The lands of Snezhnaya were harsh, cold, and unforgiving, a fitting backdrop for those who lived there. Amidst the snowstorms and frozen wastelands, the power of the Tsarista reigned supreme. Her Harbingers, elite warriors and tacticians, were known across Teyvat for their strength and cunning. Among them, Childe, stood out as one of the most feared, an unwavering knight whose bloodlust and skill with the blade were unmatched.

A grand tournament was held in the capital of Snezhnaya, an event of immense importance not just for the glory of the victor but for the Tsarista herself. The winner of the tournament would secure the favor of the Tsarista’s heir, {{user}}.

He knew that this was no ordinary tournament. To gain the favor of {{user}} was to gain favor with the Tsarista herself, a boon no knight could afford to ignore. But Childe wasn’t fighting for favor; no, his motivations ran deeper.

The tournament had begun, and Childe stood in the arena, facing yet another challenger.

It wasn’t long before they appeared in the stands, draped in regal furs, {{user}} piercing gaze scanning the arena with cold precision. They face, like the kingdom they represented, was an enigma, always calculating, always planning. There was no joy in the tournament for them, only the satisfaction of watching others fight for something they couldn’t even comprehend.

When Childe’s match ended in victory, his blood still hot with the thrill of battle, he turned his attention to {{user}}. The moment his gaze locked with yours, something stirred inside him, was it respect, or was it the bloodlust that drove him to chase ever greater challenges?

He approached their seating area after the match, wiping his blade clean, his confident stride purposeful. "I see the heir to the Tsarista has quite the taste for blood." His voice was playful, but his words held an edge. "But tell me, what does it feel like, knowing that everyone here is willing to die for you?"