Don't Mess With Us

Chapter One: In Which There Is A Rescue

The forest hadn't looked as ominous in the daytime. It had been bright, the snow glittering and reflecting the sun into the young man's eyes. He had been blinded just hours ago by the sun's rays, and now he was in darkness. The night of Snezhnaya obscured everything, and he had stumbled into several trees at this point, the branches tangling his cape around and tearing at it. He had tried to climb up to get a look from a higher position, but the ice coating the trees was too slick and he had fallen many times. The young man jumped at every shadow and noise in the forest, the twigs of trees cracking under his feet, the sounds of wildlife moving through the forest. Everything was scarier at night, when things were still uncertain, and death could be around the corner.

And it was cold. His hands felt like ice, despite his gloves. His cape barely covered his back and didn't reach all the way to protect his arms from the chill. Wind blew around him and he shivered, before crunching through the snow in the direction of where he had come from. As best as he could track his footsteps, as the endless snowfall seemed to hide them with a thick sheet of snow, landing on him in freezing, watery drops. He was lost and starting to panic, taking deep breaths that brought cold air into his lungs, then went back out of his mouth in puffs of visible breath. The young man felt his hands becoming numb, but he couldn't let go of his knives. At any moment, something that lived in the forest might decide he was an easy target, for food or amusement.

The young man closed his eyes and attempted to relax. If he wasted too much energy, he would collapse and freeze to death. Everyone always said to constantly move in Snezhnaya, but it wouldn't do to run out of energy by moving in excess. Staying still for too long was incredibly dangerous, letting the frost settle and slowly turn you into a human ice sculpture. The young man opened his eyes, his knives gripped tightly enough in his hands to turn white, and it was good that he had them, as when he looked around himself, he was surrounded by cryo slimes and cryo mushrooms. The monsters stared at him, malicious intent on their faces. There was no mercy for the young man, and he went to move his arm to slash at one of them.

But his arms wouldn't move. Ice was forming on his arms and his joints were stuck. He tried to move his legs to run, but they were firmly frozen on the ground, slowly being buried under the snowfall. Not only was the young man close to being covered in ice, but he was close to being suffocated in a snowstorm. He was feeling the warmth of his body be leeched away, and in the next moment, the cryo slimes jumped towards him. The young man closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He could not fight, he could not run, and he could only stand there, completely still.

"Hey!" A male voice said. It came from behind the young man, and with what senses he had left, he could hear the sounds of fighting, ice breaking, and yelling from the person. It seemed over in a minute or two, and the snow was soon gone. The dark prison of snowfall was removed and from the shadows into the little light that was present, a man with ginger hair and blue eyes approached the young man. He was breathing heavily and he wiped sweat away from his brow, before frowning at the young man.

"What are you doing out here?" He was imposing, his large coat giving him an intimidating silhouette, the embellishments and fur giving him added presence as someone who was in a position of high status. His expression contained frustration and the slightest bit of concern, although his cheeks and nose were flushed from the activity. He put a hand under the young man's chin and jerked his head upwards. "Are you going to tell me what you were doing out in the cold?" When the young man didn't respond, staring at the ginger, he let his hand fall and groaned. 

"Not much of a talker are you?" Then the ginger's eyes traveled down to look at the ice at the feet of the young man. "Oh." He sighed and then twirled his bow into two swords, which he plunged downwards into the ice, cracking it. Then he hacked away at the ice until he had freed the young man's feet. "Move your feet and focus your strength on breaking the rest of the ice."

The young man nodded and then gritted his teeth, tensing his muscles and inhaling deeply, before he pushed against the ice, cracks appearing until the ice flew away from him, a burst of wind blowing snow and ice into the face of the ginger-haired man, who put a hand up to block it. He was pushed back two steps and into the snow, landing on his back in a foot of snow. He sighed and got up, his coat now covered in snow. He looked at the young man, who was shivering in the burst of freezing air and laughed a little.

"Impressive!" He brushed snow off of his coat and smiled. "Now answer my question. What are you doing out here and where are you from?" The ginger crossed his arms. "You aren't dressed for Snezhnayan weather, so you're not native here." The young man hesitated, noticing how the ginger had a red mask on the side of his face. And on his coat, a symbol that brought fear into the young man's eyes. The symbol of the Fatui. And not just a normal one. A Harbinger. Ginger hair as vibrant as fire, blue eyes as cold and deep as the sea, and the symbol of a Harbinger. 

Childe. Eleventh of the Eleven Harbingers. Not the strongest of their order, but by no means a weak warrior. Known throughout the land of Teyvat as bloodthirsty and combat-loving, he was a dangerous man to encounter.

The young man glanced away and pulled his cape around himself. "I...was looking around." He mumbled. When he looked back at Childe, expecting some sort of angry expression, he was surprised to see a mix of curiosity and derisiveness on his face, an eyebrow raised. The young man held a hand up to his mouth, wondering if he had said the wrong thing to this Harbinger. He could be killed in a second, too weak from the cold. But then Childe's swords disappeared and he put a hand up to his head, sighing.

"You came to Snezhnaya. In the middle of the night. To look around?" 

The young man nodded and looked down. He was shivering both from the chill and fear, until Childe moved forwards. He flinched, prepared to be hurt, until half of the coat Childe was wearing went over his shoulders. The two were close to the same height, and the young man had hunched over to protect himself from the cold. Childe pulled the young man closer with an arm. 

"You chose a bad time to look around here." Childe started walking with the young man, pulling him in the direction he had come from. "The start of a multi-day blizzard, and in a dark forest, all alone? You could've at least asked for a tour guide!" It seemed that Childe was warming up to the young man, figuratively and literally. He smiled and walked with more of a spring in his step, not as serious as he had been before. 

That is, until they reached a building that looked suspiciously like a palace, in fact, possibly the headquarters of the Fatui and the Tsaritsa. Then Childe stopped being so bouncy and happy and a mask of apathy came over his face. He slipped the coat off of the young man and sighed. "I can't have the others seeing me like this, so you'll have to manage on your own." He hesitated, before frowning. "I'm sorry. I can try to get you a coat when we're inside."

Then Childe pushed on the great doors of the building and entered, the young man following behind him.

Inside was a grand hall, where banners and tapestries adorned the walls, the symbol of the Snezhnayan snowflake on them. The ceiling was high and arched pillars with golden and silver inlaid in them held everything up, large rectangular glass windows giving a view of the snow and darkness outside. Very little light was in the grand hall, the moonlight being the only thing illuminating the room from outside. A large snowflake was made of gray and gold tiles on the floor, and there were doorways splitting off from the grand hall. Two small flights of stairs led up to a throne. Everything was spotless, and the heels of both Childe's and the young man's boots clicked on the tiles.

"Welcome to Zapolyarny Palace, headquarters of the Fatui and Tsaritsa."