Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was an incredibly ordinary day when the realization hit Taras.

He’d just been going about work as usual, carrying crates and other cargo from ships to warehouses and from warehouses to ships, back and forth through the frigid Snezhnayan air amongst the shouts and calls of the wharf — not the most exciting work, but it brought in mora — when all of a sudden he realized: he wanted to go home.

Maybe it was the way the water lapped against the boats or the way the ice cracked in the distance, heralding summer and the (only slightly) warmer months just as it did in Morepesok, or maybe it was the fact that he was doing the same monotonous tasks for the thousandth time, but something about that day made him break.

Or maybe the break had been a long time coming. It’d been ten years since he’d said goodbye to his childhood home and family, after all (if he could even count it as a goodbye; sometimes he regretted leaving nothing but a note, but then again, he didn’t know if he could follow through with his decision if he had to face his little siblings) and he was getting… tired.

Taras missed them. A lot. He realized that, standing there on the docks with workers moving past him. He’d been missing them all for a long time. 

(Okay, maybe he didn’t miss all of them — he didn’t think he could bear seeing his parents again after they spent pretty much all of his childhood ignoring them — but his siblings far outweighed the bad.)

He had no choice but to continue working after the revelation, but it gnawed at the back of his mind all day. 

He paid no mind to his friends calling for him to join them for a drink when work ended as they usually did; there was too much to think about, and he didn’t need a distraction.

When Taras finally returned to his little apartment at the edge of the city with its cramped rooms that felt empty all the same, he’d already finalized the decision to go home to Morepesok.

Snezhnaya City was huge.

Buildings towered over Taras, and people were everywhere, more people than he’d ever seen his life, all in one place.

It was a whole different world compared to Morepesok; it overwhelmed him and took his breath away, crashing over him like a wave.

There could be people from other nations here, far-off places that he’d only ever learned of in school and from the traveling merchants; there could be stores selling wares he’d never even seen. 

It was so much more than the little village he grew up in.

Taras wandered the streets for hours, mouth gaping at everything he saw. He got some strange looks but paid them no mind. He’d never seen these people before and would probably never see them again.

It was a strange feeling, but not exactly an unpleasant one. He could get used to this. 

In a blur of two weeks of staying in inns — cheap ones, nothing like the large and lavish hotels near the center of the city — he secured a job at the wharf and a small apartment. 

It wasn’t in a convenient location, nor was it at all luxurious, but it was affordable, and it was all his. He had no roommate, a relief after eighteen years of living with a large family.

Taras moved in with his few belongings exactly fourteen days after arriving in the city. He found not having much to bring was a benefit, given there wasn’t much space to put anything. There were only two rooms in the apartment: the bathroom, and the main area with a lumpy bed and even lumpier couch, a small table with two chairs, an area for preparing food, a fireplace, and a worn dresser. 

The one window offered no scenic view, instead looking into the windows of a neighboring building. Taras couldn’t see inside them; their blinds were shut, blocking any onlooker’s spying eyes.

He shut his, too. There was no point in keeping them open.

Once he set his things down, he let himself take a deep breath and linger in the moment.

This was his new life; Morepesok felt like a million miles away. 

It was… freeing, almost. 

No, not almost. It was freeing, like he’d finally broken out of a cave where he’d been trapped all his life, and now had the whole entire world to explore. He hadn’t even realized he’d been trapped beforehand — not entirely, at least.

But there was still something holding him back, and it took the form of a note on a table.

Taras remembered it in an instant, a jolt of panic spiking through his chest. He remembered leaving it before he left, telling his family where he was going and promising to send letters and gifts back home. 

He’d just left it at the time to reassure them (and maybe himself) but… it was a promise.

…Maybe he shouldn’t make promises anymore. It had alleviated the guilt of leaving them at the time, but…  there was no good in that if he was only burdened with more guilt due to not following through.

Taras sighed. This was stupid; it was a simple promise, not difficult to follow through with. 

He might as well write back and assure them that everything was alright; he owed his family that much. It wasn’t the end of the world.

He would do it eventually, he told himself. Just… not then.

The night was deep and the shadows dark when Taras finally sat himself at the table. The only light came from the fire, which was burning so low you could hardly call it that, and a candle he’d lit to shed just enough light to write.

Taras’ pen hovered over the paper. He hesitated a moment, unsure of what to say, before finally setting tip to parchment.

“Dear family,” he wrote, then crossed it out and wrote “Dear siblings,” then crossed that out and wrote “Dear paren–”

He didn’t bother finishing the word before scribbling over it, drowning it in black ink until it was impossible to tell what was underneath. 

Taras leaned back in his chair and put his face in his hands, letting out a groan. 

He couldn’t do this.

It was stupid of him, and maybe it made him a bad brother, but, well… he realized he didn’t particularly want to return to Morepesok.

Writing a letter wasn’t going back, but the thought of sending one to his family, letting them know his location, and opening him up for replies… it sent his stomach into turmoil.

His parents wouldn’t drag him back to Morepesok, he knew that — whether that was a good or bad thing, he didn’t want to think about. He just wasn’t sure if he could face his little siblings. 

He didn’t want to go back to taking care of Anthon and Tatiana and Ajax and soon Tonia, too, when their mother decided she didn’t want her at the seamstress’ either. 

At least their mother was there sometimes, he supposed. At least she offered them smiles and occasionally tried to break up conflict.

Their father never bothered except with Ajax; he never assisted except when it came to making mora. Taras remembered him as a presence at the dinner table and someone Ajax would speak of in his stories, but that was all he was. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. 

He only knew that it shouldn’t have been that way, and that he couldn’t face his little siblings after leaving them to deal with it on their own.

…They would be fine without him, anyway. Alexei would... hopefully not let his siblings down, and Tatiana had an independent spirit, and Ajax was a caring kid. Tonia and Anthon would be okay, too.

Taras fed the paper to his fireplace before going to bed. It burned bright and orange, and gave a little heat to the tiny apartment.

He didn’t bother trying to write a letter home again.

It took longer than Taras would’ve liked to secure leave from work and the necessary means to travel to Morepesok. There was no train connected to the little village, leaving him to search for a carriage that was both affordable and willing to take him. 

By the time he was able to finalize the plans, he could feel his resolve slipping a little. Maybe it was a bad idea to make a life-altering decision like this, erasing ten years of distancing on a whim, but he didn’t let himself dwell on those thoughts for too long.

He’d already set everything in motion; there was no going back now. He was merely riding on the momentum until it brought him to wherever he was supposed to be.

His friends gave him odd looks when he told him where he was going. He guessed that was warranted; he hardly ever spoke about his family, and they knew he’d left ten years ago and never gone back. 

They didn’t ask why he was returning now, though, and he was glad for that.

Taras let the inertia of his actions carry him through to Morepesok. He blinked, and his bags were packed for a week’s trip. Blinked again, and he was riding in a carriage down a road he’d traveled once and then never again. 

Everything outside the carriage looked both familiar and not familiar at all; familiar in the sense that there were trees upon trees upon trees, scenery he’d been surrounded by most his life, and not familiar in the sense that he recognized none of them.

He realized he hadn’t prepared for seeing his family again. What would he say? He had no idea. They probably wouldn’t react well no matter what, though; it was only reasonable.

The image of Alexei’s scowl, Tatiana’s avoided gaze, and Ajax’s tears entered his mind, and suddenly he felt the urge to throw up as guilt rippled through his stomach. 

He’d just abandoned them all those years ago, hadn’t he? Would they hate him? Would Tonia and Anthon even remember him? They were so young when he left.

But perhaps the worst image of all was his parents looking at him with disappointment and shaken heads. 

Maybe his mother had finally taken more duties onto herself, maybe his father had finally started to get involved, and all chances he might’ve had were now ruined because of him.

What were the chances, anyway? There was no way they’d changed while he was gone, not after eighteen years. It was selfish of him, he knew; his siblings deserved better.

Still, there was a small part of him that hoped.

Taras tried to think of other things for the rest of the trip: nights out with his friends, festivals in the city, the cat he’d fed for four years; any calming, joyful memory, distinctly not involving anyone from Morepesok.

The carriage ride continued like this for hours until, at last, it came to a shaky stop.

He drew in a deep breath before getting out. He would not break down and leave when he was this close; he would not.

He did keep his eyes glued to the ground as he stepped down, though, training his gaze on his boots and the snow beneath them. Snow was the same everywhere; he could still be in Snezhnaya City if he stayed focused on the ground.

But he couldn’t keep it up forever, he knew. He needed to enter the village at some point, and even if he didn’t, someone would spot him eventually.

So Taras took a deep breath, readied himself mentally, and raised his head.

He sucked in air immediately.

He might’ve forgotten some of the exact details of the town, but looking at it now, everything fell into place, and memories flooded his mind. It was as if Morepesok had been frozen in time, houses and streets perfectly preserved by the frigid temperatures.

It was almost like he’d never left. Almost. 

A wave of nostalgia hit him as he walked towards the village, taking his bags with him. He remembered these streets all too well: running through here with Alexei and their few friends, in later years joined by Tatiana and Ajax, playing tag and other games; buying food and other necessities from the market; spending what little pocket money he had on toys from traveling merchants for himself and his siblings. 

