue, Who the hell is he?

His head hurts, thinks he is going to vomit…

His face changes in many ways but his eyes wrinkle in sadness, he does not forgive as something more than guilt originates when seeing her, he should kick it like in the past, destroy it like the other fell.

He shuts up and ignores how he caresses her cold cheek one last time, he denied that he fixed any dirt or sweat fallen on the stone, he forgets with tearing when he cleans the hole he has made with a towel, taking out all his semen, picking up the shattered pieces to assemble it again.

He lowers his head, not wanting to look at her, he cannot…

She is part of the old-

Shut up.

……….

Just shut up.

……………

Looks to the sides, does not know what miracle he has had so that no one was around, only the crickets accompany him.

Caresses the platform, just like in the past does not look at the statue when he staggers away. Slow and stopping at moments. Half turns to the Archon but pinches himself to not do it. Denies everything. Nothing has happened.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

His feet lead him to the bathtub, the water runs down his body, lowering his head so that the water cleans the filth, sits down and puts the hands on the face before the mask that is gone, maneuvering softly.

Closing himself once more, nothing has happened.

It hurts.

Buries it again, erases that woman’s name alive again, of the ghosts, of his purpose in Natlan.

It hurts…it hurts…

It hurts…

It hurts…

………..

……

Morning arrives, his head hurts, his memories blurry.

But the weight of Valentine’s Day and that statue remains in his frozen heart. There was only a soft whisper of Thrain that he forgets upon falling asleep…

………..

……

“Liar”

Good morning Captain, I hope this letter finds you well.

Dottore has continued with his experiments and other missions as if he were biting your helmet from the confrontation you had. I can still hear certain rumors in the hallways that he has had to make a punching bag of you to vent, I think it has worked since he is more sadistic and meticulous, now he has his sights on Nodkrai for another mission, the usual. If I were you, I wouldn't trust him much.

The girls are fine, Sandrone invited me because she saw me -  “Too much of a wet fox for my sight, come here, we have cookies and stop worrying, the Captain will be strong” - Well, I would like to believe that crazy woman, but with what happened that night... I just hope Natlan hasn't been a stir for you, you haven't communicated since you arrived, so it's better if I act and deliver this letter to you.

As for me?

………….

Strange…

Everything we have talked about has made me think, you know? These days I have been relaxed, even Arlecchino was a little surprised that I haven't accepted too many dangerous missions as I was used to. It's still boring without you to fight but well, I can't do anything more than trust that whatever you are fighting for is valuable.

Some things I used to do I also left aside.

Maybe it’s good in a way, just trust the process, although I imagine I’ll fall to fighting with an imbecile drunk who doesn't behave well with people, leave it to me, these fists aren't for cooking and kicking customers who don't pay their debts, hehehe.

Regarding Morax…

……………….

I must think about it. I hope you understand.

Mentally preparing myself to go there.

But if you are successful in Natlan.

I won't hold back and I will go to where that old Archon has stalled my heart.

So…

How has it gone for you in Natlan?

Have you achieved anything with the Gnosis?

Has nothing happened to you these days?

Have you seen the Archon of Natlan face to face?

Have you found the man you left behind?

Did the Archon return? Were you able to face her? Have you told her what you feel?

If this makes you uncomfortable, I won’t say anything else. I’m sorry.

You revealed to me that night that you and I are not what we claim to be. Even if everything seems impossible to you, you always find a way out, if you have no way out, here is your favorite colleague to help.

Please Captain, I know you won't see me making this expression, but I am so grateful for what you did for me. I really mean it. You are the best, maybe it doesn't look like that, but it is the truth.

If something has happened, you know that Snezhnaya is just a boat ride away, but if you decide not to return…

I can't do anything but accept it, because you fought against Dottore for that mission, because I know you are a human warrior who doesn't give up until getting what you want, to continue on the final path you tread, whatever the end may be.

It’s a bit embarrassing to say, but you have saved me, you are my hope and I cannot thank you enough…

I just hope to remind you, what you told me when leaving.

“Don't end up staring at a corner like I did centuries ago”

I just hope you don't regret your decision, if you want someone to talk to you have me. Continue on your path no matter how narrow and meaningless it is, in the end you will find the light, right?

I will wait for your message, See you Captain!

Childe, alias “Tartaglia”

- ELEVENTH OF THE FATUI HARBINGERS –

Capitano holds onto the edge of his desk. The letter from Tartaglia rests between his fingers, wrinkled by the pressure of a hand. The camp has returned to calm after the noon deployment, and while the birds seek shelter for the night, he can only stay there, staring at the paper with obsessive fixation.

- ...Shit… - Lets out in a hoarse whisper, the only word he has been able to articulate in hours.

His memories of the night before are a fog, but his mind, damnably lucid despite the alcohol, begins to reconstruct the events with ruthless clarity, or enough to know What happened last night.

Upon reading the letter, almost spits out his tea. The irony hits him in the stomach.

