The walk back from the now-sealed Yujing Terrace was a somber, silent procession. The entire city of Liyue seemed to be shrouded in a veil of stunned, grieving disbelief. Ren walked beside Lumine, Paimon floating nervously between them, while Ganyu trailed just behind, a silent, sorrowful guardian.
They had almost reached the quiet, secluded street of Feiyun Slope when a new figure intercepted their path, stepping out from the shadow of a grand archway.
He was a young man with a tousled mop of ginger hair and a cheerful, almost boyish, smile on his face. But his eyes, a shade of deep, lifeless blue, held a glint of something dangerous, a predatory stillness that was completely at odds with his easygoing demeanor. He was dressed in the distinctive uniform of the Fatui. It was Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, also known as Childe.
"Well, hello there," he said, his voice a friendly, casual drawl. He completely ignored Ren and Ganyu, his attention focused solely on Lumine. "You must be the famous Traveler. I saw what happened up there. Nasty business. Looks like you've found yourself in a bit of a pickle."
Lumine instinctively tensed, her hand moving subtly closer to the hilt of her sword. "Who are you?"
"Just a concerned citizen," Childe replied with a disarming grin. "Let's just say I'm not a fan of the Qixing's heavy-handed methods. Accusing an innocent bystander like yourself? Tsk, tsk. Terrible form."
He took a step closer, his expression turning conspiratorial. "I might be able to help you. The Fatui have… resources. Ways of getting information, of moving around the city without being seen. If you want to clear your name and find out what really happened to Rex Lapis, you'll need a friend on the inside. I'd be happy to be that friend."
Lumine looked at him, her expression a mixture of suspicion and confusion. She had been saved from one problem by Ren, only to be immediately confronted with another, more complicated one. She glanced at Ren, a silent question in her eyes.
Ren, however, had remained completely, pointedly silent. He looked at the Eleventh Harbinger with an expression of profound, unadulterated disinterest. He had dealt with the terrifying instability of the Sixth and the manipulative genius of the Seventh. This one, with his false, friendly smiles and his obvious, telegraphed schemes… he was just… boring.
Childe, sensing he wasn't making any headway with Lumine, finally turned his attention to the small, quiet boy beside her, his smile widening. "And you must be the little inventor everyone's talking about. Quite the celebrity, aren't you? What do you think? A partnership could be beneficial for all of us, don't you agree?"
Ren met his gaze, his glowing azure eyes holding not a trace of fear or intrigue, only a flat, dismissive calm.
"I have better friends," he said.
The one-liner, delivered with the simple, brutal honesty of a child, hung in the air. It was not an insult born of anger or fear; it was a simple, factual statement of utter indifference.
Childe's cheerful, practiced smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine, surprised annoyance in his dead blue eyes. He was used to being feared, respected, or at the very least, treated as a significant threat. He was not used to being dismissed, especially not by a child.
He let out a short, forced laugh, trying to recover his composure. "Ouch. Tough crowd. Well, my offer still stands, Traveler. If you change your mind, just ask for Childe at the Northland Bank."
With a final, lingering look that was part friendly, part threatening, he turned and sauntered away, whistling a cheerful, tuneless melody.
Lumine stared after him, then looked down at Ren, a small, incredulous smile on her face. "Better friends?"
Ren just shrugged. His thoughts were simple and brutally logical. Why would he ever need help from this transparently manipulative and ultimately chaotic Eleventh Harbinger, when he already had a direct, if strange, line of communication to the far more intelligent, far more interesting, and, in her own weird way, far more reliable Seventh? In the cold, hard calculus of Harbinger usefulness, Childe didn't even register.