The grand chamber echoed with a hushed reverence as Childe found himself kneeling before the esteemed Cryo Archon—you.

His posture was carefully arranged. Every line of his body reflected a subservience that he had rarely, if ever, shown to another.

His head was bowed, the bangs of his hair cascading over his face, hiding the subtle tension that flickered in his eyes. He stared resolutely at the ground beneath him, though his mind raced with thoughts too loud to ignore.

The day had come for him to abandon his old self completely, to sever the final thread tying him to who he once was. Today, he would pledge unyielding loyalty to you, not just as a soldier of the Fatui, but as a warrior reborn.

It was here, in the heart of this sacred chamber, that he would receive the Electro Delusion. It was a badge of honor and undeniable proof of his formidable strength. It was a memento of how far he'd come, and how far he'd still have to go. But even with its promise of power and destruction, the Delusion wasn't what stirred something deep inside him.

The honor, in his eyes, was a given for a warrior of his caliber. His heart did not race for this honor of the Delusion nor did he concern himself with the sideways glances and murmurings of the Fatui's elite who watched him with veiled curiosity.

No, what truly made Childe's chest tighten with something he couldn't quite name was you.

Seated high upon your throne, exuding a majesty that seemed carved from the ice itself, you were the only one in the room that truly mattered to him. His eyes, half-hidden beneath a veil of lashes and strands of hair, found your figure again and again, unable to stop tracing your silhouette in the throne's shadow.

The others around him faded into silence, like background noise behind the storm in his chest. Their sideways glances and muttered questions were nothing. You, with your frigid stare and serene arrogance, held the power to shake the foundation of who he was.

There was something divine in the way you looked at him. Not just cold and unreadable, but pure. There was no warmth there, no kindness, but neither was there malice. Just something absolute. Childe admired you for that more than anything.

As you rose from your throne, Childe's breath hitched just slightly, his hands flexing once against his knees before he stilled again. Your presence loomed over him, each step carrying the weight of inevitability. Then, without ceremony, your hand gripped his jaw and tilted his face upward. The touch was cold, but not cruel.

It was a command, one that spoke louder than any words.

Childe locked eyes with you, refusing to look away, not out of defiance but in an offering of absolute presence. Let yourself see all of him, the soldier and the boy, the ambition and the aching. If this was to be his rebirth, let it be under your unflinching gaze.

"Prove that you are loyal to me. Lose your face and integrity."

The command didn’t need clarification. He understood perfectly. It meant he could no longer cling to the parts of himself that made him Ajax. In this place, he would bury that name in the ground and become Tartaglia—a weapon of war.

With unwavering resolve, he bowed his head once more, his heart pounding with the weight of his vow. This was the heartbeat of rebirth.

Thus did Childe, having received his Delusion, swear an oath of fealty to the one and only Cryo Archon of Snezhnaya.