Chapter Text
Rid the world of dragons.
That is the wish of the Winter Queen.
To destroy magic, one must have magic. Since the beginning of her long reign, the Tsaritsa has collected individuals with such power to fulfill that wish. There have always been ten of these knights- the Dragonslayers.
Until recently.
Having encountered the abyss at fourteen, Ajax had awakened his magic at a considerably young age. Along with his own magic awakening, Ajax had also been bestowed with the most destructive magic of them all. And thus, he was selected to be the eleventh Dragonslayer of Snezhnaya, Tartaglia the Harbinger.
His entrance into the art of dragon hunting, while impressive, had come about rather… late. By the time Tartaglia joined the Dragonslayers, the dragons in Snezhnaya had already nearly been driven to the point of extinction.
However, with the addition of Tartaglia to the Dragonslayers’ ranks, it was not long before dragonkind was wiped out from Snezhnaya completely.
But the Tsaritsa’s hatred was not yet satisfied. She sent her Dragonslayers out into the world, to rid the creatures from other lands too.
That is how Tartaglia has found himself here in Liyue, dragging his heavily-armored body up yet another treacherous mountainside.
Oh, how he would have preferred to be sent to Fontaine. With his natural magical affinity being hydro, exploring Fontaine would have been much easier. Unfortunately, this affinity would have also impacted his effectiveness against the dragons of Fontaine whose affinity also align with hydro.
Still, anything would have been better than Liyue- Even Natlan, where the dragons have taken complete control over human society. At least there would be a challenge… plenty to fight.
Here in Liyue, despite the fact that dragons are worshipped as gods, they are elusive. Perhaps it is that very elusive nature that drives the people of Liyue to see them as sacred. They have not witnessed the violence and trickery of dragonkind.
Tartaglia almost feels wrong to be here. This hunt is very different from the times in Snezhnaya that he’d been sent to save a village from the claws of a vicious dragon. The people here do not rejoice at his appearance. Rather, they meet his inquiries with hesitance and suspicion.
There is a dragon here in Liyue… and the people are hiding it.
That won’t stop Tartaglia. If he has to search under every damn rock of this mountainous region, he will. By the Tsaritsa, no dragon will survive his presence here.
As luck would have it, Tartaglia finds this current mountain to be very promising. He finds the entrance to a cave system near the summit. Perfect for a dragon’s lair. And if not… At the very least, he will have shelter for the night.
The entrance is clean of any traces of occupation, but Tartaglia delves deeper into the darkness nonetheless. By torchlight he navigates the winding tunnels. The walls do not narrow the deeper he goes. If anything, the cave grows more spacious. Another promising sign.
A good ways into the mountain, Tartaglia extinguishes his torch, guided instead by the light leaking into the end of the tunnel ahead.
Cautious and as silent as one can be in full armor, Tartaglia peeks into the chamber.
The space is lit by the warm amber glow of magical gemstones growing here and there along the stone walls. The chamber is not empty, but filled with various items. As expected, a cave as convenient as this does not go unoccupied. Someone has made this place their home.
Emboldened by the silence, Tartaglia explores the cave. It is surprisingly well-furnished. He helps himself to a ripe apple from a crate of food, lifting his helm and taking a crisp bite as he passes by a rickety table and chair. He raises a brow at the large bed to the side, covered in thick furs. At the foot of the bed is an old chest.
Tartaglia downs the rest of the apple quickly so that he can use both hands to open the chest. He is no thief. He merely means to assess the type of person who inhabits a secluded cave such as this. Inside, he finds several garments of the Liyuen fashion. No surprise there. He digs underneath and searches the chest for hidden compartments to no avail.
After arranging everything as it was and closing the lid, Tartaglia turns to the stacks of crates to the right.
The contents of these tell Tartaglia either one of two things. Either his host is raising an army or he has a hobby of collecting weapons. There has to be at least one of every weapon in existence! Not just blades and bows, but spears and maces. There are tools of bloodshed in here that even he doesn’t have a name for.
Although Tartaglia’s fingers itch to test some of the more interesting pieces for himself, he resists, placing everything back as they were once more. He already has a fine weapon anyways. Tartaglia pats the hilt of his greatsword lovingly. He would trust no other weapon but the one attuned to his magic.
