The Fatui barracks were cold.
Of course, this wasn't much of a surprise, you were in Snezhnaya, after all. The cold was something most commonly associated with the country. But still, for a military force so revered, with technology they touted as so advanced, you'd expect them to have some kind of heating system.
You were warm enough, the harsh climate was more than taken into account and soldiers were given goose down blankets to keep warm, but you could barely stick so much as a finger out from beneath the covers without feeling like you were on the verge of frostbite.
As a Snezhnayan, you should be used to this. And really, you were. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of your new surroundings that was getting to you, or maybe it was the more than inevitable thrashing you'd get in combat training in the morning. You were among eight or nine other female recruits. You'd counted at least fourteen male recruits.
Sure, you could fight, you were adept with hand-to-hand combat, you even had a vision to boot. You could thank an avalanche while you were out hunting for that. The Pyro Archon had been gracious to you, and you found yourself cracking a rueful smile at the fact that you'd been rewarded a vision by the Archon who commanded the element exactly opposite of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.
Well, c'est la vie. Put your talents to good use, they all said, and you were packed up and shipped here without any room to get your own opinion in or to grow familiar with your newly acquired vision.
You wrapped your comforter around your body, pulling it up around your head like a hood and curling in close, hoping sleep would come. You still had a good while before the sun rose, and if you were going to survive combat training, you'd need to be rested.
After what felt like a millennia of tossing and turning, you fell into a dreamless sleep.
"Up! Everyone up! Do not keep Lord Harbinger waiting."
You were jolted awake when the sun was barely filtering through the high barrack windows, and you groaned as you turned over in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
Come on. Get out of bed.
"You," came the officer's voice, "up. Now. Are you deaf, girl, or just stupid? The Lord Harbinger does not like to be kept waiting."
You sat up in bed quickly, climbing down the ladder that led to your bunk, and brushing past the officer with a quiet, respectful 'yes ma'am.'
After wrestling yourself into your coat and boots, you pulled your hood up and crossed the yard to the locker rooms with your fellow recruits. There was a snowstorm brewing, you cloud smell it in the air, but you knew if you couldn't train outdoors, indoor facilities were available.
You were Snezhnayan. You adapted.
The women's locker room was milling with other women in various states of undress, and you hustled in with the stragglers, finding your name printed on a card in neat font and pasted to one of the lockers. You opened it, finding a uniform inside.
It was the typical women's uniform, a purple bodysuit with the Fatui emblem emblazoned on the right thigh, a long black coat lined with fur, tights, and a pair of tall black boots with purple embellishments. You dressed quickly, fumbling with the various zippers and buttons, and you almost left the locker room before another recruit caught your arm.
"Mask," she said, "you forgot your mask."
You paused, smiling sheepishly.
"Right," you said, "my bad."
At the bottom of the locker was the mask. It was a simple thing, silvery grey with a red line going through the right eye. The material was sturdy, the fabric lining smooth and cool beneath your gloved fingertips. A cord was connected to either side of the mask, used to fasten the object to your face.
Concealing who you were. Marking you as one of them. You swallowed your questionable apprehension and tied the mask on, hiding the cord beneath your hair. The woman in the mirror was still you, just masked. You looked crisp and polished. Like you were a part of something.
You felt the warmth your vision permanently radiated against your right hip, hidden beneath your coat. The feel of it, though still a new one, was comforting. It was too much of a talking point, so you preferred to keep it hidden. Keep your head down and do your job. That way you could get time off to go home and see your family.
The black mesh that covered the eye holes of your mask darkened your vision somewhat, but you could still see well enough. You looked around the locker room, but found that you were the last one in there. You made a squeak of surprise and rushed off towards the mess hall.
Breakfast passed in a blur, and because you were a little late getting there, you were one of the last ones eating. You scarfed down your food before rushing off to the training grounds, just as the first snowflakes began to fall. There was already a blanket of snow on the ground, crunching beneath the thick soles of your boots as you hustled through the courtyard, almost shouting in frustration when you heard voices coming from the training fields. You could see a few other recruits scurrying up to the gathered group, but you were the farthest behind.
Great, you thought, I'm late on my first day.
You didn't know much about the Harbingers personally, but you knew they were absolutely no joke. Some were known to verbally abuse, beat and even kill recruits who disobeyed or disrespected them. The thought alone filled you with fear even icier than the winter air. You didn't know if you could handle that, and you didn't want to die. If you did, though, you'd go down fighting. You felt your vision flare at your hip, its heat filling you with comfort.
You approached the group last, and the only spot was your own established one... on the end of the first row. You were screwed. There was no way you'd be able to squeeze in unnoticed, but you couldn't just turn tail and run. So you took a deep breath, focusing on the heat of your vision as you took your place, standing ramrod straight at attention.
There were a handful of Skirmishers at the front of the crowd, as well as a few high ranking Fatui officials, and one more person.
He was tall, dressed in a long, heavy white overcoat lined with furs. The coat was worn open despite the cold, and beneath that was a high collared grey shirt done up with silver clasps, as well as a red scarf, worn undone so it hung loose down his shoulders. Trousers that matched the shirt were on his legs, sturdy black boots that reached his knees on his feet. Around his waist were a pair of black belts. Attached to one was a Hydro Vision. There was a holster on his thigh with a small dagger attached. Finally, he wore a pair of black gloves on his hands.