It was late in the day, and there weren’t many people out and about. Taras realized he’d taken the heat generators in Snezhnaya City for granted; memories of huddling inside to stay warm had faded over the past ten years. 

He took a moment to stand in the town square, letting it all wash over him. It was empty, and no one had seen him yet; he supposed that was a good thing. The sun was going down, sending the world closer to darkness and deepening the chill, but let himself stay outside a little longer before inevitably heading home.

Home. Could he call it that now? That’s what it’d been for most of his life, but he wasn’t sure it fit anymore.

“Taras?” 

He whirled around at his name; immediately, his breath left his lungs.

Because there, across the town square and standing in front of him for the first time in ten years, was Tatiana.

The first thing he noticed was how… different she looked. Older. He’d known everyone would’ve grown while he was gone — including himself, he sported a beard now — but seeing the effects of time right there in front of him was certainly a shock to his system.

She was a grown woman now, tall with fully defined features, such a different picture from the fourteen-year-old girl he’d left behind.

But the next thing he noticed, the thing he found both the hardest to face and the most difficult to pull away from, was her blue eyes blown wide with shock. 

Taras swallowed, stepped forward. This was it, then; this was the moment. He opened his mouth, thought of what to say, and after a moment settled on “It’s me.” 

His voice was slightly hoarse; he wondered when the last time he drank water was.

Tatiana continued staring, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Taras didn’t blame her; he was having the same problem himself.

“You’re back,” she finally said. 

He nodded tensely. “I’m back.” He paused. “It’s– good to see you again.” And it was, even if he wasn’t sure what to do.

Tatiana walked forward, closing the gap between them until they were only a couple feet apart. Her eyes took in his entire face; suddenly, her brow creased into a frown. “Where have you been this whole time?!” 

“Ah–” There it was, the question. He could lie, say he’d gotten kidnapped or lost in the wilderness, and he’d only just now found his way back… but he knew he couldn’t. He looked away. “Snezhnaya City. That’s where I live now.”

“You could’ve sent a letter, you know! You said you would, but you didn’t. We had no idea if you were okay or not!”

Taras winced. He kept his eyes averted; he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Tatiana was right, and she had every right to hate him for it. 

Suddenly he was pulled into a hug, arms squeezing him so tight he couldn’t breathe. 

“Tatiana–!” 

She didn’t let go, not for a few moments; when she stepped back and looked him in the face again, her eyes were a little wet. 

“Don’t disappear like that again,” she said, poking a finger at his chest, but any anger in her voice was weak. 

That was… not what Taras had expected to happen. He felt a laugh bubble up inside his chest. She didn’t hate him, not fully at least, and that was good enough for him.

“I won’t, I promise,” Taras said, and he really meant it this time.

They stayed there like that, just looking at each other, before Tatiana jolted as if realizing something. “Oh! You’re probably freezing out here, I know I am. Why don’t we go home?”

Home. Taras wasn’t sure if he could still call it that, but it was close enough. He nodded. 

Tatiana led him through the streets, though he still knew the way, and out towards the forest. There, right at its edge, was the house he’d grown up in: solitary, welcoming, almost menacing, all at the same time.

They approached the house, trudging through the snow. It seemed bigger than he remembered, which was strange; he recalled how cramped it’d become as he’d gotten bigger and the family had grown. Perhaps he’d just gotten used to his tiny little apartment, which he supposed was even smaller than his childhood home; the only difference was that he had it all to himself.

Anxiety and excitement warred in his stomach. Taras found it hard to contain them, the emotions spilling out and causing his limbs to buzz. 

They were in there, probably, his whole family: Alexei and Ajax and Tonia and Anthon. Alexei and Ajax would be adults, too, and Tonia and Anthon would be teenagers (another thing to brace himself for); the house would be as full as he remembered and perhaps even louder. 

He missed this, he realized. He never thought he would. 

(He didn’t think about his parents; he wouldn’t let them ruin the moment for him. He would face them when the time came, though he didn’t know with what.)

There was still the possibility of them hating him, of course, but Tatiana didn’t, so he chose to be hopeful. 

Well, hopeful in different ways. Alexei would likely be furious with him (Taras’ excitement cracked a little at that, but he couldn’t blame him), but Ajax was a sweet child. He had no idea what to expect from Tonia and Anthon; that’s where most of his hope went, and his anxiety too. 

They finally arrived at the front door. Tatiana’s hand gripped the handle, but she didn’t turn it; instead, she remained staring at the door for a long moment. 

The moment stretched into two. Taras shifted on his feet. “Tatiana? Are you alright?”

“Um… yeah.” She turned her head to face him, stared deep into his eyes. “Before we enter, just… prepare yourself, alright? It might not be exactly how you remember it.” 

Fear crept over and overcame Taras’ excitement. That was certainly an ominous thing to say before a family reunion, and it planted an unsettled feeling in his gut.

Maybe she just said that because it’d been a while? Ten years had passed; it was only natural for things to have changed. Perhaps she was being overdramatic. That had to be it.

He swallowed and nodded, giving her the sign that he was ready to enter.

Tatiana took a deep breath, faced the door again, and opened it.

Silence.

No shouts echoed through the house, no calls asking who was at the door, no bickering between siblings… nothing.

Taras could see past Tatiana into the sitting room; it was eerily empty. The fireplace was lit, but it burned low, and the floor seemed dusty. 

His stomach dropped. What exactly happened here? Where was everyone?

Were they… dead? 

He tried not to think about it but his mind raced through the possibilities regardless, coming back to the same conclusion again and again: dead, gone from this world, and he never got the chance to say goodbye.

Tatiana would’ve told him if that was the case, he assured himself, but he felt his breathing quicken and his hands get shaky.

She stepped inside, took off her scarf and hung it around a coat stand. He followed, though he kept his hat and scarf on. He felt more secure that way, somehow.

Now that Taras was in the house, he could hear soft clinks and murmurs coming from the kitchen. So they weren’t all gone; that was relieving, though not by much.

“Alexei, Mother, I’m home,” Tatiana called once the door was closed. The house seemed to have fallen further into disrepair since he’d left: there was still a chill blowing through the room, and there was a faint rattling sound. He was glad he’d kept his coat on. 

The murmuring stopped, and Taras heard footsteps. He braced himself for the two family members he now knew were still alive; he wondered, briefly, how Tatiana knew they were the ones in the kitchen, and what that meant for the rest of the family.

His mother was the first to appear in the doorway. She stopped when she saw him and raised a hand to her mouth, eyes widening; he couldn’t tell what emotion filled her stare. 

Taras waved hello weakly. He should say something, he knew, but words evaded him and he stayed silent. So did she; the silence became palpable. 

It was a strange moment, and he didn’t know what to make of it. He wasn’t even sure what he had been expecting — tears of joy, anger, maybe. But no, he always knew those weren’t going to happen. But in place of any loud emotion, there was just heavy quiet. 

“What is it?” Alexei’s voice, breaking the silence. There was the scuffing of chair against wood and more footsteps, and—

Taras’ heart stopped. 

There in the doorway was Alexei, with the same messy ginger hair and disgruntled look he remembered, which quickly turned into an open-mouthed and wide-eyed expression.

Or, rather, a wide- eye expression, because where Alexei’s left eye should’ve been was instead a deep-red eyepatch.

Out of all the changes Taras could’ve predicted, this was not one of them. New questions flooded his mind: had a horde of monsters attacked Morepesok? Were they the ones who killed the rest of the family and maimed Alexei? 

Could it have been prevented if he’d been there? 

Almost hysterically, Taras wondered if perhaps Alexei was just playing at being a pirate.

A thousand emotions flashed across Alexei’s face in the span of a second. He turned to Tatiana. “Tatiana,” he said, voice low, almost a snarl, “what the fuck.” 

“Hey, don’t get mad at me!” Tatiana protested from her spot by the fireplace. “He just showed up in town, what else was I supposed to do?”

Alexei pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Sorry, you’re right.” He lowered his hand; when he did, his one-eyed glare was directed straight at Taras. “You. What the fuck.”

Taras winced. There was that anger; it’d been a long time since it was directed at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping he sounded as sincere as he felt. “I can’t explain or justify what I did, and I know you likely won’t forgive me–”

“Damn right. You left for ten years, and all we got was a note—” Alexei approached as he spoke, aggressive and with long strides. He punctuated his sentence with a punch at Taras’ shoulder. 

Taras relaxed a fraction at that, though it hurt, and he let himself breathe a little easier. Alexei’s words were harsh, yes, and Taras deserved all of it, but he still knew his little brother well. Shoulder punches were reserved only for people he cared about; there was still hope.

“I’m sorry,” Taras said again. 

Alexei stared at him silently, still glaring almost, finger halfway raised to Taras’ chest. After a moment he dropped his hand and sighed. “Yeah. I’m sure you are.”

Their mother cleared her throat, and Taras’ attention shifted back to her. Right; she was there. He’d almost forgotten, somehow.

