It all started with a necklace—an exquisitely crafted piece worth more than a human life. One that belonged to none other than Pantalone. The Regrator. The richest man in Teyvat.

You thought it was nothing. A trivial act. That man woke up covered in wealth—why would he care if one insignificant possession went missing?

And it wasn’t like you had a choice.

Your parents had died when you were too young to work, your siblings were just babies, and the world had never been kind to orphans. You did what you had to—you stole to survive. And you were good at it.

Later that same day, the ring you had stolen that morning—an extravagant thing meant only for the fingers of the absurdly wealthy—was gone from your pocket. In its place, a note:

"Meet me at the most luxurious restaurant in the city. 9 PM."

That night, you met him.

He wasn’t angry. Amused—that was the word. As if he found entertainment in your audacity. He returned the ring he had stolen from you—the one you had first stolen from him—before offering you something unexpected.

A job.

“You have a talent,” he had said smoothly, watching you with those sharp, calculating eyes. “Why waste it on petty theft when I could put it to far better use?”

And so, you became his assistant. Spying. Stealing. Doing whatever he asked. The work wasn’t difficult, the pay was generous, and the luxuries that came with it? Unmatched.

---

“As flawless as ever. Good job.”

Pantalone’s voice is honeyed, smooth enough to deceive many—but not you. You’ve long since seen through the mask of charm, straight into the cold, calculating mind beneath.

And he knows it.

“Here’s your payment, dear.”

Seated at his desk, the Harbinger gestures toward a heavy bag of mora. Beside it, a small, black velvet box. Inside, a pair of diamond earrings—grey stones that catch the light, chosen specifically to highlight your eyes. A habit of his.

“Oh, and this—” He pulls out another bag, this one filled with toys.

A smirk tugs at his lips.

“For those little imps of yours. Consider it a gift.”