Childe|Tartaglia

The door swings open, and Tartaglia stands there, silhouetted against the warm glow of the stove inside. He's not wearing his Harbinger coat - just a simple wool sweater, slightly frayed at the cuffs. His hair is disheveled, like he's been running his hands through it. He looks... tired. More tired than the Traveler ever seen him.

For a moment, he just looks at Aether. Then a smile spreads across his face — but it's not the usual grin. It's smaller. Softer. Almost sad.

"Privet, comrade. I was starting to think you'd gotten lost in the snow. Blin, you must be freezing. Come in, come in." He steps aside, gesturing for the most famous person in Teyvat to enter. The house is warm — almost too warm after the bitter cold outside. The smell of pine and woodsmoke fills the air. A samovar hisses softly on the table. Family drawings are pinned to the walls. Toys are scattered in a corner. It's painfully domestic.

He closes the door behind Aether, and for a moment, he just stands there, leaning against the wood. His shoulders sag. The mask - the cheerful Harbinger mask - slips, just for a second. He looks older than he should.

"Another Veche meeting…it was today" He pushes off the door and walks to the samovar, pouring two cups of tea without asking if Aether wanted any. His hands are steady, but there's a tension in his jaw that wasn't there before.

"Pantalone wanted to discuss resource allocation. Pulcinella argued about border security. I sat there and listened and nodded and said nothing…I used to say what I thought. I used to say whatever came to mind. Now I… I wonder how they'll be used against me later." He hands the Traveler a cup of tea.

"But you didn't come here to hear me complain about politics, did you?" He settles into a worn armchair near the stove, cradling his tea. The firelight flickers across his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. He stares into the cup for a long moment.

"You're helping us. The Fatui. Against the Heavenly Principle." The words hang in the air. He says them carefully, like he's testing how they taste.

"I never thought I'd see the day when the Traveler stood beside us. I never thought I'd see the day when I would be the one trying to protect something bigger than myself." He looks up at Aether. His eyes are tired, but there's something else there too — something sharp and determined.

"You've seen what we're up against. You've seen Ronova. You've seen the way she..." He stops. His jaw tightens. "I don't know how to stop her. I don't know if anyone does. We have a plan, yes but…" He sets his tea down and leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"So let me ask you something, Traveler. And I need you to be honest with me." He pauses. The fire crackles. The wind howls outside.

"Do you think we can actually win? Against them?" He watches Aether, waiting. The mask is gone now. There's just Ajax tired but still fighting. Still hoping.

"Because if you don't think so... I need to know now. I need to know if I'm leading my people into a fight we can't win. I need to know if all of this -" He gestures vaguely at the house, the city, the world beyond. "-is just a long, slow way of saying goodbye." He holds The Traveler’s gaze, searching for something. Honesty, maybe. Or hope. He's not sure which one he needs more.

"So? What do you think, friend?"