“Welcome back, Taras,” she said; she sounded softer than how Taras remembered her, though that was probably just time playing tricks on his brain. If he thought about it enough, she seemed rougher, or even the same as before he left.

“Thank you,” he said; he wasn’t sure what else to say. 

“You probably have a lot of questions.” She gestured vaguely at the near-empty house. “There’s some tea in the kitchen; I’ll get us a few cups.” And then she was gone, retreating behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the sitting room. 

Alexei sighed and gestured at the sofa and chairs. “Shall we sit while we wait?”

They took their seats, Alexei and Tatiana sitting next to each other on the couch and Taras taking an armchair. The fire was burning low and the house was cold, but nobody moved to feed it; instead, they sat staring at each other: Alexei and Tatiana at Taras, Taras at them, taking each other in. 

Their mother was taking longer than she should’ve. Maybe the awkwardness would be easier to bear if she was back by now, but she wasn’t, so they were simply left like that.

Taras did have questions, and although a part of him wanted to wait, he figured it would be better to ask them than to sit in this stifling silence. 

His attention jumped to Alexei’s eyepatch; he swallowed. How was he supposed to ask this without sounding insensitive? “What, ah… what happened to your eye?” His fingers brushed underneath his own left eye subconsciously. 

Alexei blinked, then narrowed his remaining eye at Taras and crossed his arms; Tatiana fidgeted next to him. 

“...You don’t have any idea what happened here, do you?” Alexei said at last. A slight grin grew on his face; his teeth seemed almost sharp. “You’re planning on seeing the rest of the family, right?”

Tatiana glanced at Alexei, quick and sharp, and stared. 

Taras leaned forward. “So they’re alive?” 

Relief washed over him as Alexei nodded. “Where are they? What happened?” 

“It’s a long story. They’re okay, they’re just living in Snezhnaya City now. You can ask them yourself.”

Snezhnaya City? So they’d been living in the same place as Taras for who knew how long, and he had no idea. To be fair, it was a very large city, but still… he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that fact.

“About my eye… that’s another long story,” Alexei continued. He stared off into space for a moment, a small frown pulling the corners of his mouth down. “There was an attack on the village years ago, and it got scratched out during that. It’s all healed now, so don’t worry.”

“Alexei,” Tatiana hissed, “can we talk?”

He snapped back to reality, slightly startled. “Huh? Oh, yes. We can do that.”

She dragged him up by his elbow and pushed him to the kitchen, almost hurriedly, and they disappeared behind the wall.

Faintly, Taras could hear Alexei say “Mother, you’re done with the tea, get out of here.” 

His mother walked out a moment later, carrying a tray with a pot and a few cups of tea, and looking a little disgruntled. She set the tray down on a coffee table and took a seat on the couch.

So this was it, then. A moment where Taras could speak to her alone, maybe confront her. But, strangely, he found he had nothing to say. 

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t deserve it.

She’d tried, sometimes: cooked meals, walked them to school, got them presents on their birthdays. More than their father did, at least. 

But the memories that stuck in his mind the most were of waiting, and caring for his siblings, and picking things up when no one else would. 

She was the one to break the silence. “Have you been well?” She sounded like she genuinely cared, at that moment. Taras nodded.

She exhaled, and her shoulders relaxed a little. “That’s good. You know, I was worried about you when you left. Sometimes I regret not looking for you at the time, but… I understand why you wanted to get away.”

Taras blinked. That was… a bit surprising. Maybe it shouldn’t have been. He’d always considered his siblings being worried about him, but one of his parents? It’d never crossed his mind.

It still remained that she didn’t try to find him, but could he really blame her for that? He hadn’t wanted to be found.

Before he could even begin to think of a reply, Alexei and Tatiana emerged from the kitchen and sat on the couch: Alexei to the right of their mother, and Tatiana to the right of him. They were a little squished, even though there were a couple other chairs in the room, but none of them moved.

“So, what do you want to know?” Alexei asked. 

Taras shifted his attention from his mother to his siblings; there was no point in worrying about her at the moment. “Everything,” he said. “Whatever you’ve been doing these past ten years. I want to hear it all.”

They caught up, slowly, over the course of the night. 

Alexei and Tatiana had taken up fishing, just like their father. That surprised Taras a little, but Alexei explained it was one of the only real sources of income left in Morepesok. Besides, they needed food, and meat was expensive these days.

When Taras asked what happened to the game they would get from the forest, his siblings exchanged glances. 

“It’s a long story,” said Tatiana; Taras was getting tired of that explanation.

“Don’t question it,” Alexei added. “And don’t go in the forest, either.”

(Taras had the creeping feeling that the stories of Alexei’s eyepatch, the split in the family, and the forest were one and the same. Clearly, the attack on the village had left scars on more than just Alexei.

A part of him wanted to ask, to confirm his suspicions, but it was clear they would just brush off his questions once again. Maybe it was for the best; ignorance is bliss, after all, and they were clearly trying to keep him in the dark for a reason.

He could just ask his father or Ajax, anyway; he would once he found them.)

Their mother had continued working at the seamstress’, spending most of her time there, but she’d picked up new hobbies since the rest of the family left: reading, for one. She’d even started a book club in town, though it was a bit difficult and costly to get new books for everyone. 

(Taras noted she seemed a little happier than when he’d left. Probably it was because of her new social life; possibly it was because he was back, though he doubted it. He didn’t want to consider any other possible reasons.)

Tatiana split her time between fishing and working at the seamstress’. It was calming, she said, and it was a family business besides. 

In return, Taras told them what he himself had been up to: his journey to Snezhnaya City, getting a job and apartment, (“So even you can’t escape the sea, huh?” Alexei had said. “I guess it’s ingrained in us.”), finding friends to spend time with. There wasn’t much to comment on; his life had been fairly calm.

The night had drawn on, and dawn was approaching when they finally ran out of things to say. Taras offered to sleep on the couch; there were only three bedrooms, and he didn’t expect any of them to share with him, especially when he’d arrived on such short notice after his absence. No one objected, though Tatiana brought him the pillows and blankets from his old bed.

The week flew by after that. 

Taras spent most of his time with Alexei and Tatiana. They loosened up around each other and shared jokes and memories from their childhood — the good ones, at least. He went ice fishing with them, hung around town with them, spent late nights awake with them. It was almost like they were kids again.

It was nice. He guessed he’d missed this, too, when he was gone; he would probably miss it more when he left again.

He would just have to come back, then, and experience it all once more.

He caught up with the people in town, too; many were excited to see them, and he had to admit he’d missed them: the friends he’d had in school, the merchants who would bring back items from the city, the huntsmen and fishermen. 

They all seemed hesitant to talk about the attack on the village, though, waving away the question with “It all happened in the past,” or “No one died, that’s all that mattered.”

Taras wondered briefly if Alexei had put them up to it, if it was all a big prank on him for leaving, but he could see genuine distress and hesitance when he asked.

The children — young ones, some hadn’t even been born when he’d left — stared at him with wide eyes when he brought up the attack, but said nothing. Maybe their parents had prepped them for this very question; maybe they simply didn’t know what had happened.

Either way, he felt himself growing more unsettled and frustrated at the same time. 

His mother, too, was a strange presence; she was there for every meal, and she hung around some, but they didn’t talk very much and mostly drifted around each other. It wasn’t too different from how it was before; Taras supposed not everything had changed.

The week was as pleasant as could be, otherwise; he tried not to let it get to him too much.

Before he knew it, Taras was waiting at the edge of town with Alexei and Tatiana for one of the traveling merchants to be ready to give him a ride back. 

(His mother had said goodbye to him at the house after he packed. It was a short thing, a “goodbye, stay in touch,” and a stiff hug, and then she left for work. It wasn’t much more than what Taras had expected.)

Alexei handed him an address; it looked like it’d been cut from an old envelope. “That’s where the rest of the family is staying,” he said. “You’ll be able to find them there.”

Taras took it from him and glanced at it before slipping it into his coat pocket. He would have to ask for directions in the city; the street name was unfamiliar to him.

The sound of the carriage grew in the cold air, and when Taras glanced past his siblings, he could see it approaching. Alexei and Tatiana turned to look, too, and confirm its arrival.

“Guess this is it, then,” Tatiana said. “Have a safe trip home.”

“Stay in touch this time,” Alexei said. “I won’t forgive you again if you don’t.” 

Then he pulled Taras into a hug — not a tight one, but it wasn’t stiff like his mother’s — and Tatiana wrapped her arms around him, too. 

They stayed there a few moments, a bundle of warmth in the freezing cold. Taras didn’t say anything; he was too surprised, the act of affection catching him off guard, especially from Alexei. 

The hug broke, Alexei being the first to step away. “Well. See you around, brother.”

“I’m expecting you to stay in touch, too,” Tatiana said. “Don’t ever leave like that again.”

A smile spread across Taras’ face, and he couldn’t resist a chuckle. “I won’t.”

The carriage came to a stop, and he waved goodbye as he got on. The farewell was bittersweet; his siblings (or two of them, at least) didn’t hate him — his mind could finally be put to rest on that end — but he’d only had a week before needing to leave again.

