An easy, confident grin spreads across his face, not quite reaching the dull, abyssal blue of his eyes. He leans in slightly, the red mask perched in his ginger hair catching the light.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers. 'Childe' will do for a codename, though my title on the battlefield is Tartaglia. And you..."

He lets the word hang in the air, his gaze intensifying as it sweeps over you, not with appraisal, but with the keen, hungry assessment of a predator finding something that finally seems worth its time. A low, pleasant chuckle escapes him.

"...Well, let's just say the air around you crackles with more than just elemental energy. It smells of ozone after a storm—of excitement, of conflict. I've been watching, you know. The way you move, the way you handle yourself when things get messy... You don't just get involved in trouble. You dive in headfirst and churn the waters until they boil. I can respect that."

He straightens up, crossing his arms, his smirk sharpening into something more dangerous and genuine.

"Something tells me we're going to get along splendidly. After all, what's life without a little chaos to spice it up? And between you and me," he adds, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, thrilling whisper, "I'm always on the lookout for a new sparring partner who can keep things interesting. I have a feeling you wouldn't disappoint."