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“Goodbye, Feofan. This time, that is what it truly is.”
“And don't I know it… Goodbye, Zandik.”
-
Those were the final words they had ever spoken to each other. The only words that were raw and real, and filled with the sarcastic pleasantries and banter Pantalone and Dottore made a habit of.
And Pantalone–, no, Feofan, regretted them deeply.
He had not wanted to say goodbye. Nor had he wanted things to go the way they did. But the experiment was complete, and so marked the end of what was left of the Doctor.
Pantalone knew this was the outcome.
Feofan refused to accept it in its entirety.
The boat back home to Sneznaya from Sumeru was silent. Not a single word uttered from him or his associates. Pantalone leaned on the deck, smoking his “well deserved” cigarette. His eyes and overall demeanor betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil.
No one on board found it necessary to bother him either.
When the weather transitioned from humid to frigid at the borders, Pantalone took that as a sign to get ready for deboarding the ship.
Pierro met him at the port, permanent glare seemingly aimed towards Pantalone this time as he walked off the deck.
“We have much to discuss. Including your unapproved leave.”
He just remained silent as they were escorted back to the capital. He just figured he would nod and go through the motions as he was lectured. Then he would confirm the Doctor's death. Clinically, and give away nothing to tell that he felt the way he did.
Pierro seemed to have some common sense to leave him alone, though. They didn't speak on the train there. Nor as they walked through the palace and to the Tsaritsa's throne room, where she was already waiting for them with a cold expression.
Her sharp eyes gave the harbinger a once over while Pierro joined her side with an inaudible sigh.
“Regrator, before we get to your faults, what of Dottore?”
All the time in the world couldn't have prepared Pantalone for that question. He felt his chest tighten and his breathing became shallow. They noticed, because of course they did.
Pierro raised an eyebrow.
The Tsaritsa stiffened. It was almost unnoticeable.
“Regrator. What of Dottor- Regrator!”
shut up. shut up. shut up. shut up.
shut up.
shut up.
The balls of his hands pressed into his ears as his fingers tangled into the strands of his unkempt hair.
“Regrator!”
Pantalone turned heel and left, with his archon and Director yelling at him to stop. But for a place so quiet.
It was.. Too. Damn. Loud.
Instead of seeking solitude in his office, Pantalone weaved through the corridors, pushing past agents and skirmishers with strength neither of them knew he had.
As the walkways became darker, it brought the harbinger a sense of…relief? His breathing was less erratic when he approached a specific set of doors. Dottore’s lab. Or what was left of it.
Sure, the normal scattered papers were left. But everything else was moved to Nod Krai when his new lab was built. That was probably destroyed now too.
It was like Dottore knew he wouldn't be back in Snezhnaya.
Such a comforting thought.
Pantalone stood in the remnants, shoulders shaking as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground.
why. why. why. why. why. why.
why.
why…
why…?
The cold tile hardly comforted Pantalone when he sobbed angrily.
He wasn't ready damn it.
Damn the gods.
Damn Celestia.
Damn the traveler.
Damn the Tsaritsa.
Damn Dottore.
Damn all of them straight to hell.
Why couldn't he have one thing? All of Feofan's life, it was nothing but struggle. Nothing was his. The one thing that finally felt like his own, the one person he could count on to come back over and over…
And over, and over again.
The one person he watched die over and over again by countless means.
It never stopped hurting.
It only hurt more because the reality had set in.
Dottore wasn't coming back.
A clone would not take his place. There were no more.
Not after Dottore's last trip to Sumeru, which ended with 8, 18, 25, 45, and 65 being trapped in an abandoned laboratory and burned alive.
Pantalone had watched it happen while . The screams of agony from the elders and the cries from 8. He had to do a deal of things to forget that loss for the night.
The original Dottore, the one who had fixed his lungs, was dead only a few years earlier. Or had it been longer? The sight of the clones dissecting their creator, weighing organs and ripping open his ribcage like animals made Pantalone turn to habits he'd rather not continue to forget the gruesome activities he had the misfortune of laying his eyes on.
Because at least he felt something other than his heart breaking.
This feeling was completely different.
This feeling was ravaging his very soul, clawing and snarling to let out every last bit of his spite on a dead man.
Or anything close equivalent that decided to walk through those doors.
Pantalone stood up. He looked at the lab and down at his clenched fists. He decided then that the Tsaritsa wouldn't have the opportunity to have the lab salvaged if there was nothing left.
And so began Feofan's rampage.
He started by pulling out files from cabinets and throwing them to the ground. Then the drawers were next as they were ripped off their hinges and thrown across the room with a sickening bang.
On the outside, Fatui were gathered by the deceased doctor's lab, looking at each other and unsure of what to do to stop this destruction.
No one, not even the Harbingers had seen Pantalone so less composed in their lives. He looked animalistic, as if he had lost any and all of the rest of his self-preservation.
They were unsure of what to make of it.
More crashes and screaming came consistently throughout a 20 minute period.
Everyone gathered…well, they were at a loss. They had no orders, and no one wanted to interrupt…whatever was going on in there. They flinched at every bang, and grimaced at every guttural sob that was ripped from the banker's very soul.
One soldier straightened up when sharp footsteps echoed throughout the corridor.
“D-Director-”
“All of you are dismissed. This is an internal Fatui matter. None of you shall speak of what has occurred here. Lest they'll lose their ability to speak.” Pierro cut through the crowd, which quickly dispersed when told to.
The heavy doors opened, and Pierro let himself in. Pantalone was breathing heavily on the floor, his breaths coming out in short puffs as he tried to regain himself.
However, the rational part of him had left along with the ashes that were carried away with the wind.
“Regrator.” Pierro cleared his throat.
Pantalone didn’t answer. He held his ears and just sobbed.