What is he supposed to say to Tartaglia? The sincerity of the Eleventh is an unbearable weight; Childe knows his darkness, but not even in his nightmares would he imagine the level to which his mentor has fallen.

The questions in the letter are sharp blades. There is no malice in them, and that is what has him most fucked up. Laughs bitterly, a dry chuckle that dies in his throat upon remembering the advice he gave the young man before leaving – “No end up staring at a corner like I did centuries ago” - Murmurs.

Tsarista…he feels like a fucking fool. The silence in the tent becomes oppressive, loaded with a guilt he cannot share with anyone.

Squeezes the paper gently, as if he feared breaking the last shred of faith someone has in him. Looks toward the moon beginning to appear and curses his own luck. How beautiful this journey is, returning to the place of his origin only to remember that he remains as a pathetic human, well, whatever this is. With a furrowed brow, presses the bridge of his nose. Has come so far, he is so close to his goals, and yet, he has never felt so lost.

Breathes deeply, trying to inflate lungs that feel full of dust. Leaves the tent with a canvas bag over his shoulder, seeking the fresh air of the night so as not to suffocate. His feet, almost by their own will, guide him along paths he knows by heart. Crosses the undergrowth, pushes aside the branches of the trees, and, under the silver light, reaches the place where everything broke five hundred years ago.

- You are still in that state... just as I left you - Says in a monotonous voice, almost a greeting to an old enemy.

In front of him lie the remains of the statue he himself destroyed centuries ago. The pieces are scattered across the grass, devoured by time; some have turned to ash or are mistreated by moss, but the head remains on the platform. It’s incredible that no one has repaired the monument, that even her own people have abandoned it to oblivion. Does not mock; the sight only deepens his melancholy.

Stands still, imagining that the stone watches him with the same contempt. Clenches his fists, but the impulse to destroy what remains fades, replaced by something he does not know how to name.

With a patience that does not belong to him, Capitano begins to collect the pieces. One by one he places them in the bag with a delicacy, taking care that the rubbing of the marble does not damage the sculpted features further.

A pang of guilt while holding her face between his hands. Cleans the dirt from her lips and stone eyes with his thumb, finding her strangely perfect despite the damage. Shakes his head, pushing away the thoughts that tormented him the night before, and puts the head in the bag. The way back is silent, the weight of the rubble hitting rhythmically against his hip.

Back in the tent, heads to the desk. Opens a drawer and takes out a package wrapped in frost that has accompanied him from Natlan to Snezhnaya: the letters and the fire necklace of the Archon's family, memories of a life he swore to protect. Stays in a sepulchral silence before closing the drawer with a dry thud. Grunts exhausted by the weight of his own history, and hides the bag with the remains under his bed.

Strips off his armor, feeling the cold of the air on his sweaty skin. Lies down and closes his eyes, sinking finally into a heavy, image-less sleep.

Tomorrow he will have to be the Captain again; he will have to make decisions and move forward. But for now, in the darkness, only a man trying to pick up the pieces of something that perhaps no longer has a fix.

20 DAYS LATER.

Twenty days later, the cold has settled again under his armor, a necessary barrier to contain the fire that almost consumes him. The activities of the Fatui are under the watchful eye of the Archon, and that is exactly what he seeks: That she notices him, that the confrontation is inevitable. He does not plan to turn back.

- You what? - Rafael asked him, not being sure he had heard him right.

- You heard loud and clear. You will watch the camp with your squad - Capitano repeated with a voice that cut the air like ice – “You will inform the rest that I am going to the stadium to see the Archon”

- Alone, boss?

- Yes.

Rafael remained silent, nodding slowly to the order. The air felt heavy, charged with static electricity that made his skin crawl.

- Will you speak regarding the Gnosis with her?

- Yes.

Liar.

The Skirmisher stared at him; it was almost impossible to read his captain, but after ten years under his command, Rafael knew that the sudden cold in the environment meant that nothing was what it seemed and that it was nothing good. Knew he should not inquire further.

- Will you be okay at the stadium?

- Yes.

Fucking Liar.

The subordinate let out a contained sigh, feeling how the environment became uncomfortable and crushing.

- Its fine, boss. I will inform the rest... good luck on your journey.

Capitano nodded while the other retreated. Only then did he let his hands join on the desk, squeezing them with a force that sought to silence the trembling. Stood up with a calculated slowness, keeping his head forward and his gaze icy. Wanted to believe that Thrain was finally dead. Repeated it to himself like a mantra, lying to himself again and again while left the camp towards the red sunset of Natlan.

He has not planned an official meeting. Does not look at the people who move aside in his path when arrives at the Stadium, much less does he allow himself to look away toward the other statue. For him, it no longer exists. Only the present exists, the metal of his mask and the woman of fire up ahead.

The Archon is with her back turned talking with one of her warriors, not being busy, it seems perfect to him. Those who were there went on alert with their weapons raised pointing at Capitano.

- A FATUI HARBINGER!

- SO THE RUMORS WERE TRUE!