Riptide is a blade crafted with obsidian and inlaid with hydro rune gems. It was a gift from his queen, meant to enable him to hunt dragons to the fullest. It can sense the beasts’ presence well before Tartaglia’s own human senses could.
Tartaglia’s focus is drawn to the blade now. He could almost imagine that he can hear its voice, singing a soft warning…
No, it definitely is.
Fixing his helm, Tartaglia stands alert and draws Riptide from its sheath. He listens intently, watching the dark tunnel from whence he came.
Seconds pass by and the cave’s quiet is not disturbed. Yet, his blade remains the same, singing softly.
Perplexed, Tartaglia loosens his stance. And then he feels it. A soft breeze tickles the hair at the nape of his neck… from behind.
Tartaglia turns, facing the darkest corner of the cave where the light of the amber stones does not reach. He approaches and finds that there is a narrow crevice in the cave wall. A secret passage.
The fit is tight with his armor, but Tartaglia manages his way through. Just as he thinks to retrieve his torch, he finds that the way ahead is not so dark after all. The further he goes, the brighter it gets as if there is daylight on the other end. Surely he has not already found a way out…
Squeezing his way out of the crevice, Tartaglia finds himself in another cave, larger than the last. He was right about the daylight. The final rays of the day’s sunlight stream in through a large hole way above him. But the light is intensified as it is reflected by the mountains of gold covering the cave floor.
Tartaglia has never seen so much gold. Only a dragon could hold such greed.
Tartaglia tightens his grip on his blade, but Riptide's hum remains but a soft warning. There must be a dragon near, but not near enough to set his blade off entirely.
There must be more to the cave. That, or the dragon is lurking outside. Tartaglia makes his way cautiously through the sea of gold, searching for another way out. If the hole in the cave ceiling is the only exit… he may encounter some issues.
As he goes, Riptide’s voice grows in volume. He keeps his senses honed upwards. Any moment, his enemy could descend upon him. Nearly to the center of the cavern, his blade grows so loud that Tartaglia stops completely, steadying his breath as he looks to the sky.
Riptide pulses in his hands… but still there is no dragon. Tartaglia has only ever felt this reaction when he’s had a dragon in his sights.
Could it be…
Slowly, Tartaglia turns his gaze downward, to the mountain of gold beneath his feet. He can picture it perfectly, a serpentine body lying in ambush just below the surface of gold.
His pulse pounds in his ears as he waits.
Yet nothing happens.
Is the dragon toying with him? Or perhaps it hides in fear, knowing that Tartaglia is a harbinger of the creature’s death.
“Show yourself,” Tartaglia commands.
He gets no answer. Just the echo of his own words bouncing back at him off the stone walls.
Or so he thinks.
It’s subtle. His ears pick up no sound. And yet, Tartaglia can distinctly feel something calling to him from somewhere.
Behind him.
Tartaglia turns, eyes sharp. His senses are on edge. The last thing he expects to see is…
An egg.
How had he missed it before? The dark brown shell sits in sharp contrast to the surrounding gold. It lies directly in the center of the cave, beneath the largest ray of light from the exposed sky above.
Tartaglia is drawn toward the egg, answering its call.
Upon closer inspection, there is no doubt. The scale patterns are just like in the books he's seen. This is a dragon’s egg.
Unbelievable.
The truth is… The vast number of “dragons” slain by his hand have all been hybrids. Half-breeds. Tartaglia has never faced a true full-blooded dragon. The last seen in Snezhnaya was before he was born. Outside of Natlan, a true dragon is practically unheard of in these times.
Why? It goes beyond the fact that dragons have been hunted down and killed on sight since the beginning of the Tsaritsa’s endless reign. Despite a dragon’s long lifespan, they only lay a single egg once per century.
They do not reproduce sexually. Rather, they reproduce through magic. Perhaps as a means to counter their small numbers, a dragon’s egg can be “fertilized” by the magic of just about any magical beast. Such creatures specifically seek out the rare dragon eggs in hopes of creating powerful offspring. It’s why there are so many hybrids out there. They are so much more common than full-blooded dragons that it has become normalized to simply refer to them all as “dragons” no matter what species they are crossed with.