The lab was a wreck. Pantalone was a wreck.
“Feofan..” He corrected himself, this time using the Harbinger's real name instead of an alias. His tone was ever so slightly softer, as if he were dealing with a small child. Pierro may as well have been.
“That name does not belong in your mouth director..” Pantalone spoke bitterly and informally. Pierro didn't flinch. He kneeled behind the younger man.
“You didn't stay to address the Tsaritsa.”
Pantalone's head snapped and he locked onto his elder with nothing but disdain and anger pooling in his lavender irises.
“You and the Tsaritsa can disappear in a snowstorm! Maybe then Fatui will actually function while not under dictatorship!” He seethed, standing up and brushing up the dust that was collected on his clothes.
Pierro, again, didn't flinch.
“I understand your anger.”
He blinked. Then a disbelieving smile crossed his lips.
“Y-You…by the ARCHONS!” Pantalone kicked away a glass beaker that shattered on impact against a wall. “You have some nerve…the nerve to show up here when you and the others were plotting against him in the very beginning! He knew that, which was why all of this had to happen.”
“I know you don't believe that Feofan. You never wanted this to happen.”
“OF COURSE I DIDN'T!”
He completely broke down. His knees gave out once again, but he didn't collide with the floor. He was held by Pierro, whose expression remained unchanging as he held him.
“I never wanted this to happen…but it was all because of you and the Tsaritsa. There would've been five more left if not for the gnosis mission.”
Pierro let go of the sobbing man and pushed an envelope into his gloved hands.
“Despite our differences, he requested I give this to you. I kept his word, my debt is repaid. Do try not destroy any more than you have.”
He left.
Pantalone quickly tore the envelope after he caught a glimpse of Dottore's insignia stamped on. Pages of his words were inked onto the paper. Writing that Pantalone often called chicken scratch.
My Dearest, Feofan,
If you are reading this, it means that Jester has actually given you this and not thrown it into a fireplace.
Sadly, he's the only one outside of yourself that I could trust with delivering this. And, you didn't know about this, so I suppose he was the option I had. (Sad, I know.)
Secondly, if you are reading this, this means that I'm not walking Teyvat anymore. That means my plan went accordingly. There are a couple of things I would like you to understand before you destroy my lab and life's work, if you haven't done so already.
As you know, this was my goal, and I have achieved it. I knew the cost, I knew the potential setbacks and casualties. Myself being one of them. I didn't share these with you because I knew you would've locked me somewhere deep underground. I also knew that the deaths of Prime and the rest of myselves were hard on you, and as I'm writing this, I know that this might break you.
But seriously, Feofan, you should've known that a large-scale goal such as this would've ended in favor for the other side instead of mine.
You were always so naive in that aspect, but I don't blame your human heart for feeling.
I always knew that you and I had a bond. I was afraid to strengthen it in different ways, despite knowing that you were more than willing. I've accepted that this was for the better. So that we wouldn’t have done anything rash while doing the Tsaritsa's dirty work.
But how I've wished to claim one of your fingers with a ring made with only the shiniest of diamonds. You would've liked that, surely.
Pantalone's fingers shook more as he flipped through the pages of Dottore's writing. He paused when he saw the Doctor's admission of his feelings. He felt his heart mend, but it was quickly broken at the thought of his wishes being left ungranted.
My dearest Feofan, I hope you can forgive me for this. Sadly I'm not around to see if you do or not.
I will leave you with this.
In my office, there is a key under the gap in the desk. Unlock the drawer and pull out the velvet box that's tucked under the false bottom. Think of this as my final gift to you, Feofan.
It's something that the gods should've granted you long before all of this. I certainly won't be needing this anymore. So now, I, a god , (albeit an artificial one), bestow this upon you. Do well by me and yourself. Not others. Because we are all we need.
Goodbye, Feofan Sergeyevich Veksel.
With love, for eternity,
Zandik
Pantalone covered his mouth and cried into his gloves. The fragile paper slipped in between his fingers and fell to the floor without a sound.
Even in death, Zandik always knew how to make Feofan feel alright again. Even if his heart was completely frozen over, Zandik would prove that permafrost could be melted with even the littlest of his warmth.
So, Pantalone followed Dottore's steps to the last period. His slender fingers felt around the bottom of the desk until he came across a small key that was indeed taped on.
Pantalone had always wondered what Dottore kept in the locked drawer. He wasn't aware it was meant to be his.
He sat down in the chair and pulled away the false bottom, revealing the velvet box as described in the letter.
It was by no means little, though it fit snugly in Pantalone's hands.
He opened it, and his heart stopped.
A vision.
Or the shell of one. It was gray, giving no indication of what it was before its owner died.
Below it, a small ring. Nothing extravagant, but enough to remind Pantalone of Dottore's love that he never got to express properly.
Pantalone slipped off all of the rings he wore regularly and placed Dottore's ring on his wedding finger. From now on, this was what he would wear. Nothing else around it. Nothing else that could tarnish the meaning.
Next, was the husk of what the vision was.
It was Sumerian, indicating that Dottore had it for a while.
Not once had Pantalone ever seen him use it.
No matter.
As soon as he picked it up, the vision flickered, and the green appeared almost immediately.
Pantalone broke out into a sad, breathy laugh.
“Killed in the place that you grew up, and blessed by the God you hate…very on brand for you, Zandik..”
A dendro vision was what Dottore wielded. How poetic.
“Don't worry…I'll take care of it now…I'm glad you've blessed me…I'm flattered.”
He said to no one but himself as his fingers traced over the leafy heart in the middle.
Pantalone hummed as he clipped it to his belt. Now, they are back together. Oddly enough, he felt the malice in his heart dissipate.
“Zandik…your will is in my hands now…and I'll be damned if anyone gets in our way now…”