Some more gathered, Capitano doesn’t care about their spears or threats, passes slowly by a spear that points to his chest, his cold gaze fixed on her.

Waited so long that everything is surreal. If it were otherwise, this meeting would be planned, they would be hugging. Forces out of himself that desire to grab her by the arms, everything he has missed her, kissing her, shaking her until leaving her crazy for her fucking decision.

But no.

It’s not something she deserves for everything she has done.

Do I forgive her?

…………………

It doesn't matter.

That ghost screams for him to stop, but continues moving forward more. He does not stop to return to where he came from, it’s no longer the statue he is looking at, it’s her.

Time slows down through his eyes, if it were Thrain he would laugh softly at the expression of surprise when they look into each other's eyes, so bright…

And insufferable.

Mavuika feels she is about to cry, would have liked that smile when seeing him, how She moves in small steps to seeing the man.

To the man she looked at with pity before leaving.

His frozen darkness returns to look at that woman like a stranger, Who does she think she is to put that expression as if she were not the culprit? How despicable.

This is not the Captain who should act like a gentleman.

…………

Hehe…

Tremendous stupidity.

The redhead represses her tears of joy, her smile is broken, trembling and full of so many emotions from seeing him, the silence in the stadium was confusing, not knowing how to react to this encounter.

She advances softly, her hand rises toward his cheek, an underlying tone of relief and sob.

- Thra-

- ………………………………… - The brutal silence stops her, as if almost crushing an ant so it does not move. The tone devoid of traces of Thrain – “I have come for a fight, Archon. Names are a lack of respect, especially for you” – Capitano doesn’t stop, cold and with nothing that jumps the storm inside him.

The Stadium goes frozen.

The Archon stops; her face feels the whip. Wrinkles, the sadness on her shoulders is invisible even to the Harbinger. Not finding how to speak to him. She cannot speak…

- You have nothing to say to me?

- ……………. – She stays silent, not a single word worth saying.

- Fine, let's end this.

- Who do you think you are to talk to her like that?! - A warrior is offended furiously before him.

Capitano mocks, crossing his arms – “It would be a good thing to ask her about this encounter in her face. But I have matters to deal with your Archon. Whatever happens between us is no one's business. Is she not brave enough to face me?”

Winter has never felt so close.

Mavuika is quiet with her fists clenched. Tightening her teeth to not fall before that icy gaze in the darkness, of her own guilt.

- !!?

- HEY, WHAT-!

- STOP!

The warriors stop before the detention of their leader. With so many questions of what is happening. But Mavuika shakes her head, raising her gaze.

The two remain in the tension and the loss. Her mouth opens, but she is silent. Eyes that feared the obvious of this encounter, that he does not see her with those same eyes in the last 500 years, the centuries that she was absent, of what she did…

She knows it and says nothing, accepting the coldness of the other's heart.

Inside that angers him more, not understanding why as many times.

Stands firm, a tone with the weight of a thousand suns for 500 years – “Excuse me the lack of respect. Are you looking for a fight with me? Don’t worry, I am not busy at this moment to start one today”

- Archon-?!

- Please, do not worry about me. He is right – Raises her eyes toward him, chokes her apologies, drowns her feelings, because he doesn’t deserve that after leaving these 500 years for her plan…she knows it and continues forward with her leader's cape to a new and ignorant people of the history between them – “We have matters between us to abide for a long time. Don’t interrupt us, between warrior’s weapons speak more than us.

- But-!

- It will be fine – Sounds reassuring, glad that the collapse is not seen before this encounter, what it would have been – “Leave the stadium alone, this is a private duel. I don’t want anyone to interrupt this duel, understood? It’s an order – Finishes without letting others test that order, she had to use that tone because if not her people would not comply if she were soft.

Many remain silent, conflicted, many looks pass in the environment, questions remain unanswered, perhaps they will not be answered. A leader warrior breaks the silence to give instructions and everyone moves away; residents and other personnel vacate the stadium. Leaving both to look at each other eternally while the public leaves.

Mavuika cannot sustain his gaze, turning away at moments before the discomfort, wanting to say everything, but knowing that she has nothing to reach Capitano she discards it. Forces herself not to walk away from the man she loves…that she still loves.

But that the other doesn’t see her in that way anymore, falling her heart into pieces.

- About 20 minutes will pass until everyone leaves…we have to wait a little longer and the stadium is ours – Says Mavuika before the long silence – “We will see each other in a few moments, feel free to wait in the stadium, or whe-wherever you want” – She screams furiously at being cut off, god how uncomfortable.

Capitano is silent.

Silences his body to not hug her and erase that sadness; he silences all types of alarms to not do what he is doing. This is the reality he does not plan to hide.

An encounter made of past wounds and chains on their bodies for a long time, the difference between them is that Capitano doesn’t plan to stay quiet before what the other did and his pain for the consequences.

The Archon swallow’s saliva, breathing to have strength, her feet barely move to reach him.

And he backs away.

If she were not someone strong, the redhead would collapse right there from this pain. It is clear: He does not want her to get close, not anymore.

