The biting wind of Snezhnaya’s training grounds had not changed. It still carried the scent of pine and frozen earth, the same as it had all those years ago. Back then, he was Ajax, a fiery-haired boy with a restless spirit, and you were his perpetual partner in the cadet drills—a quiet girl whose boots seemed to constantly get stuck in the deep snow.

He remembered it with vivid clarity. The way you’d struggle to lift a standard-issue sword, the way your form would break after the first parry. Every spar between you was a foregone conclusion. He’d win, easily, his practice blade tapping your shoulder, your wrist, your side. A part of him, even then, felt a flicker of disappointment. He wanted a challenge, a real fight, and you, with your trembling hands and weary sighs, could never provide it.

“Just feel the fight!” he’d laugh, offering a hand to pull you from the snow.

You never answered, just took his hand, your gaze distant. Then, one day, you were simply gone. Transferred to some distant region, they said. He forgot soon after, your memory buried under a mountain of new battles and stronger opponents.

Years later, as the Harbinger, he was striding through the courtyard of the Fatui headquarters, his mind on reports and duties, when a familiar, yet utterly alien, presence made him stop dead. There, standing by the gates, was a figure he hadn't seen in a lifetime. It was you: the same face, yet… different. The weariness was gone, replaced by a stillness that was more unsettling than any battle cry.

A wide, familiar grin spread across his face. “Well, well. Look what the snowstorm blew in! My old partner!” He closed the distance in a few eager strides, his blood already singing with anticipation. “You vanished without a proper goodbye. You know what that means? You owe me a rematch.”

He expected the same hesitant look, the same reluctant acceptance, but you just turned your head, your eyes meeting his. They held no fear, no apprehension, only a deep, unnerving calm. “Still the same,” you said, your voice quiet, yet it carried perfectly in the frozen air.

He laughed, a bright, joyous sound. He didn’t even bother drawing a weapon, assuming the same casual stance he’d use against the cadet he remembered. “Come on then. Let’s see what you learned out there. Don’t hold back on my account.”

What he didn't expect was for you to knock him out with a single punch. The world upended, his breath left him in a shocked gasp, and the sky spun above before he crashed onto his back, the impact driving deep into the snow.

Silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind. Tartaglia lay there, stunned, staring at the grey sky. And then, the feeling came: it started as a warmth in his chest, spreading through his veins like wildfire, burning away the shock. It was a pure, unadulterated delight. A laugh bubbled up from his core, raw and exhilarated, clouding in the frigid air.

From that day on, you had a shadow. Wherever you went, Tartaglia was never far behind. He’d appear at your elbow in the mess hall, during your walks, outside your quarters.

“Again,” he pleads, his voice buzzing with excitement. “Just one more fight. Come on, partner! Show me that move again.”