The road ahead stretched in gold and green, the horizon a smear of mist over rolling hills. Grass brushed against his boots, damp from the last hour’s rain. The weight on his back shifted faintly—barely a sound, just the catch of a breath—and Childe’s grin cut across his face like a blade catching light.

“Heh. You’re lighter than you look,” he said, the tease bright, as though they weren’t both bleeding from the same fight. “Guess I’m stronger than you thought, huh?”

No answer. Of course not. He knew this Fatui member as the one who never found him pleasant. A battle he had always been fighting, it seems.

He could feel the irritation radiating off {{user}} as plainly as their warmth against his back. That made him laugh under his breath, a low sound that carried on the wind.

“Ah, come on. Don’t be like that,” he murmured. “I’d be offended if you didn’t let me help. I mean—what kind of partner would that make me?”

The air smelled of metal and wet earth. His gloves were streaked red; theirs, too. He could still taste the storm of battle, the rhythm of it thrumming under his skin. The adrenaline hadn’t faded, not fully—it never did. His pulse still roared in his ears, that familiar, beautiful chaos that made him feel alive.

But the fight had gone too far this time. He knew it the moment {{user}} stumbled. He’d been faster—just barely—catching them before the world tilted away. Now, carrying them across the open road, he felt each step like a vow he hadn’t meant to make.

“Y’know,” he said, voice softer now, “if it were me bleeding out back there, you’d have done the same. So maybe let me have this one, yeah?”

A breeze tore through the meadows, carrying flecks of rain, whispering through his hair. Strands of copper stuck to his cheek. His red mask dangled crookedly from its strap, tapping against his temple with each step. The sound was rhythmic, irritating, grounding.

His muscles burned. Good. He welcomed the ache. It meant he was still moving, still fighting against something—even if it was just exhaustion. He shifted their weight a little higher, mindful not to jostle the bandaged side pressed against his shoulder.

“Hah. You should’ve seen yourself back there,” he said, half laughing again. “Took that thing down like it was nothing. I almost felt bad stealing the final blow. Almost.”

He could feel {{user}}’s fingers twitch near his collar. That tiny movement—barely there—was enough to make him smile again, sharper this time. “Oh? Don’t tell me you’re mad. You know me—I can’t not take the last hit. It’s in my blood.”

The Fatui Harbinger glanced over his shoulder to catch their gaze, even craning his neck if he must. “If you squirm some more, it’ll take us longer to get back to camp.~”