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“Guess we’ll have to compromise,” Childe replied, holding a hand to his bubbling chest. He peered up at Sergei’s displeased scowl. It wasn’t a terrible view. “Brighten up, sunshine. Smile a little. You took the challenge. You delivered.”
Sergei did not take to that kindly, his grimace a dangerous flash of teeth on an already very angry face.
Diluc Ragnvindr was on the collision course, revenge-fueled, hurtling his way to self-annihilation. Which was to say, this phoenix did not rise from the ashes; it migrated, flew North, and nested in the crown of a Snezhnayan larch tree.
Diluc thinks himself subtle, roosting out on the tundra.
Two larch trees, two cuckoos, an ostentatious Harbinger, a vigilante with a vendetta against the very world that Childe wants to crush beneath his heel.
And who exactly was Diluc Ragnvindr, anyway?
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writing is stunnin
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