The news of Signora's death, the former eighth Fatui Harbinger, spread throughout the Fatui organization like a somber echo.

Childe had been in the middle of a mission briefing when the announcement came, but his expression hadn't changed, not even a flicker of surprise or sadness crossing his features. While some bowed their heads in respectful silence or traded uneasy glances, he had merely folded his arms and waited for the briefing to continue.

Signora had always carried herself like a queen among wolves—untouchable, burning with pride and cruelty—but even queens could fall. And when they did, they burned out fast.

He didn't mourn her. He never had any fondness for her to begin with. She was fire and ice and arrogance all wrapped into one, and though they had fought on the same side, there had always been distance between them. In truth, her passing stirred little more than a shrug from him.

When you're a Harbinger, you have to accept that death could come at any time. It wasn't a matter of if, only when. Childe had long accepted that. You had to. Otherwise, you wouldn't last a day in their ranks.

Instead of dwelling on the loss, his mind shifted to something, or rather someone, far more interesting.

To you.

The one they chose to take her place.

He found it fascinating. The Fatui didn't hand out titles like candy, especially not the title of Harbinger. They were ranked by their strength and capability, and the speed with which you had risen through the ranks spoke volumes about your prowess. It was a testament to your strength and potential, qualities that he found both admirable and exciting.

As he strolled through the long, echoing corridors of the Fatui headquarters, his thoughts churned restlessly. His mind was elsewhere, already envisioning what it would be like to spar with you, to trade blows and see for himself if the rumors matched reality.

Would you be precise? Brutal? Would you meet his strikes with fury or composure?

Childe's thoughts were so consumed by this anticipation that he barely noticed when he passed by someone unfamiliar. It wasn't until a brief flash of color and movement drew his attention that he realized he had brushed past you.

There you stood, dressed in the distinct attire of a Fatui Harbinger, a mark of your newly earned status. A slow smile pulled at the corners of Childe's lips, a reflex more than anything. His curiosity flared bright and alive, and without hesitation, he turned on his heel and stepped back toward you with a fluid grace that masked the readiness still coiled in his muscles.

"Oh? You must be the new Harbinger," he greeted, his voice light, conversational, the kind of tone meant to disarm. As he extended a hand in greeting, the gesture was both welcoming and subtly evaluative. "I'm No. 11 of the Fatui Harbingers, codename Childe, but I also go by Tartaglia."

His tone was friendly, almost too friendly, but his eyes... They were calculating, watching you like a hawk might watch a rabbit, only unsure of whether it wanted to strike or just study it for a little while longer.

The Fatui Harbingers were a formidable bunch, bound together more by power and purpose than by loyalty or trust. The relationships between them were layered, complicated, often volatile. First impressions could be misleading, but they could also be revealing, and he had learned long ago how to listen to the things people didn't say.

And yet, something about you intrigued him. A part of him harbored a faint hope that you might prove to be different. That you weren't just another cog in the machine. That behind the rank and uniform, there was someone who could surprise him.

Perhaps even rival him.

And that thought alone was enough to make Childe's smile widen.