Remember Me at Summer's End [ZhongChi/TartaLi]

Chapter 1 - Clash of Titans

27th Day, 8th Month

The ocean heaves in an angry tempest as Childe trudges up the cliffside. Here, outside the protection of Liyue Harbor, the rain lashes down: giant, round teardrops plunging from the depressed grey sky, burrowing into his already drenched clothes. It won't be long until history repeats itself, until he's again the villain in the eyes of a nation he's come to call home.

No longer. After today, there will be no redemption for him in the eyes of Liyue's people.

He picks his way across the slick grass as he approaches the edge and takes his position, watching each wave bound higher than the last, a galloping coalescence of flotsam and froth, pounding against the creaking, wooden supports of the docks.

He watches, and waits.

Then it comes, a writhing mass of tentacles and rage, rising from the deep.

An old friend Childe never expected to call upon a second time, but needs must.

A writhing limb thrashes, slamming onto the charcoal sea which rumbles, shudders, and rises in a billowing curtain, climbing upward to crash down upon the abandoned walkways of the harbour.

It's a small relief to see the place evacuated; there's no reason for the ignorant masses to be caught in his schemes once again.

A procession of Millelith scuttle into position, alert and fierce, unaware they are ants to be crushed under the old god's wrath.

History threatens to repeat itself, yet Childe waits.

Osial rears his ugly mass once again, sending forth another fierce tide upon the shore. Today, instead of the Traveller and a chamber in the sky, there is a glint from the clouds — a spark of gold, a heavenly star arriving to save his people from this treacherous ancient god. He arrives in a flash of luminescence, and Childe shields his eyes from the brilliant glow emanating from the figure's divine form.

"Hello, Morax," Childe says, "this'll be a fine chance to see you in action. I'm honoured."

His fingers twitch for what is to come after Osial falls.

"My people," Morax addresses the waiting Millelith, "this is a fight you need not be involved in."

The men exchange confused glances. Morax died during the Rite of Descension, this is what they know, yet he stands before them in his austere glory, and they lower their heads in his presence.

"Depart this place, for there is only bloodshed should you remain." Morax's voice echoes across the landscape. "This foe is my responsibility and mine alone, thus the duty to quell his fury falls to me."

The Millelith fall back at his words, retreating into the labyrinth of the city, and Morax turns to the raging ocean.

"Osial!" His voice is rich with command, and the earth trembles beneath Childe's feet. "This is your sole warning, so heed it well: Leave this place, or you shall force my hand, and I will not hesitate to do what must be done to save this nation."

One of Osial's heads snakes toward Morax, who meets him steadfast and undeterred, a pillar of stability rising through the tempest winds. "Morax," he rumbles, "you would seal me once, you would seal me twice, thrice — as many times as necessary to trap me in that dismal prison you see fit to keep me in. I am not your pet, and I care not for your lies and deception. You are the bane upon this land, the one who bows so cowardly to those false thrones sitting within their false sky, and thus this treacherous city of stone must be swept away for the sea to rule these lands anew."

Morax reacts not to Osial's tirade. He cocks his head to the side in a way that is so very Zhongli and asks, "So, you do not yield?"

"I would sooner yield to a maggot."