But he would send letters, he would return. 

It was a promise he was determined to keep this time.

Chapter Text

Taras vaguely remembered the time when the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger rose to his position. 

The Fatui had always been a presence in the city, especially at the wharf where most of the ships were owned by them, but Taras never paid them any mind. He didn’t have the mental energy for that, and it was easy to keep them in the back of his thoughts after eighteen years of not caring about their existence. Growing up in a village in the middle of nowhere, largely ignored, tended to have that effect.

Still, there was a conversation that had stuck with him for years, held over some firewater with a friend at the bar.

“Have you heard?” His friend had asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice as if he were about to discuss a possibly treasonous topic — and he was. “There’s gonna be a new Harbinger. Tartaglia, or something. Don’t know much about him, but there’re some rumors flying around like crazy. They’re saying some wild things.”

Taras swirled his drink. “Are they, now?”

“Yeah. Stuff about him being a bloodthirsty monster who came out of nowhere. Don’t really believe them, though — also heard he’s really young, ‘n there’s no way he could be like that if it’s true. He’s s’posed to be close to the fifth one, so it’s prolly just nepotism.”  He squinted at Taras. “Heard he looks kinda like you. Ginger hair and all that. Never thought we’d get a carrot top as a Harbinger.”

“Hah! Maybe people’ll think I’m him. Do you think I could pull it off?” 

“Not dressed like that, you won’t. Get yourself a fancy-ass coat like theirs and then maybe you can.” He took a sip of his firewater. “Heard he’s really young, anyways. Might have to wait a few years.”

The conversation had been left at that, moving on to other, safer topics. Taras hadn’t thought much about it; it wasn’t like ginger hair was extremely rare. Probably a coincidence. Besides, he truly had no interest in the Fatui.

But then the newspaper articles were released after the ceremony, discussing the new Harbinger, though not in detail. They laid out the basic facts: he was “Childe” Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, vanguard of the Fatui.

And they included pictures. Or at least, one picture of his head and shoulders, staring directly into the camera with a flat expression.

Most copies were in black and white, but there were posters on building walls, large and in full color.

And he was… eerily familiar. 

Taras didn’t think he’d ever seen him before, but there was something about him that made his gaze linger on the posters. He had Taras’ hair, yes, but his eyes were also similar, the same shade of blue — except not exactly. Upon closer inspection, they were duller than that of Taras and his family, and they seemed to spiral to infinity, holding a depth beyond what usually lay behind human eyes.

Maybe it was just the lighting. 

And maybe he was Taras’ long-lost cousin or something. Taras’ father hadn’t grown up in Morepesok, but Taras didn’t know much other than that; he could have a whole other side to the family that he had no idea existed. 

Though, the idea of Tartaglia being a nepo pick suddenly had a lot of implications if that were true. Best not to think about that; they probably weren’t related anyway.

He was young, too, even younger than Taras had thought, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. That was the next most unsettling thing after his appearance. Taras still didn’t care much about the Fatui, but it didn’t sit well with him that they would let a teenager hold the position of Harbinger.

Nepotism, he reminded himself. He was probably the nephew of the Rooster, but wasn’t the Rooster an elf? Tartaglia looked like a human boy, no pointed ears or anything. 

Taras tried not to linger on the posters for too long, but the image was frozen in his mind all the way home. 

(He didn’t know why he was so shaken, really; he’d just found someone unrelated who looked like him, that’s all. 

It wasn’t that he could see the faces of his own siblings in his mind, staring blankly back at him. It wasn’t that he felt the urge to throw up when he did. 

He started to jog, as if he could outrun his thoughts.)

Taras burned his copy of the newspaper with the picture as soon as he got back. He couldn’t look at it without getting chills up his spine; it was best to get rid of it as soon as possible. 

But though he’d burned many newspapers before, he couldn’t watch this time. He turned his back and let it crumble to ash on its own.

Best not to think about it, really. All it was was a coincidence.

Two years passed since the Eleventh’s ascension, and it mostly faded to the back of Taras’ mind. He went back to ignoring the Fatui as best he could, though he did catch the occasional discussions.

Tartaglia was public-facing, they said, more so than perhaps all the Harbingers except Pulcinella. He went to performances, even performed in them himself sometimes. He could be seen out in the streets when he wasn’t away on a mission. 

He was a talented fighter, too, very much so. There were myths about him, rumors about how he’d gotten his abilities at such a young age. Some said he’d been created in a lab by Dottore, others said he’d been blessed by the Tsaritsa. A small fraction posited that he was a creature of the Abyss.

Taras tried to pay them no mind — they were just wild speculation, after all. He had no reason to care about something that didn’t concern him. 

Still, he found himself listening in on discussions more often than he’d like to admit. 

Then, when Taras had just passed his twenty-fourth birthday and his sixth anniversary of arriving in Snezhnaya City, his friends approached him with the idea of going to see a play, starring the one and only Eleventh Fatui Harbinger.

It was in a theater in their district of the city, they explained, one that one of his friends had connections to. They were guaranteed seats before they sold out, even if they were in the back of the theater. The seats were cheap, though, and that was what mattered.

So Taras agreed, his curiosity getting to him — he had to admit he’d like to see one of Tartaglia’s performances for himself. 

Before he could second-guess himself and back out, the tickets were bought and they were in the theater. Their seats were definitely cramped and didn’t offer a good view, but they could still see the whole stage, at least.

It was strange, looking at the program and seeing everyone’s names: first and last, listed next to those of their characters, ordinary Snezhnayan names. There were no foreign actors in this play.

Then, a third of the way down, was Tartaglia. It stuck out like a blackbird on snow.  

He didn’t even have a lead role; instead, he played the friend of one of the leads. 

Was that some form of treason? Probably not, Taras decided. If Tartaglia had gotten all the way through rehearsals to the show, he likely didn’t mind.

As Taras considered the situation, the lights dimmed and the curtain rose; he forced the matter to the back of his mind.

The first lead entered, then the second, and the play began. 

Tartaglia didn’t enter until midway through the scene; a soft murmur rose in the audience when he did. Even from the seats in the back, he was unmistakable with his shock of orange hair.

“See? Told you he looked like you,” his friend whispered to him.

Taras was about to retort that he knew, he’d seen the pictures, but another friend shushed them from the seat over.

So he put aside all thoughts of who the actors were, and let himself be immersed in the story. 

Surprisingly, he found it easy to do. He didn’t know anything about what the actors’ real personalities were like, of course, but they filled the stage with their characters’ energy, truly becoming who they were portraying. It was… magical, almost.

Even Tartaglia. He carried none of the presence one would expect from a Harbinger; Taras could easily imagine him as just another ordinary actor, and a talented one, at that.

It was surprising — not just the fact that Tartaglia could appear so normal, but that Taras could accept it so easily. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting to feel; maybe a repeat of his emotions from when he first saw the posters, or a sudden epiphany about their connection.

But instead, there was… calm. All his worries melted away in the face of the play, and he let them. 

He found himself forgetting who the actors were entirely as he sat at the edge of his seat for much of the play, hanging on to every word, holding his breath in anticipation. 

The story was a tragedy, one of an adventurer who left home and never came back — not his favorite genre, but nonetheless, he found himself holding back tears at the end. The actors truly were talented.

Before he knew it, they were bowing, he was clapping, and then the theater started to empty. Chatter filled the air as the audience filed out, and Taras was swept along with them; he was just able to stay close to his friends.

The lobby was packed to the brim with dozens of people waiting to get the actors’ autographs — or one actor in particular, at least, though Taras made a mental note to speak to the others. 

A part of him wanted to leave, but he shut that down quick. His friends gave no move for the exit, instead heading further into the crowd. There was no harm in staying a little longer, especially at an event like this, right? 

But then a cheer went up in the lobby, signaling the entrance of the actors, and Taras caught a glimpse of ginger hair. 

He thought of being up close without rows of seats to separate them, and suddenly he felt a little sick (there were those emotions, then; looks like they hadn’t faded completely after all). A need to get away, at least for a moment, flooded his mind. 

“Guys,” he said to his friends; he needed to raise his voice to be heard over the crowd. “You ready to go?”

They just looked back at him and groaned.

“Don’t you want to meet him?”

“C’mon, this could be our only chance!”

Taras winced. The need to get out crawled under his skin, but he didn’t want to leave without them — they’d planned to get drinks afterward. 

“I just… need to get some air,” he said. “You guys stay here, I’ll be back soon.”

It wasn’t a lie, at least.

It was stupid, he knew, but he just… couldn’t do it. They probably weren’t related — he’d come to that conclusion long ago, he was at least eighty percent certain of it — but there were still those similarities he couldn’t shake, and he would prefer to avoid seeing Tartaglia up close if he could help it. 

It would be like looking his past in the face, and he’d spent far too long running to face it now. 

So he pushed through the crowd, heading for a door with an exit sign hanging overhead. He reached it and turned the handle; cool air hit his face and he sucked in a deep breath. Quickly, Taras stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

He was in an alleyway behind the theater. A little unsettling, but the door was unlocked and right behind him, and he wasn’t planning on staying outside long. 