Because they are all the same.
It is said that true dragons are crafty, wickedly intelligent, and arrogant. However, their hybrid offspring hold none of such intelligence. They are mindless, greedy beasts that bring about chaos and destruction. Luckily, these creatures are sterile, themselves, and they do not quite have the longevity of a true dragon. But they are still difficult to kill…
Tartaglia raises his blade, pointed edge hovering directly over the egg. It is better to prevent such a creature from entering the world.
Held in place, Riptide sings for dragon’s blood, urging his master’s hand. However, Tartaglia remains motionless.
He is transfixed by the shimmery surface of the egg. Again, he feels that pull, as if the egg is calling to him.
Without meaning to, Tartaglia lowers his blade, shifting it to one hand. He can’t help himself. As if bound by magic, his hand is drawn forward. He finds himself on his knees.
The egg is about the size of his chest. This close, he can feel it hum with magic.
His hand presses flat against the surface of the egg and just like that, the spell is broken. Tartaglia isn’t fast enough to snatch his hand away. It’s too late to stop his magic from flowing out, pulled into the egg.
The sensation leaves Tartaglia gasping for air beside the egg. So much magic all at once…
Tartaglia’s face drains of heat.
Not only because of the nauseating sensation of having his magic stolen, but also because he is keenly aware of the grave error he’s just made.
He stares at the egg in horror.
It doesn’t seem much different in appearance. The golden light leaking from beneath the dark scales is brighter now, overflowing with Tartaglia’s magic.
Outraged, Tartaglia grasps his blade once more. He brings it down with force, only for the sharp tip to come to an abrupt halt just above the surface.
No… No… No way. He can’t be this foolish. He has a duty to perform. This changes nothing. A dragon is a dragon, created through his own magic or not. Worse, it’s a hybrid. It will bring nothing but pain and destruction to the world.
Tartaglia’s hands shake on Riptide’s hilt. Even his trusted blade has stopped singing for him to slay the beast. Is it confused as well?
What if…
Tartaglia has never heard of a dragon-human hybrid. Isn’t it possible that the result could be… different?
It’s not like he could be a parent to it. He is a dragon slayer, through and through. His hands are stained with the blood of its kind. He made an oath.
And yet… this egg… It is now his.
Monster or not, it is his offspring.
A deep growl forms in Tartaglia’s chest. The Tsaritsa was right about dragons. What a cunning trap this egg is.
Riptide’s sharp edge is buried deep into the pile of gold as Tartaglia flings his helmet off. It rolls down the side of the gold mountain, clanking as it goes.
“What do I do?” Tartaglia whispers fiercely, palm to his forehead, fingers in his hair.
He sits there, unmoving, for so long that his legs begin to go numb underneath him. Gradually, Tartaglia leans forward, resting his forehead against the egg.
When it hatches… What will it look like?
He can’t help but picture his siblings when they were younger, so small and cute. Back then, before Ajax was forged into Tartaglia, he used to love reading them stories. One was about a little dragon who hatched all alone and had to search for its parents. He never told them the end of that story. That the dragon parents had been slain by a knight…
Why is he remembering this now? It was a children’s fairytale. Dragons are dangerous, cunning creatures with the power to turn the world inside out if not kept in check. They trick people into serving them, luring them in with the promise of granting wishes. He is doing the divine work of the Tsaritsa hunting them down before they can become a threat.
If he can’t finish this job, how will he ever return home? His queen took him in when no one else wanted him. He owes her everything he is. Has she not suffered enough betrayal in one lifetime? How could he possibly choose a dragon over her?
He can’t do that. But he can’t destroy this egg either…
He never should have stepped foot in this cave. The egg never would have hatched on its own. He could have found Rex Lapis outside, killed him, and been done with it.
Now he has to extinguish the spark of life that he accidentally helped create.
Tartaglia raises one hand to hold the egg steady, preparing to draw his sword from the gold with the other. The egg’s shell is textured beneath his hand and warm now. He can feel it thrumming beneath his palm. It’s almost like it calls out to him in recognition. His sword hand shakes. What the hell is wrong with him? He would make a terrible parent. Why can’t he just do this??
