The qualifications of a Fatui Harbinger are more of a concept than anything truly substantial.

They all harbor exceptional prowess in strife, of course, in the sense that they are capable of resolving it eventually.

They all pledge allegiance to the Tsaritsa, although some allegiances are less devoted than others.

And above all, they are all worthy in the Tsaritsa’s eyes in some way.

Either that, or they killed the previous Harbinger, although that is a way of proving one’s worthiness on its own.

The Harbingers are ranked by their power in the essence of its most potent form; the further one is from one, the weaker they are.

And yet, it seems strangely off-putting that these cultivated executives still manage to set kitchens aflame.

“I do not understand,” Il Capitano mutters, “How did I manage to cause a fire if my vision is Cryo?”

“A question of great intrigue,” Il Dottore replies, not caring in the slightest, “Perhaps I should explore this concept further. I wonder if I still have any vision-bearing specimens; perhaps a few delusions could simulate this effect.”

“This is why we rarely assemble gatherings together,” Arlecchino remarks calmly.

Sandrone hums her agreement.

The oven seethes black fumes in response to it all.

So much for Snezhnaya’s culinary developments.