Cold seeped through his coat and into his skin within moments of being outside; by the light of the single lamp by the door, Taras could see his breath form in the air before him and drift away. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter around himself.

The minutes stretched on; Taras became more and more restless as he leaned against the theater wall, staring at another five feet away. 

His friends could take hours in there, given the crowd; perhaps it would be best to say goodnight to them early and head home on his own. 

Yes, that would be the best course of action. 

But before he could reach for the handle, the door swung open, and out stepped the very person Taras was trying to avoid. 

He froze. For a moment he hoped maybe it was just someone who looked similar, but no — it was Tartaglia, with the same ginger hair and mask fixed to the side of his head and eyes that were as deep and empty as the pictures.

(So it hadn’t just been the lighting; Taras shivered again. 

At least it was some form of separation between them; those eyes couldn’t be natural.)

Speaking of Tartaglia’s eyes, they widened almost imperceptibly, but the Harbinger remained composed. Probably just didn’t expect someone to be outside the back exit. 

Tara’s gaze flicked to the door behind Tartaglia; it was still slightly ajar. Maybe he could just slip inside without a word—

“Had to get some space too, huh?” A short, somewhat awkward laugh followed his question.

Taras winced. Looks like there was no escaping this, then. “...Yeah. It’s crowded in there.”

As soon as the explanation left his mouth, Taras inwardly cursed himself. Wouldn’t make sense to go back in now, but then again, he couldn’t give the real reason, so might as well stick with it.

“Sure is. Do you want an autograph? I think I have a piece of paper and a pen on me somewhere…” Tartaglia started searching his pockets, but Taras pulled out his playbill and handed it to him wordlessly. 

Did he want his autograph? Not really, and Taras would likely use it as tinder for his fireplace, but it was better than rejecting him and letting an awkward silence build.

Tartaglia finished signing the playbill and handed it back. Taras took one look before tucking it back into his coat. It was a stylish thing, written in neat cursive with a single stroke looping around it in a perfect oval. 

Quiet fell upon them again. In absence of anything else to say, Taras turned to one topic he’d tucked away in his mind.

“The play was excellent, by the way. Your acting was great.” Not the most eloquent of compliments, but he wasn’t sure how to better phrase it or explain more. At least it was genuine. 

Tartaglia blinked as if surprised. “Oh, really?” 

“There’s a whole crowd in there waiting for you. Of course, really.” 

“Hah. Thought they might just be there because I’m…” He tilted his head. “You know who I am, right?”

Taras resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re Tartaglia. A Fatui Harbinger.” 

He grinned. “That’s right!”

Archons, even his voice sounded similar, although Taras was probably just imagining that. It’d been years since he’d seen his family, after all.

Tartaglia seemed… different from how he expected. He wasn’t sure how a Harbinger was supposed to act, but certainly they weren’t supposed to be like this. Tartaglia was too… casual. Normal.

Maybe the stories of him being a bloodthirsty warrior were fabricated, but that would put all the Harbingers under suspicion. What if they were all frauds? That would certainly be interesting.

Tartaglia shifted, glancing back at the door for a moment. “Well, I’m off. Nice meeting you.” 

But instead of going back inside like Taras expected, he started down the alley toward the street. 

Taras frowned. “Where are you going?”

Tartaglia froze and looked over his shoulder. “Ah… actually, I have somewhere I need to be. I’d love to stay and continue giving out autographs, but that’s not how things can always turn out, is it?” 

Before Taras could answer, he gave a little wave and then he was gone, rounding the corner and disappearing.

What a strange encounter. 

It was easier for Taras to put his worries away in his mind now, somehow. Maybe before he’d thought there’d be a similarity between them that ran so deep, was so like his family, that it’d be like stepping into the past.

But the familiarity was, ultimately, superficial. Tartaglia’s personality was foreign to him, and what did appearance matter at the end of the day? 

He could finally put their non-existent connection to rest.

Taras found it hard to believe, standing at the foot of the hill, that that was the rest of his family’s new home. 

It wasn’t anything like the cabin back in Morepesok; no, this was much closer to a mansion. It was huge, and looked quite lavish from where he was standing. If it was rented out, one month living there would probably cost more than an entire year in his apartment.

Briefly he wondered if he’d come to the wrong place, if maybe he’d misread the address, but no: it was the right house.

The address had burned a hole in his pocket and in his mind the entire ride back. He’d tried racking his brain for any memory of the street name but came up with nothing; it wasn’t that surprising, considering how large Snezhnaya City was, so he hadn’t thought anything of it.

Now his lapse in knowledge made perfect sense. Of course he didn’t know the street of one of the richest people in the city; he had no need to, and he didn’t particularly care.

He’d just never thought his own family would live there.

Maybe it was a trick by Alexei, but Taras liked to think they’d reconciled enough for him not to do something like this. 

He braced himself once more and started up the path to the house; hopefully he wouldn’t set off any security systems that would try to kill him. Hopefully the owners of the house wouldn’t try to kill him, if they really weren’t his family. 

It took a bit of a walk, but he got to the door just fine (he did sense a presence nearby, but it was probably nothing). It stared back at him, large and intimidating.

It’s just a door, Taras, he scolded himself. If you got this far, you’re probably not going to die.

So he knocked. And he waited.

The door swung open.

Behind it was a girl in her early teens with a suspicious expression on her face. She had ginger hair and blue eyes, and when Taras did the math in his head, the ages lined up. It was Tonia, it had to be. 

His breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t going to get easier, was it? Not even after seeing some of them already. 

This time it felt surreal, though. Last he’d seen Tonia, she was just a baby, and now here she was, standing only a couple heads shorter than him. It’d been nearly impossible to imagine her teenage self.

So this really was the right place, then. That certainly raised a lot of questions Taras didn’t particularly want to think about at the moment.

“Who are you?” Tonia asked, tone sharp and eyes sizing him up. 

Right. She didn’t know who he was. He didn’t want to think about that, either; it was his own fault, anyway.

He cleared his throat and offered a weak smile. “I’m your big brother Taras. You probably don’t remember me, but–”

“I kind of remember,” she said slowly, but didn’t open the door any wider. Regardless, his heart skipped a beat — so she hadn’t forgotten. “But how can I know you’re really him?”

Taras hesitated. He had to prove his identity? He hadn’t even considered that. 

His savior came in the form of a male voice, older than a teenager’s — so Ajax, then. Taras stood a little straighter and prepared himself. 

“Tonia, don’t just leave the door open like that, you’ll let all the cold air in!”

“There’s someone here,” she called back. 

Footsteps sounded in response, and the door was pulled open to reveal–

Taras’ mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

No– 

It couldn’t be–

Tartaglia, eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers… was Ajax?!

Taras shut his mouth, shook his head, blinked rapidly, but still — the man in front of him was unmistakably the same as the one on the posters and the man he’d encountered behind the theater. His face, his eyes — it was undeniable.

Not in a million years had Taras predicted this.

Inwardly he cursed himself for not putting two and two together, but then again, how could he have guessed that Ajax, his little brother who was so quiet and caring and was bullied by other kids in school, was one of the Harbingers of The Tsaritsa? 

His head wheeled with an onslaught of new questions; at least the house made sense now. 

Ajax (Tartaglia? No, that felt wrong) cleared his throat, and Taras was brought back to reality. “Can I help you?”

“I…” Taras swallowed, tried to keep his voice from shaking. He put on what was hopefully an even smile. “Ajax, it’s– it’s me, Taras.”

Ajax’s eyes widened; recognition filled his expression, along with another emotion Taras couldn’t place. “Taras? You’re back.”

“Yeah. You’re–” 

Taras shut his mouth fast before anything else could come out. He’d been about to ask about Ajax’s new position, but Tonia was still there, staring up at him with narrowed eyes. He had no idea how much she knew; possibly nothing.

So instead he said “You’re all grown up!”

Ajax gave a little laugh. “That tends to happen after ten years.”

Taras laughed a little too, just to make himself not wince. 

“Do you want to come in? It’s cold out there.” Ajax stepped aside, gesturing at the interior of the house. Tonia also stepped away, though she seemed more reluctant.

“Oh– yes, of course.”

The entrance hall (amazing that they even had one) was large and seemed lavish, with a marble floor and a chandelier ahead and a grand staircase, but overall it was sparsely decorated except for a couple paintings, plants, and a couch. 

Taras took off his coat and scarf and hung them on a golden rack — even that was fancy. 

A door opened down the hall, and a new voice rang out. 

“Big brother? What’s going on? Who is that?”

It was a young boy — too young to be Anthon, Taras thought, but maybe he misjudged the age? He hadn’t been around children in a long time.

But no: when he turned to look, he saw a boy standing in a now-open doorway who was probably not Anthon. He looked around, eight, max, while Anthon should be twelve, but he had the same features as the rest of the family, so…

Did their parents have another child after Taras left? Why in Teyvat wasn’t he told this back in Morepesok?!

“This is another big brother of yours, Teucer,” Ajax said as the boy approached. “His name is Taras.”

