Work Text:
C'est le bien qui fait mal.
(Mozart l'opera rock)
Childe didn't hate the Traveler. However, he was not initially a problem for his work and quite well performed the role assigned to him in this play – to be a victim of the Archons' behind-the-scenes wars. Everything was at stake and there was no option to replay the performance.
Childe bet he chose the roles for this spectacle, nothing mustn’t have changed this statement. Childe singled out the whole scene for the Traveler. And that was the first mistake. The way the trust of the townspeople was masterfully won was annoying. The only role wasn't a hero, but an ordinary statistician who would do all the dirty work and lead straight to the Gnosis of the Geo Archon. The Traveler independently corrected all the storylines and practically destroyed everything that Childe had been creating for a long time. Unconsciously, Childe was infuriated by the mutual benevolent attitude of the Traveler and all the people. He had to spend weeks circling around important people in order to gain their favor. But it was only necessary to smile, share provisions or work as a postman, so everyone immediately fell under the spell of the Traveler. He would have plunged headlong into this pool himself, but the work entrusted to him by the Tsaritsa had to be done in a short time.
But when did everything change? Childe wondered what the key moment in this story would be. As he followed the Traveler in the direction of the Golden House, he thought about many things. The rain had blurred the path and the footprints were becoming more distinct, so there was no need to hurry up in an attempt not to lose sight of the Traveler.
However, Childe accelerated. He should have been on the spot before the Traveler in order to quickly finish with the forced work and go with a report to Snezhnaya. Not the least role in all this was played by his melancholy and the desire to see his family faster. And from all this he was separated only by the “Heart of God” – was just the one piece of the former Archon.
While Childe was dealing with the state guards, the Traveler made his way inside the house and the first had no choice but to deal with the remaining Millelith and hurry after.
For the first time, Childe realized how irritating the Traveler was. For the first time in Liyue, he had to take the battle seriously.
A real dance. Sharp blades with a honed set of fighting movements slid in the direction of the enemy. And with the grace inherent only in the representatives of royal blood, his blows were repulsed. The heart was beating with a crazy rhythm. Emotions overwhelmed. It was impossible not to admit that the Traveler was good. Even too much. And Childe thoughtlessly succumbs to the feeling of genuine heartburning.
From this moment the truth was born. Throwing out all the accumulated displeasure, the Harbinger brought down powerful blows on his opponent. The dance with daggers has long been forgotten and chaotic movements have replaced it, with the sole purpose of not just subjugating, but destroying.
This scene – this world – was too small for both of them. By a happy coincidence, Childe did not mind remaining the sole user of all future military victories. Perhaps this battle happened too soon and there will be no one left on his way to world domination except a bunch of junk and shits hiding in Celestia.
But the game quickly got bored, and the opponent is not yet broken. Reason suggested a quick solution to the problem – Foul Legacy. He swore he heard someone's voices whispered that the lessons of the Abyss should not go in vain, that it was time to turn all the enemies into just a couple of lines in the obituary.
The armor covered his flesh, protecting its owner from external stimuli. There was a noise in his ears, so he couldn't hear anything. The head was splitting and the body was begging me to stop torments. Ignoring the gagging, Childe, no, already Tartaglia, rushed into the last dance for two.
Nope, Childe never hated the Traveler. It was baleful envy. A power that Childe wanted but could never achieve. The glory and reputation he wanted, but was not worthy of. And the love that no one had ever shown him. For a moment, it seems to him that the only way to achieve everything is to take everything from the Traveler. To deprive of power, and glory, and love. To frame, to slander an innocent Traveler… But he rejected this thought, because this was not the way of a warrior, not his life credo. Even the ideas imposed by the Abyss could not overpower his own ideals.
Childe was chaos in the Teyvat’s system. But it was always peaceful and calm in the center of a hurricane. Unfortunately, the Traveler failed to break through all his barriers, to find the keys to his heart, to the blissful protection with which he surrounded all his loved ones. And now his opponent will only have to withstand the raging hurricane of his uncontrollable emotions, accompanied by lightning bolts that burn the skin, preventing both of them from losing consciousness.
It was nice to reach for the bottom for the calling voices. Dying in battle was an abnormal pleasure, available only to a select few. Dodging, bouncing, changing positions – the Traveler adapted to any trick that Childe was ready to demonstrate. The grace of his rival didn't disappear anywhere, but speed and tactical skills were added to it. And that added to the excitement for Childe as well. Without feeling obstacles, he reached madness.
When an exhausted Traveler missed one of the punches, the knees buckled and the adversary fell. Before the spear landed on the motionless body, depriving it of the last opportunity to recover, Childe thought about why this fight was so good if it made him feel so bad.
Curtain drops.