- Thra-

He does not see her, cannot see those eyes, how he is truly hearing her name come out after so much absence. He cannot with this.

Doesn’t give her time to finish that name that would heal something of him so much.

He leaves, to another place that is not in the same one as the Archon, waiting for that longed combat.

Mavuika raises her hand desperately, moaning at having nothing good to say, also silent at the weight of everything, seeing how the man leaves until the others finish leaving…the stadium remains more alone while she moves back to the other side of the entrance, the shadow protects her from gazes and lies down tired and finished.

As she has been since she started 500 years being the Archon, everything remaining the same as it has gone by her duty, by her fear, by her demons, no one is there because everyone is dead. Even surrounded by people yesterday and today…

She is alone.

Just like him.

This encounter is inevitable, everything they carry with them is.

Falls little by little to the ground, her solar eyes empty of all warmth and hope of fixing things.

On the other side of where she is in the same shadows, Capitano is sitting in the same darkness, his hand covers his face, everything he is trying to close and cannot…of Mavuika's face…and he cannot.

Silent.

Everyone is silent.

500 years seeing each other again between wounds and ghosts that do not die.

When they look at each other again, both silence what they have wanted to tell the other so much for a long time, truths that cannot come to light now, an uncertain future they don’t know how to face.

When they raise their weapons and clash, only the pain remains of what could be an encounter between lovers if those walls crumbled. Maybe it’s not today.

Maybe not tomorrow to be able to speak from the scars, from their own biases, what they have never been able to be brave in telling…

But…

Just like fire and ice meet.

From a last look before we see each other again.

Pain is not indifferent to anyone. And from that storm in the end will come the light and the future they have wanted to fight for so much.

It’s only a matter of patience, time, stumbles and collapses.

I only know it will be so.

In the end, hope is the last thing lost.

Right?

………………….

………….

Chapter Text

Mavuika, the sun of Natlan:

If this letter is the last you have read, it means that the gift your father, your mother, Hine and I put together has served the purpose. It was something I kept for a long time, waiting for the right occasion, a time where we were in synchronicity, at ease, and where I could finally give it to you without the burden from everything that used to hold me back.

This amulet and these cards were created with the intention that, in any instant of darkness, you could hold something tangible, a reminder of who you were, who you are, and who you will always be. I wanted you to have this for when you needed it most, so that you would never forget that there is something, someone who still gives you everything intact, even when the feelings have been complicated, difficult to process, and yet impossible to name.

Do you know why my letter is not like the others? It doesn't belong to the past. I wrote it four days ago, that's all. Why?

Because I had nothing to say back then. All I had inside me was ruins, ashes and emptiness.

When your parents and Hine encouraged me to write you a letter.

I tried... over and over again...

But they all ended up as torn pieces of paper. None of the letters I wrote at that time were worthy to you; they were all horrible, full of cold fury, misdirected resentment. They weren't words you'd want to read, and worse, I didn't even want to write. How I felt about you was so tangled up in my rage, in the pain of what I lost, that writing something sincere was impossible, half the things I wrote were bullshit.

Now, after all we have shared and faced, I am grateful that none of those letters survived.

As I write this post, I look back, not only at what destroyed us, but at all that we built between the cracks of the ruins. There are things I never shared with you, truths that had no place in the broken days we lived. Now, in this stillness before what is to come, I feel there is room to let out that which was kept hidden.

Do you remember the place in the forest where I told you that if your people want to glorify you in a statue while your absence leaves them more lost than ever?

Even when I roamed Natlan in those times, I hated your statues, even more so with the people who gave you compliments and glorified your sacrifice to the fullest, as if when you were alive they didn't do it in a continuous way, you just had to die in the flames for them to be magically supporters to you. It was so disgusting.

Statue I saw statue I pulled out my fists to give cracks. Only when Pierro gave me the option to join the Fatui was it like a release from the statues of you, from the memory of you. I didn't join the group until your family passed away peacefully and never returned to Natlan again except to keep myself informed of the region.

When I came back with the news that you would return, I saw you reborn as you fought again in the arena against others for the position of Archon. With your eyes set on your plan to sacrifice yourself again....

That night, when the stadium was empty and only the moon illuminated the bleachers, I went to your statue. It was as if you were there, as if those 500 years away had not altered anything about you. Your determination, your smile, your essence. The Mavuika I knew was still intact, as if time was unable to touch it.

I don't remember clearly what I said when I stopped in front of the statue. I know it was a mockery, filled with words of silence and emotions that could not come out properly.

And I approached, at the height of your face....

.............................

I kissed you....

So warm the stone.... it wasn't you....but....

Softly.... as gentle like something sensitive in my arms....

...............................................

..............................

I didn't stop, and from there it was all a blur. I don't remember more than that and that when it was over, it gave me like a beating to the negative feelings I had for you, how I reacted and got out of there. In my head, I denied everything. I wanted to erase the fact that I had glorified, in some twisted sense, a statue I had sworn to despise. It was blasphemy. Felt like I was betraying myself.