“Oh.” Teucer blinked and stared; from his response, he could’ve been told Taras was just a mailman. “Are you like Alexei? Did you get Tonia’s letters?”

Before Taras could respond, Ajax said, “No, he’s not like Alexei. I’ll explain everything later, it’s a long story.” 

“Oh, okay. Is he gonna play TCG with us?” Teucer bounced on his toes, looking at him with pleading eyes. “C’mon, me and Anthon have been waiting for forever!” 

That acceptance sure was quick; Taras barely had time to process it himself. “Isn’t that a two player game?”

“We have our own version,” Tonia said. “It’s a team game. But if you join, there’ll be five of us…” 

Taras quickly did the math in his head; so their father wasn’t playing, then. Not unexpected, but sorely disappointing. 

And that was if he was even still living with them; maybe he’d decided he’d had enough and gone off on his own. Taras wouldn’t put it past him. 

“We might have to put the game on hold,” Ajax said with an apologetic tone. “Sorry, Teucer, but we have something more important going on.”

“Awwww…”

Taras almost offered to join anyway, to take part in their fun and games, but he stopped himself. He didn’t know what Ajax had in mind, and he didn’t want to intrude somewhere he wasn’t wanted.

“Why don’t you and Tonia join Anthon in the sitting room? Taras and I are going to have a talk.”

That sounded… ominous. 

Tonia nodded, gave one last look at Taras, and walked to Teucer, grabbing his hand and taking him to the door he’d come out of. 

When it shut and they were alone in the foyer, Taras turned his attention back to Ajax; immediately he wished he hadn’t. Ajax just stood there watching Taras, analyzing; he said nothing. 

Taras shifted on his feet. “Do you want to go somewhere we can sit down?”

“Right here is just fine.” 

Some instinct in Taras told him to get out of there, but he didn’t dare move. 

The look Ajax (perhaps he should change that to Tartaglia) was giving him sent chills down his spine. It was a look that seemed to see straight into him, threatening, showing who held the power. 

It was a stark contrast to when he’d met Tartaglia outside the theater, in a way Taras hadn’t thought possible; he felt more like a Harbinger in his own home.

At last he spoke, slowly. “So. What are you here for?”

Taras swallowed; it was hard to look at Ajax and his piercing gaze. 

“I just wanted to see you again; that’s all there is to it, I promise.” He raised his hands. “You can search me for weapons if you want.”

Ajax considered him a few moments more before shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary. If you were to attack me, you wouldn’t stand a chance. And if you try to go after Tonia, Anthon, or Teucer…” He narrowed his eyes.

Taras blanched; he felt his heart rate speed up. Was that what Ajax was thinking? “I’m not going to hurt them, I swear!” He kept his hands in the air, as if that could somehow show he wasn’t a threat.

Archons — out of all the reactions he’d anticipated, he’d never imagined he would be seen as a threat.  

Ajax gave Taras another, different, look — this time, it wasn’t as hostile. A few different emotions crossed his face, but they went too fast for Taras to decipher them. 

At last, Ajax relaxed slightly, and Taras felt himself breathe easier.

“Alright, then. Tell me how you got here.”

Taras nodded shakily and said, “I went to Morepesok, but only found Mother, Alexei, and Tatiana. They were the ones who told me where you were… here.” He went to the coat rack and fumbled the slip of paper with the address out of his pocket, then handed it to Ajax.

Ajax took it and examined it; he hummed a low note as he did. “This is Tonia’s handwriting. Looks old, too. I guess that would be pretty hard to forge…” He looked back up at Taras. “Are you sure you’re just visiting? You don’t want money or anything?”

“What? No, I– look, if you want me to leave, I can leave.” It hurt to say, but there really was no point in staying somewhere he wasn’t wanted. He sighed. “I get it. I left for ten years and didn’t keep in contact like I promised; you have every right to not want me here.” 

“Oh?” Ajax blinked, and suddenly he laughed sheepishly; some of the tension was broken. “No, you don’t have to leave. Sorry about that — I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t harm Tonia, Anthon, or Teucer. The Taras I remember wouldn’t do that, so if you haven’t changed too much, I’m willing to trust you.”

That was… a fast turn-around. Tara didn’t move, reeling a little from the whiplash; he could hardly process it. 

“Come on,” Ajax said, heading down the foyer. “Let’s go join Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer.”

Taras braced himself and followed him.

The sitting room was also ornate, but was fairly cozy, with a few red couches and chairs and a crackling fireplace. Tonia, Teucer, and Anthon were sitting at a large coffee table with cards and dice strewn about.

Anthon was older, too, and he stared when Taras entered. He most likely didn’t remember Taras at all, he was so young when Taras left; Taras gave him a little wave, but he didn’t react.

“Is everything okay?” Tonia asked.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Ajax said. “I just wanted to ask how his journey was, and other boring grown-up stuff like that.”

Taras could just hear her mumble “I want to hear the ‘boring grown-up stuff’” under her breath. 

“Can we play TCG now please?” Teucer piped up. “It’s not fun with only three people and we’ve been waiting forever!”

“Don’t you want to catch up with your big brother? We didn’t have time to talk about everything out there, and I’m quite curious as to what he’s been up to, you know.”

“I am, too,” Tonia said. She stood, grabbing Teucer’s arm and pulling him up with her. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”

They moved to one of the couches, and Anthon stood up as they did. He gave Taras a little wave and said a quiet “Hi”; Taras felt his heart warm and a smile spread across his face.

The young ones settled on a couch and Ajax stood, leaning against its arm. Taras took his seat on the nearest chair. It was positioned at a strange angle relative to the couch, causing his view of the rest of the family to be cascading: Ajax at the back, then Tonia, Anthon, Teucer, each shorter than the last.

And so he began. 

He gave the same rundown he gave to his mother, Alexei, and Tatiana, though this time Tonia and Teucer frequently interjected with questions — Anthon did sometimes, too. Ajax stayed quiet the entire time.

When he finished, he set his hands in his lap. The atmosphere felt a little different — not as tense, a little warmer, though not entirely thawed. Tonia wasn’t looking at him with as much suspicion in her eyes, and Anthon didn’t seem as shy. It was a start, at least.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Ajax said.

Taras nodded. “There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask… why are you all… here?” It wasn’t the best question, but Taras wasn’t sure how to put what he wanted to know into words. 

Why Snezhnaya City? was probably better. Why did the others come and not just Ajax? Why did the rest of the family stay behind? 

What happened in Morepesok?

But that all felt too loaded, too direct. He would figure out how to ask later; the burning questions would have to wait.

To his surprise, Teucer was the one to answer. 

“Because big brother is the best toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya! He makes lots of money.” 

…Toy salesman? What an interesting cover-up. Taras gave Ajax a questioning look.

He just cleared his throat and smiled. “Yup, that’s me. There’s, ah… a very large market for toys in Snezhnaya.”

Taras hummed. “You learn something new every day.” 

It certainly made any discussion about Ajax’s career a lot harder; Taras didn’t want to expose him to his younger siblings when they didn’t know.

And he couldn’t judge his choice of cover story too hard. It certainly seemed effective for little kids like Teucer.

“As to why we’re here…” Ajax continued, “I was promoted years ago and was offered this house. I asked if anyone wanted to join me here, and the only ones who accepted were Tonia, Anthon, Teucer, and Father.”

“Why did the others stay behind? They weren’t clear with me about that when I asked.”

Ajax shrugged and looked away for a moment, almost imperceptibly, before shifting his gaze back to Taras. “Maybe they just didn’t want to leave Morepesok. It’s understandable.” 

Understandable, perhaps… if only there weren’t so many other strange things, like the attack on the village or the fact that Ajax was a Harbinger. 

But Ajax’s answer confirmed one thing Taras had been wondering: their father had, in fact, gone with him.

Of course he would go with Ajax. Taras wasn’t surprised; Ajax had always been his favorite.

Taras hadn’t expected the young ones to leave too, though. Had Ajax really stepped up to take care of them? More than Alexei or Tatiana?

He had to admit, it was a little disappointing, but not all that unexpected. Alexei never particularly cared for his little siblings, and Tatiana was more distant, further from the family. Ajax had always been more open to stepping up, though Taras hadn’t expected it from him at twelve years old.

It was just the whole Harbinger ordeal that threw a wrench into things. 

Maybe it was a treasonous thought, but he hadn’t thought a Harbinger would care about children… but then again, Tartaglia had broken many of his conceptions about them.

“Where is Father?” Taras asked. “I haven’t seen him yet.” 

“He… doesn’t stick around the house much. He eats dinner with us most nights, though. If you stay until later tonight, you’ll probably see him.” 

And there was the question: did Taras want to see him? Not really, but… his visit felt incomplete without it. 

And the chances were low, but maybe his father really had changed, or maybe one look at Taras would be the thing to change something inside him. 

It hadn’t happened with his mother, but maybe his father would be different. 

It was the most unrealistic of wishful thinking, he knew, but he’d found out the strangest things since he decided to visit his family, so… maybe it could happen. 