His hand comes off Riptide’s hilt to join the other in cradling the egg. It’s heavier than he expects as he rests it on his lap. The moment he holds it, he knows…
His life is going to fall apart.
Almost in a daze, Tartaglia ducks his head, resting his cheek lightly against the top of the egg. He stays like this for a while, until the only light left inside the cave comes from those amber gemstones.
He is lost. The egg is his only anchor, slowly becoming the only thing he ever wants.
The spell is broken as a shrill warning shatters the silence. The air is disturbed with a whoosh. Then comes a heavy thud.
Tartaglia’s blood runs cold. Even Riptide’s senses were not fast enough. He’s sat here for far too long, and now the dragon has returned to its nest.
Tartaglia raises his head and is met by a pair of sharp, serpentine eyes gleaming gold in the dark. Its great body takes up most of the cave, coiled with deadly power.
Even having killed countless “dragons” in the past, Tartaglia has never seen such an extraordinary beast. Liyue’s dragon differs from what he’s used to. Instead of having wings, this beast has a long serpentine body. Its eyes pin him with intelligence, glancing at the egg in his hold then returning to him with renewed fury. Its tail thrashes against the cave wall. If it weren’t for his proximity to the dragon’s egg, Tartaglia would be dead already.
There is no way out. The moment he releases the egg, he’s doomed. Without taking his eyes off the beast, Tartaglia reaches one hand behind him, reaching blindly for Riptide. It isn’t difficult to locate, since the blade is still singing of the dragon’s presence.
The dragon looms closer, one arm steadying itself on a pile of gold as it examines the infiltrator. Tartaglia’s occupation is no doubt obvious to the beast. It bares its teeth at him.
“Dragonslayer…”
The beast’s mouth doesn’t move. It’s almost as if it speaks directly into Tartaglia’s mind. That’s a first.
Slowly, Tartaglia settles the egg back down into the nest of gold. He keeps his eyes on the dragon in case it decides to strike him despite the egg.
He’s already decided that he can’t kill his own offspring, but the dragon might not hold such qualms.
He will kill the dragon if it tries.
Placing himself between the dragon and its egg, Tartaglia frees Riptide from the gold, holding it between them.
Suddenly, there is a shift in the dragon’s eyes.
The dragon’s form begins to morph, shrinking in size amidst a cloud of golden dust, leaving behind a human figure where it once stood. The… man? is elegantly dressed in the formal attire of the nearby city. His features are smooth and flawless, but his expression is stony.
“What is it that you desire?” The dragon demands. “Tell me your wish and I will grant it to you, just leave the egg alone.”
Tartaglia can see it breaking through on the last sentence… the terror shining in the dragon’s eyes.
He is speechless. Of course he knew that true dragons were shapeshifters. But seeing it is another thing entirely. The dragon’s human form is so… convincing. If it weren’t for the man’s otherworldly beauty giving him away, that is…
Tartaglia re-evaluates.
Of course it makes sense the dragon would be concerned for the egg. It will be another hundred years before it can lay another. It likely intended to find some powerful magical beast to fertilize it.
The rare and precious thing beneath Tartaglia’s hand thrums harder as if sensing the presence of the dragon…. its parent. The guilt hits him so unexpectedly. Looking down at the egg, he is torn.
“I want…” How can he say what he wants? The one thing he desires must be handed over in exchange for a wish. And with the egg’s spell broken, reality sets in. It’s not like he can really keep the egg.
“You…” The dragon’s voice is alarmed and confused.
Tartaglia’s head snaps back to the dragon as it moves closer. Unbothered by the knight’s threatening stance, the dragon’s steps do not falter as it approaches. Seeing the state of the egg, the dragon’s golden eyes widen.
“What did you do?”
He sounds scandalized, genuinely distraught as he stares down at the egg beneath the knight’s palm.
The guilt rises again. Tartaglia finds himself awkwardly looking away, towards the far end of the cave as the dragon frantically inspects its now fertilized egg.
Almost embarrassed now, Tartaglia is not quite able to meet the accusatory gaze the dragon levels him with.
His response comes in a small voice, one not suitable for a Dragonslayer to speak to his prey with.
“I didn’t mean to...”