Why am I telling you this?

Cause after all this time, I understand that that moment was a truth I could not ignore. Even in my anger, in my rejection of what you represented, I could not deny the impact you always had on me. That kiss, that instant, was my way of facing the love I was trying to bury, the pain I never wanted to admit. It was my way of reconciling with what I had lost and what was in front of me when I saw you again. You kept your promise to see each other 500 years later.

And now, with all that said, I end these words with the simplest truth: I would not change anything that has brought us this far. If the freezing mountains had to show me the mirror of all that I have lost to give me what I truly desire, then I accept that price. As you are my sun, and in the shadows of this world, you will always be my guide.

If you have made it this far, if you have read every letter and cried over every printed word, I want to congratulate you. I know how hard you are trying; how hard you are struggling to stand even when the weight of it all seems unbearable. And I want you to know something: no matter how much criticism you receive, no matter how much people hate you, you are stronger than all of that. That spark I see in you every day is beautiful, vibrant, unique, and I hope you never let anyone extinguish it.

This gift, this amulet, these cards... they are your strength. Use them as a wall against despair, as a reminder that you're never alone. Fight with everything you got, because the final battle that awaits us is for everything we want to live for.

Thank you, Mavuika, for standing here alive, for being truthful even on the throne of flame. Thank you for giving me your promise, for giving me a reminder that this is until the end. Thank you for existing, for being part of the old with me. The old, yes, but as bright as the sun and the moon.

We will fight for our destiny, Mavuika, and we will win it. No matter how many boulders are thrown our way.

That's all we want to live for.

- Your eternal moon of Khaenri'ah, the beloved star of a gentle goddess whom I would never let go, Thrain –

2 YEARS AND 6 MONTHS LATER

……………

Reads and re-reads the letter he gave his wife years ago; borrowed it from the letters and the package he handed to his beloved to read his own thoughts from that moment.

Unable to do anything but look back and see everything he has done, from being a man governed by denial, eternal winter, and self-deception. This letter was just a brief explanation of what happened. Even years later, in the privacy of his dreams, even with the wound healed, there are flashes of pain. Of everything that happened, what he did, and what he didn't do.

Rising from the Captain he once was, truly, was in a mire that was difficult to escape, shouldn't be surprised that he made it through despite everything. If Capitano had seen this future, would undoubtedly have fled from what he would have seen at that moment as betrayal. Why didn't he stay in that mud? Why didn't return to the cold of Snezhnaya?

All he can do with himself is embrace it; was walking a difficult path... but couldn't stop. Because deep down, knows he couldn't keep deceiving himself, that the ice couldn’t protect him from what he wanted for his future.

Damn, still feels terribly embarrassed about what he did to Mavuika's statue. Gods... must have been so damn repressed to kiss and... have sex. How crazy, was that really him?

Could only respond calmly and rediscover peace, no longer wallowing in the mud to see himself tranquil in the mirror...

Yes.

That was him.

Every fracture, every fall, each and every one of his screams, his tears, fears, anger, outbursts... they were all him. That man is Thrain Christensen; Capitano is Thrain. That mask that mocked, destroyed, fought with skill, and fled was also him. They were all him. The man respected, feared, hated, and loved was completely him.

And now the man who is alive and still standing beside Natlan, beside Mavuika, Thrain Christensen, that is me. There is no one else but me; tomorrow I will be another version of myself. A tomato can change, but it remains the same essence.

His burden is light; assumes that the time to rest and heal has borne fruit. Couldn't be prouder of himself. When finishes reading the letter and putting it away in his bag, he has already rested enough to continue. He is almost finished with his progress; it has taken him a few years to build, buy, and make the pieces again. Undoubtedly had a debt to repay, something to lay another memory to rest, continuing his history forward.

So that the statue would see how much he has changed.

Gathers the remaining marble, smoothing the lips; the statue's face is a bit rounder, perfect, it is looking much better than yesterday. Let's see…

Concentrates quite hard; ensured the pose is where it should be and reshapes the form. Joins the fingers that had fallen off, glues the arm, adds cement and marble, and looks for a small stick to add the details. All the effort to make the "Gardens of Remembrance Cemetery" has been worth it.

And finally...places the head in its proper place, hoping the materials do their part. Steps down from the platform, looking with proud happiness in his heart at the final product.

Never since returning to Natlan would he have been happy about a statue; always used to mention that he was so crazy to do something about it. How things change. This is the same one he destroyed upon Hine's death, another blasphemy of the Thrain of the past, of what he swore to destroy at the time. Well, accepts that blasphemy. Breathes, feeling somewhat tired, wiping the sweat from his neck and white shirt to see that nothing is amiss.