“He takes walks around the city a lot,” Tonia said. “I don’t know where he goes, but we might bump into him if we go out.”

Taras almost mentioned that Snezhnaya City was a huge place with lots of people and that the chances of finding him were next to none, but the expression in her eyes as she looked imploringly to Ajax suggested that perhaps that wasn’t her only motivation.

“Taras, do you want to go look for him?” Ajax asked.

“...Sure.” There was no harm in trying, he supposed.

And so he found himself walking down the streets of one of the wealthier parts of the city, with expensive shops and luxurious apartments surrounding. 

Teucer was running ahead, though not going too far away, and Anthon went after him, though he was a bit less energetic than his younger brother. Tonia was between them and Taras and Ajax, as if she couldn’t decide who to join.

Ajax and Taras walked side-by-side, but they didn’t speak. Taras didn’t try to force conversation; anything he wanted to say, he would prefer to talk about somewhere Tonia, Anthon, or Teucer couldn’t hear. 

Somehow, not many people reacted to a Harbinger walking along the streets with them. Perhaps they didn’t notice; perhaps they were just used to it. After the night at the theater, Taras supposed he probably wouldn’t be that surprised either.

After a few cycles of Teucer running ahead, stopping at a shop and begging to go inside before being ushered on by Tonia and Ajax, Tonia hung back fully to walk side-by-side with her older brothers. 

“There’s a few stores up ahead that I’ve been really wanting to go to,” she said, looking at Ajax with big eyes. “I think Anthon and Teucer would love them, too.” 

Ajax chuckled. “We’re looking for Father, remember? We don’t have time to go shopping today.”

“So… what if you and Taras go on without us? I’ve been saving up mora, and I have enough to buy some things.”

“I don’t know, Tonia…” 

She huffed when she saw his frown. “I’m old enough! And responsible! We’ll stay in the area, and it won’t be that long. Besides, we see Father all the time, we don’t need to look for him with you.”

“Alright, alright. We’ll be back on this street in thirty minutes, so stay safe until then, okay?”

“We will!” 

Tonia cast Taras a look over her shoulder as she went to join Anthon and Teucer; it was one of curiosity, perhaps, or guarded hope. When she reached them, she took Teucer’s hand, and they went with Anthon into a store.

Taras and Ajax kept walking in silence. It was probably a good time to ask about… everything, but the quiet between them was deafening yet comfortable. Ajax made no sign of wanting to talk, so Taras kept his mouth shut too.

They came across an intersection, a new road stretching on either side for a long while. It was even busier than the street they’d been walking on.

“We’re not going to find him,” Taras said at last.

“No, probably not.” 

“It’s alright, I can wait until he comes back.”

“We have thirty minutes to kill now, though.” Ajax hummed, glancing down one of the streets. “I know somewhere we can hang out. You probably haven’t been there before.”

Taras probably hadn’t been anywhere in this area, but he didn’t say that. “Lead the way, then.”

They turned at the intersection and walked for a few minutes before Ajax turned again down a side street. They followed some of those, the buildings on either side closer than on the main streets, until they finally broke out onto a vista overlooking the city.

It was a confined space, a narrow path winding around the top of the hill with just enough space for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder. At least it wasn’t entirely neglected; a short, seemingly well-kept wall lined the path, just enough to keep anyone from tumbling down the steep drop.

It was still the wealthier part of the city, after all. 

No one was about, so Taras went up and leaned against the parapet, taking in the view. Off to the left was the grand Zapolyarny Palace, and he could see the wharf directly ahead with dozens of ships anchored, though he couldn’t make out the workers milling about. He would be back there soon, as if nothing had happened.

Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case. He didn’t want things to go back to normal, separate from his family and past; he doubted anyone else wanted that, either.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Ajax said, moving to stand next to Taras. “I found it when I just moved here. I’m surprised not many people come here… though I guess it is out of the way.”

“Yes, it is nice.”

Taras turned so his back was against the parapet and crossed his arms, tapping his foot as he wondered how to breach the various questions he had. 

Ajax made it so he didn’t have to. “You have things you want to ask me, I’m sure.”

“Yes.” Still, there was the problem of what to ask first. “How has your… life been the past ten years? I told you about mine.” Then, “And about your job. What’s, ah… what’s that like?” 

“Life’s been good.” Ajax’s gaze turned down on the city and away from Taras. “As for my job, well… it lets me bring back a lot of gifts to Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer.”

Briefly, Taras wondered if that was supposed to be referencing his cover story or his real career, before realizing it could be true for either. Either way, it was one heck of a side step.

Taras wasn’t going to get any answers like this; he was going to have to be more straightforward. There was no harm in doing so now, anyway, now that they were alone.

But before he could press further, Ajax cleared his throat and sighed.

“...I haven’t exactly been open with you so far. I’m, well– I’m not actually a toy salesman.”

Taras blinked. “Ajax. I know that already.” Did he not know that he knew?

Ajax turned to look at him, sharp and quick. “What?”

“I’ve known you were a Fatui Harbinger since the moment I first saw you.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

Because he didn’t know how. “Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer were around, and since they don’t know, I didn’t want to expose you to them like that.”

“Oh.” Then, “Teucer’s the only one who doesn’t know, actually. I’ll tell him eventually, just… not yet.” He gave Taras a smile. “Thanks for not saying anything in front of him.” 

“No problem, little bro.” 

The words came out of his mouth unconsciously, surprising even himself. He hadn’t called anyone “brother” out loud in a long time; he missed it, he realized, even that small act.

Ajax’s smile turned to a small frown. “Do you not care that I’m a Harbinger?”

Taras shrugged. “Kind of, yes. I don’t know how I couldn’t. But we actually met before, I think that helps — I went to a play you were in, and afterwards we happened to meet each other in the alley behind the theater. I just didn’t know you were my brother at the time.”

“Huh. I must’ve forgotten.”

“It’s alright, happens to the best of us. But the point is: you weren’t anything like what I expected from a Harbinger. You still aren’t, really. It’s just hard to imagine quiet, little Ajax in that position.” He paused. “I’d really like to know, actually. Mother, Alexei, and Tatiana didn’t tell me anything; it was like they were purposefully hiding it from me.”

“Ah.” Ajax looked away again. “Well… I became interested in combat after you left. Trained a lot with Father’s old sword until I got pretty good. But you know there’s nothing around Morepesok, so I joined the Fatui to get more experience, and climbed through the ranks until I got here.” He shrugged. “It pays well, and I get to fight a lot of strong enemies.”

An overly simplistic explanation, and one that felt wrong. Either it was surprisingly easy to become a Harbinger, or Ajax had become unrealistically talented unrealistically fast. Taras frowned.

“What about the attack on the village?” If he still wasn’t getting a straightforward answer on the Harbinger front, maybe he could find out more about that. 

But Ajax just gave him a questioning look. “The attack?”

“Alexei told me there was an attack on Morepesok years ago, and that’s how he lost his eye. Nobody would talk about it, though; they said to ask you.”

Ajax winced. “Oh, right… that. Some… monsters ambushed the town, but we were able to fight them back. Nobody died. It was just unusual, that’s all.”

Taras felt himself bristle a little, but he pushed his frustration aside. He’d been gone for a long time, he reminded himself. There was a reason nobody was giving him full answers.

Still, a part of him wanted to know, no matter what.  

They lapsed into silence again; nothing but the sounds of the city surrounded them. 

“I see you’ve been taking care of our younger siblings,” Taras said at last. “You know, I’m really glad you have. I should have done it myself, but…” Taras sighed. “I’m sorry, Ajax. I shouldn’t have left like that. And although I’m happy you did… you shouldn’t have had to take on that responsibility.”

Ajax looked back at him and blinked. “Oh? It’s really no problem. I would’ve helped take care of them even if you stayed, probably.” 

“Still, I’m sorry.”

Before they could fall into silence once more, Taras was suddenly compelled to give him a hug — yet another thing he’d missed, like living with his family around him or calling someone “brother.” He had ten years to catch up on when it came to all of those.

And Ajax looked a little lonely, there. He’d looked lonely a few times throughout their conversation.

So Taras leaned over and wrapped his arms around Ajax.

Ajax tensed, and he didn’t return the gesture; quickly, Taras retreated.

He frowned. “Are you okay?” He should’ve asked, he realized; how stupid of him.  

“Ah– Yes, I’m fine.” But Ajax wouldn’t meet his gaze, his eyes seemed a little wide, and he hadn’t relaxed since tensing up. After a couple moments, he glanced over at Taras. “You know, most people wouldn’t hug a Harbinger.”

Taras blinked. “Ajax– Harbinger or not, you’re still my little brother.” 

“Hah. I guess so.” Ajax straightened and stepped away from the wall. “We should meet back up with Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer soon.”

“...Alright.” 

Taras followed his brother back the way they came. Admittedly, he’d like to talk about what just happened more, but the entire family seemed to be masters of sidestepping and running from problems; he likely wouldn’t get anything from Ajax.

The walk back wasn’t nearly as quiet as the journey there had been. Ajax pointed out various buildings he’d been in, and in turn Taras talked about the part of the city he lived in. It felt casual, normal; a good way to contrast and distract from his unanswered questions. He even invited Ajax to his apartment.