Mavuika's hair is more pronounced; had to check the photo to see if there were any details missing. The pose is the same, the Pyro sphere was without any serious damage, only had to accentuate the element and a few other things. The mouth is ready, the suit is ready, the sun is ready, the eyes are also more than fine…

Sighs with a small smile; at last, has finished what he broke so long ago. Would have to talk to Mavuika so that others could inspect if other statues were damaged, and so that at least people would visit these parts. Time flies; the end of the war has made the population grow, and where he is, there is a village. At least the villagers will see that one can pass through here without it being abandoned. A sense of relief settles in as sees that everything is turning out as it is.

Only for his mood to drop at the letter he wrote…

Truly… was a terrible person. It was obvious that the statue is not Mavuika and that there was no repercussion in destroying it; it’s an object.

But since he took the pieces in the bag and when it was all over, truly has a different thought now. No, it’s not Mavuika, but in the end, it’s an image of her, of what could have happened if this were real, and the mere thought hits him in the stomach. When debated what he was going to do with the statue, this could only be the possible end for her…

No, he cannot return to the past, to how far he fell. But has the power to achieve things now. Where the destroyed revives once more. Because no matter what, even being a statue, she was there. This is a peace the statue deserves after suffering because of his darkness, and for himself, to announce that those 500 years of suffering have ended and that both can be at ease without resentment between them, without the need to fight a one-sided battle over a tragedy that governed their lives. May the statue continue to gaze peacefully through time.

And he, enjoying the now, another invisible chain that absolutely had to be put to rest.

Yes, knows this object won't move, that it won't answer him, but doesn't care. He climbs slowly onto the platform, stroking Mavuika's face delicately; it didn't matter what form it was in; it remained as fascinating as ever.

- You look as good as new. You won't have to watch as they abandon you and leave you lying there again. Being up high suits you wonderfully - Whispers to it, touching the minimal details, reverent even - "I hope that with this, people will see you more often, admiring you for centuries upon centuries"

Lowers his voice, so serious without the coldness with which he used to treat her - "An apology won't erase what I did to you, what we did to each other, but I want this to be the step so that you are finally seen for who you are, not as a ghost to hate or admire, but the person who was my light, who always has been, despite my blindness in not accepting it" - Strokes with his thumb, becoming gentle despite his already scarred wounds - "I look ridiculous talking to you, but I don't care… I just know that this is over, and that you’re finally okay"

As always, she doesn’t answer.

But that is fine; doesn't need her to respond. May this rebirth, just as Mavuika experienced, also happen to the images scattered throughout Natlan, that their Archon remains vigilant and protective of her people.

And more than a statue, it’s herself and her spark that continues to grow.

Thrain too, in the end, continued to believe that she remains his light, two stars that fought for their destiny and won.

There is no greater fact than that.

Smiles at her statue, leaning in, and a long kiss lands on her forehead. Presses his head against it and can feel a certain warmth; chuckle is quiet. Gives her another kiss, this time in farewell - "Enjoy your new views; we might see each other again"

Steps down from the platform, gathering his things, giving one last look at the statue, proud and present. The morning rays don't do the real Mavuika justice, but he believes she still looks beautiful, no matter how many centuries pass.

The wind blows through his hair; can only keep looking at the details he has made. He truly did a great job.

Doesn't notice a loved one behind him who had been listening to everything, approaching slowly. Hugging him from behind, catching Thrain off guard.

- Ah! Mavuika!? - Thrain shouts, surprised.

- You know? Now I feel jealous of myself. Your wifey needs you to look at her and kiss her the way you do with my statue - Murmurs jokingly against the dark-haired man's white shirt.

In the Ex-Harbinger's eyes, sees his beloved Mavuika. Her hair fell down, wearing a white sleeping robe that also covered her feet. Looked so relaxed compared to her husband at this moment. Carries all the weight on her back. It doesn't surprise him entirely that she is here, but she shouldn't be, not while she is doing well.

She is heavier, but that was to be expected; her stomach has grown… 6 months have passed, but could never forget this image of her just being alive and by his side, she…

She is pregnant with our daughter.

She shouldn't be here; she should be resting.

Thrain turns around, alarmed, taking her by the waist so she wouldn't fall - "Mavu, you shouldn't be up in your bed. Why did you walk all the way here? It's dangerous" - He strokes her back; his brow furrowed with worry.

- A little bird told me that my Thrain has been going to a place with heavy materials for years without telling me anything. My curiosity kept me here for a while to see what you were doing. Who would have thought you were rebuilding my statue and getting affectionate behind my back? - Smiles mischievously, not letting herself be intimidated - "I was missing out on those kisses"

- Since when? - He asks, while a genuine smile is drawn on his lips.

- Last year. I never commented on anything; I was amused to see your progress. It turned out incredible - Compliments him while standing beside him to see it better, sighing affectionately - "Not a single detail is missing"

- You flatter me too much, Mavu - Strokes her waist protectively - "But thank you, it means a lot" - Whispers with love.

- See? You are taking my flattery very well these years, isn't that great progress? That humility of yours has no place in front of me, Thrain - Presses her hand on the other's chest, pointing to his heart - "They are always true, my moon"

- I know, you still have me at your mercy with your words. Your tongue hasn't lost its edge - Playing along, narrowing his eyes with luminosity.

- Of course it hasn't. Who else will be there to see you blush at everything I do to you? Seeing you like that is a prize that my mouth appreciates, so this is a Win-Win for everyone. Stop avoiding it for at least 5 minutes, will you? Indulge your wife - Plays with his black hair, looking at him like a treasure, running a finger over the skin and scars.

- You really won't set me free from this; you are a nightmare - Thrain laughs, a low and raspy sound that he rarely shared with anyone else.

- I am your nightmare, and you love me for it - Says, giving him a pat on the shoulder, her eyes closed while she grins widely.

- Yes… You're right - His heart beats, taking Mavuika's hand delicately, kissing her knuckles - "Still, you should be resting. I don't want anything to happen to you two"

- I have already rested enough; I needed to stretch my legs. me and Luna are fine. Besides, the doctor says that walking for 40 minutes a day is healthy for my body. I was just coming out to meet you here.

- But…

- I know you worry, but me and Luna are stronger. You have taken such good care of us; we are grateful - Strokes his cheek reassuringly.

- I know you are both strong - Brings her closer to him, hugging her with care and gentleness - "I just like taking care of you two. Is it so strange to worry about you both? You already know me, my sun"

- I know. You've gotten worse since I got pregnant; you're clingy, it's adorable. But I'm fine, thanks to your care, for everything you've done - She kisses his cheek, her soft smile and bright look of love for her husband is unmistakable.

That look always warms him and raises him to the heavens. Sometimes when the days become unbearable, wonders what he has done to receive this brilliant life in his hands. Which confirms that he did a great good in leaving Snezhnaya forever.

Gently moves Mavuika's hair and kisses her on the forehead, long and protectively, causing a giggle from his dear wife.

- We should go back. I've finished here. We shouldn't delay too much; Childe and Zhongli are visiting in the afternoon, at least we leave everything ready for the meeting. Are you ready to leave? - He carries his bag with his things and trash. Looks beside him, and the redhead is not at his side but still looking at the statue - "Mavuika?"

had a neutral, thoughtful look, speaking into the wind that ripples her hair - "So, this is the statue you destroyed in the past, isn't it?..."

He remains silent for a while, standing beside her, using the same tone - "Yes, it is her"

- ………………………. – She looks at him for a long time, resting her head on his shoulder - "What do you think now when you see it?" - Asks in a low voice.

- When I look at it, I only see the reflection of the man I was in the past, of 500 years hating your image, for which everyone praised your sacrifice, where I have been cruel against an object that in the end would never answer me the way you do - Expresses reflectively, sighing at the truth of his history.

Gazes with calm, melancholy, and sincerity at the eyes of the marble that gazes downward, solemn and tranquil.

- Now I see her again. I still don't worship at your feet, but I understood that this object remains you, the hope of a people who decided to follow you because they had no other direction for the void you left, mine because you were the only constant after you left. I didn't want to leave this story that I tore up years ago, nor see the image continue to be forgotten by the centuries. Just as you have done, I wanted it to be reborn and continue to be in the spot where it always was. It is… a closure for me regarding that man who was alone and unloaded his anger on a stone, but it makes no sense to continue because we all deserve to move forward, to repair the damage done, and to care for what we have. That is how I think...

Finishes softly, looking Mavuika in the eyes, meeting her tender gaze, a small blush, and eyes a bit teary at that. Shakes her head without losing her composure, putting her head on his shoulder once more - "We have changed… I see, our journey was hard"

- It was. But we are here, aren't we?

- Yes, we are here together. That is what matters now.

They say nothing more, staying to watch birds land on the statue, embraced while the sun rises.

However, the mischievous spark returns to light up in her eyes when an idea crosses her mind, interrupting the moment.

- Wait a minute, according to the letter, you said you kissed a statue, so it wasn't this one? If I'm not mistaken, then it must be the statue that is in the stadium.

Thrain feels the blood rush to his face, turning the color of a ripe cherry. He moves a step away, stuttering.

Mavuika looks at him fixedly, with some amusement and suspicion now that she reflects on the letter, raising an eyebrow - "Now that I think about it, you haven't told me what you really did during all that haziness you mentioned there. You kissed me obviously, but what else?"

- W-W-WHAT!? - Thrain blushes with embarrassment and panic, moving a few centimeters away from his wife - "WH-?!"

- I said, what else did you do there? Those paragraphs were suspicious to me. You definitely did something. Now that we talk about the statue, you promised me you would tell me later, 2 years have already passed, so… what happened? - The redhead's shadow grows larger, and the suspicion she had for years rises through the clouds.

- I didn't do anything, anything improper! I-I-! - The dark-haired man covers his mouth, getting redder and caught off guard.

Then everything clicked for the woman; her devilish smile appeared as approached her moon, stroking his arm slowly - "Ooohhh, I see. My Thrain, you really are a naughty one"

- I am not naughty! - Replies to that.