His friends’ minds would explode if they found out Tartaglia was his brother, he realized. That would certainly make for an interesting conversation. 

Their little siblings were waiting for them on a bench outside a shop, each holding bags full of things they presumably bought. Tonia looked up and smiled as they approached. 

“You’re back!” she called. “How’d it go?”

“We couldn’t find Father,” Ajax said, “but it wasn’t all that bad.”

Her smile widened, and her eyes flicked between him and Taras. “Oh, that’s good.”

Teucer hopped up from the bench. “Can we go home now?”

“Sure, if that’s fine with Taras.” Ajax looked to him for confirmation, and he nodded. “Alright then, let’s go.”

They ended the day in the sitting room with Teucer and Anthon playing with their new toys and Tonia explaining the books she bought to Ajax and Taras. 

(“They’re sequels to a really amazing book I found a few weeks ago about a warrior princess,” she said. “The first left on a huge cliffhanger.”

Taras could hardly follow along with her explanation of the plot, but he listened anyway. It was nice to be included.) 

After she finished, Ajax stood and asked if anyone wanted to hear some stories; there was a resounding “yes” from Anthon and Teucer.

So he stood in front of the fireplace and wove tales of adventures he’d been on, each more elaborate than the last, as the sun set and the world outside fell into darkness.

Whether the stories were true or not, Taras didn’t know, but he didn’t think too hard about it and enjoyed them regardless.

Or, enjoyed them as much as he could. He tried to fully immerse himself in the tales, he really did, but at the back of his mind was the thought of his father. He eats dinner with us most nights, Ajax had said, and surely dinner time was getting close.

His father would be home soon; the anticipation was killing him. He didn’t even know what to say.

And then, in the middle of a story about how Ajax ventured into a cave full of dragons, Taras heard the front door open. He tensed, but no one else reacted; maybe he was just imagining things.

But no: footsteps sounded down the hall, and he heard the creak of the sitting room door, too. It opened just a crack before being pushed open fully.

And there in the doorway was his father, looking the same as the last Taras had seen him, with his large coat and boots and scruffy ginger beard.

At least one thing hadn’t changed, then. 

Taras didn’t look at him, not fully; he kept his stare trained on Ajax and instead viewed his father from his periphery. He could tell he was being watched by his father, but the man didn’t move.

Finally Ajax noticed as well, freezing mid-sentence to look. The others followed his line of sight, and Taras allowed himself to do so too, until they were all looking at Father and Father was looking at Taras.

Ajax was the one to break the silence. “Oh, Father, you’re here — I was wondering when you were coming home!” He put on a strained smile.

Their father didn’t react; he just continued to stare, as if Taras were a stranger who’d broken into his home, and he was trying to figure out how he got in.

“...Hello,” Taras said. Still no reaction, though Father’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Did… did his father even recognize him?

But his eyes widened slightly and he said “Taras. You’re back,” and Taras felt himself relax an inch.

“Father. It’s been a while.”

“Do you two want to talk?” Ajax asked. “I can put the story on hold until you’re back.”

Taras almost said no, but before he could, Tonia straightened and said “Yes! You should do that!”

He sighed. “Alright… I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” He looked back at his father. Maybe he would say no? “That is, if you want to talk?”

But Father nodded, and he stepped aside to make room for Taras to pass.

So Taras stood, walked to the door and out into the foyer; Father closed the door behind him.

“There’s an old office upstairs. We can talk there,” Father said.

They didn’t talk as they went up the overly-ornate staircase to the second floor, where a hall lined with more doors stood. Father led him to one in particular and went inside; Taras followed.

“Old” turned out to be a very good descriptor for the room: it looked unused, with bare-bones furniture and dust covering everything. Either there were other offices that were preferred over this one, or nobody worked at home. Probably the latter.

Father stood in the center of the office, looking somewhat awkward — his coat certainly didn’t help. He must’ve been almost overheating, still wearing it. 

Taras leaned against the wall, not feeling like moving further into the room. 

Father didn’t make a move to start a conversation, so Taras led with the easiest question he knew. “So. How have the past ten years been?”

“...Good.”

“I see you decided to come here with Ajax instead of staying in Morepesok.” 

It wasn’t an accusation, although Taras was curious as to why he chose that, but Father seemed to take it as one. He looked away, suddenly much more interested in a dusty mirror.

“Snezhnaya City is my hometown.”

Another answer that didn’t seem right; Taras was getting tired of those. He took a deep breath.

Before he could say anything else, Father shot him a question of his own. “Why did you come back?”

Why did he care? “I missed my family. I should’ve returned sooner, really, I just… had to get away.” 

Taras didn’t say from what, but Father didn’t ask. He supposed it wasn’t that hard to guess.

Suddenly a flame kindled in Taras’ chest. A question came to him, one he needed to know the answer to — it’d been a need for a long time, really, ever since he was a child. But now, it surfaced in his mind.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you care about them?”

There was no answer from Father; instead, he looked away once more.

The fire grew larger.

Taras had expected some sort of defense, at least, not nothing — did he really not care at all? But even if he’d said yes, what then? He’d been gone all day, and that seemed like a regular occurrence. If he cared for his family, he would be there for them.

Taras wasn’t innocent in that regard either — he knew that all too well. And maybe he hadn’t cared enough all those years, but he did now, and at least he was trying. 

He reached into the inferno in his chest.

“Do you want to know why I left? I left because I couldn’t take being the main one caring for my little siblings, day after day for years, while you and Mother didn’t do enough to help. I just– couldn’t deal with it anymore, and I needed a life where I didn’t have to deal with it anymore, and I got it in Snezhnaya City — but I could’ve had it in Morepesok if you’d actually acted like a father, or cared even a little bit.”

He paused to consider Father for a moment. He looked small, fearful, still not looking at Taras.

“I thought that maybe things had changed, but it looks like they haven’t. You still don’t care.”

Still silence.

…No. He wouldn’t change, Taras realized. 

He was pathetic, really, neglecting his family for whatever spineless reason, leaving his wife and two of his children behind, and even then, not being fully involved with the family he stayed with. He could live on his own and nothing would change.

There was no point in caring about him or allowing him to occupy Taras’ thoughts. 

It was freeing to come to that realization — and a little sad, but Taras felt the freeing part won out. 

“If you have nothing to say, then I think we’re done here,” he said. 

No answer.

Taras turned, opened the door, and left, letting it slam shut behind him. 

His heart felt a little lighter as he went back downstairs and strode toward the sitting room door. It was strange, since the conversation hadn’t accomplished anything and could barely even be called a conversation, but it was true.

“Big brother Taras!” said Teucer when he opened the door, and oh, if that didn’t make Taras smile. “Yes, now we can listen to the story again!”

“Hold on, Teucer,” Tonia hissed, and then to Taras: “How’d it go?” 

He hesitated. That answer depended on what one expected; Taras hadn’t gotten what he was hoping for, but he still felt better coming out of it. Tonia, on the other hand… her eyes were full of hope.

Not the best was how he would answer her, but… did he really want to tell her that? 

“...It went fine,” he said instead.

Even though it wasn’t the most positive answer, Tonia practically beamed.  

“Are you ready for the rest of the story, then?” Ajax asked.

“Yeah.” He took his seat on the couch again, and the tale continued once more.

When Ajax finished, Taras gave him a round of applause and stood. “I think I’m going to get going now.” 

“What? Already?” Tonia looked at him as if he’d just committed the greatest social faux pas in history.

“I was going to start dinner soon,” Ajax said; Taras had to admit he was caught off-guard by that. “It won’t take that long. You can stay if you want.”

“Yeah! Big brother makes the best food,” Teucer added, and Anthon nodded along sagely.

The offer was appealing, and Taras almost said yes, but… despite feeling freer, talking to his father had put a damper on things. He didn’t know if he wanted to stick around longer, at least for that night.

“I’m really sorry, but I have work tomorrow. I’d love to join you some other night, though.”

It wasn’t a lie. 

Tonia stood and grabbed a paper and pen from the coffee table and handed them to Taras.

“Here, give me your address. That way I can send you letters and we can keep in touch!”

Maybe the suggestion had been fueled by Taras’ white lie, but he found he didn’t mind. It meant she didn’t want to lose him to an endless, unreachable void again, and that thought warmed his heart.

So he scribbled his address on a scrap of paper and handed it to her, and she smiled at him again and tucked it safely away in her pocket.

“It’s been great seeing you all again… or for the first time. Good night,” he said.

A chorus of “Good night, big brother Taras” rose from the children; Teucer jumped up to give him a hug, and Tonia followed — even Anthon joined in. Taras felt his heart melt.

Ajax hung back, but he gave Taras a smile, and Taras smiled back. 

As he left the house with his coat on his back and his scarf around his neck, waving a final goodbye to his family, he found he couldn’t stop grinning. 

He hadn’t gotten all the answers he’d wanted, but they could wait for another time when they trusted him more.

It wouldn’t be the last time he would be seeing them, after all, and he was all the gladder for it.