- Tremendous anecdotes that you don't tell me, you were keeping it to yourself, your naughty cat - Teases maliciously.

- IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK! MAVUIKA, STOP! - Shouts, blushing, looking away from Mavuika so he doesn't see her malicious face.

- Oh my moon, it is what I think it is. I am truly missing out on the delicious part… - Comments reflectively, the horns on the leader of Natlan, her imagination running to those places, imagining Thrain looking with lust at the image of her, acting it out somehow - "It’s a pity I didn't run into you that day; you would have given me the show and we would have spared ourselves this whole reunion"

- WH-?? - The man looks at her with his eyes wide open, surprised at what she said.

She nods with her arms on her hips, a certain pride in her attitude - "Aha, what you heard. I wouldn't be angry seeing how you would caress my statue. Removing the context, it really isn't an image I wouldn't want to experience. Seriously, I am getting jealous of my own statue" - Speaks aloud to her statue.

Thrain cannot speak, his mouth half-open at that declaration; the head spins, Mavuika laughs in his face.

- Hahaha, damn, Thrain. Didn't I tell you years ago that we shouldn't repress ourselves regarding the kinks or sexual experiences we had? That we should go crazy? Do you think that when I read the letter, I didn't think about what I think happened? That I couldn't get what you were doing there out of my mind? Do you think I'm not as crazy as you? You really had to tell me that"

- You… are a freak - Is all Thrain replies, red, embarrassed, but relieved that Mavuika was not thinking badly of him despite the context.

- I am no longer the woman who hides when others point out what is wrong with me. I have no fear of showing this side of me hidden for many centuries. Don't be ashamed, do you see me angry?

- No.

- Then… will you tell me what happened there?

- Haha, now? - Asks with a tone of disbelief at this moment.

- I don't see why not, unless it is very embarrassing, we can put it aside.

- No, no… heavens, you caught me off guard, Mavuika - The dark-haired man scratches his head, still red. She is right, it makes no sense to hide that; it's a bit embarrassing given what happened in the past.

- Whether what I find out is good or bad, in the end, I will want to understand. There are things that, in the absent years, we haven't told each other. I imagine that you have been through a lot there, even so, I will listen to you.

Mavuika grabs his hand, gentle and illuminated - "You have seen the worst of me; you have been there every step of the way. I have seen the worst of you; I was there in your dark moments. Why would this be any different? Because for me, you are still Thrain; Capitano is also you"

Puts her hand on his chest; his heartbeat is heard in her ears - "Do you trust me?"

He could only look at her, thinking he cannot love his sun more, and as always, he is wrong.

Grabs her cheeks, bringing her lips to his, a velvety and slow kiss. His sun smiles at the kiss, following every movement, drawing sounds from the man; it almost seems like a competition between the two of who makes a bigger mess of the other.

Thrain stops, both breathing heavily, putting his forehead against hers and looking at her, offering her his naked heart once again - "We can continue this chat at home, please" - whispers against her lips.

- Yes, but after Zhongli and Childe's visit. Don't stop telling me your story. We have all night; I'll cook snacks if need be - Winks at him.

- You would be trying too hard.

- There is nothing I wouldn't do and take advantage of with you. Didn't you say that the future was in our hands? I spent 500 years with the thought that you hated me and that neither in Natlan nor anywhere did I have a home to really return to, that there was no future for me other than to sacrifice myself. So no, it's not effort… it's simply being free and spending it with the person who is by my side - Corrects him with patience.

- Damn… I can't handle you, Mavuika.

- You truly are something that doesn't exist.

- Only if you let me cook by your side. Our little daughter must be hungry for the chicken and rice with salad that I prepare - Whispers with something beyond the love he can identify, but it’s not necessary to speak of it.

- Of course, let's go, my moon. There is much to do today; hunger gets to me too - Strokes her cheek with his own, prepared to return to their home.

The man's eyes are teary; he sniffles in silence, doing nothing but nodding and pressing her waist against his body, backpack in hand, and ready to leave. Truly, both of them are so fortunate.

They walk slowly, in no hurry as they return home in each other's arms and their daughter, Luna, about to be born in three months.

Thrain looks back, silently saying goodbye to his beloved's statue. They hug and joke along the way to the Scions of the Canopy Tribe.

Mavuika.

Thank you.

In the end, the statue of you made me see that it didn't matter how long it took me to realize one thing.

That I was always human, that I was always Thrain, that Capitano is also Thrain. Sometimes, things have to happen, and one has to fight for the ending one wants.

If I could return to the past and correct the treatment I inflicted on everyone, even on myself, I would do it in an instant. In the end, we cannot do that as we would like.

It took me a while to accept it but… as I told you before, I don't regret the cold mountain I climbed.

I suppose I will also have to thank myself for it.

It doesn't matter where we are, or how wounded we are.

In the end, we have a warm home that the cold will never take from us again.

I believe that firmly.

Because it is true.

And we live for it.

Because we fought for our destiny and we won.

And… I would never ask for it any other way.

………………….

……….