His face... He was one of the most handsome men you'd ever seen in your life. He was young, maybe a year or so older than you at most. His features were sort of impish, like a smile was always on the verge of showing on his lips. He had pretty, round-almond blue eyes, their color a little dull. His hair was cropped short, worn messy around his face, coppery ginger in color. His nose was straight, the curve elegant and noble. A single earring hung from his left ear, beaded with gold and ending in a red gemstone. Perched on the left side of his head was an intricate red mask, different than other Fatui masks you'd seen before. His nose and ears were tinged pink from the cold, but he didn't seem to notice.
You took a moment to realize he was looking straight at you. Your eyes went wide behind your mask. He must have registered your surprise, because an easy smile appeared on his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He pressed a single finger to his lips before turning away. Your shock turned to confusion as you watched him begin to walk, circling the small group of recruits with the grace of a panther, ocean hues calculating. The chatter among the recruits died quickly, all of your peers standing at attention, their unease palpable in the chilly air.
You watched him out of the corner of your eye until he'd crossed behind the group and out of your line of vision, but soon enough, he was standing beside you. You only knew he was there when the young recruit beside you nearly jumped from her skin, causing you to do the same.
Up close, his height was even more evident, and he stood almost a full head over you. There was a light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks, which only added to his charm. He gazed at you with those dull eyes, though they were now sparkling with something that made you somewhat uneasy. He leaned in close, subtly, his voice low when he spoke.
"You will explain your tardiness to me later, recruit. There is no need to make this an issue, hm?"
You blanched. "Uh. N-no, no sir."
His answer was a firm pat on the shoulder, almost making you stumble. "Very good, comrade."
He walked away as if nothing had happened at all, and from the way he moved, how he carried himself, you could tell he wasn't a man to be trifled with. He was calculating, powerful, intense.
Dangerous.
Everything about him spelled danger. Behind that kindly facade, that good natured smile, you could sense a vicious wolf.
"Good morning, recruits," the man said with an easy smile, crossing his arms over his chest, "I am Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui. On behalf of her Majesty the Tsaritsa, I bid you welcome to our ranks. From this day forward, you will honor the oaths you have made to Her Majesty, and you will stop at nothing to being victory to Snezhnaya."
He kept talking, but your own fear wrapped icy fingers around your heart, blocking out his words. Harbinger. He was a Harbinger. Had you offended him with your tardiness? You had heard horror stories from other soldiers about dealings with the Harbingers. You heard they were ruthless, bloodthirsty, merciless. The Sixth was subject of many of these tales, the Eighth coming in a close second. Tales told of recruits struck down for smaller infractions than your own, as aforementioned.
Was the Eleventh going to kill you?
Your fear muddled brain remained in overdrive until recruits began to break off into teams of two for sparring, snapping you from your trance, and with another jolt of terror, you noticed Tartaglia approaching you.
"L-Lord Harbinger, sir, I—"
"Follow me, recruit," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, giving you no choice but to do as he asked.
He led you to a small building, opening the door and ushering you inside. You looked back over your shoulder and noticed your fellow recruits watching you go, their masks hiding any sort of emotion they may be feeling. It felt cold and impersonal. You swallowed thickly as you followed the Harbinger inside. The building was a supply shed, but there was a desk stacked with files and writing utensils shoved in the corner as some kind of makeshift office. Tartaglia flicked on the lamp on the desk, flooding the room with soft yellow light.
The light illuminated dust particles hovering in the air, as well as the contours of Tartaglia's face, making him seem even more intense. He was watching you expectantly, those calculating eyes studying your face with a vigor that made you incredibly nervous. He shifted his weight, flakes of snow falling from his hair and onto the furry collar of his coat, disappearing into the pristine white fluff.
"Lord Harbinger," you said, breaking the silence, "sir, I'm deeply sorry for my tardiness. P-please, don't hurt me."
Your plea felt pitiful, but you didn't know what else you were supposed to do. You pressed your hands together in prayer, head bowing, but to your surprise, Tartaglia began to laugh. You looked up in surprise, watching as the Harbinger covered his mouth, mirth rising in his eyes and making them glitter with humor. You felt your own uneasy smile form on your lips, and you let out an awkward chuckle.
"Hurt you?" Tartaglia repeated, his laughter still leaking into his voice, "oh, no, comrade, I am not going to hurt you, I promise you that. I merely want to know the cause of your tardiness. Nothing more, nothing less."
You hesitated, shoulders relaxing just a little. "You... That's all?"
He nodded sincerely. "That's all."
So you told him. Having his full attention on you was more than a little overwhelming, but you somehow managed. You told him about the locker room, then breakfast, and about trying to get to training as fast as you could.
"Well," Tartaglia said, "no harm, no foul. It could have happened to anyone. I've been late to things before, the best of us have. Just try not to let it happen again."
You were taken aback by his benevolence, and he must have sensed this, his mouth quirking upwards at the corner. He gazed at you like he was seeing something for the first time, but as soon as that appeared, it was gone so quickly you were unsure if you'd seen it at all.
"What is your name, recruit?"
He... He wants to know my name?
And so, you told him.
"Charming," he said, "a fine, strong name. Befitting of a Fatui recruit."
You were unsure of how to respond to the praise. You'd never expected a Fatui Harbinger to be so... Normal. Sure, he still radiated power and his very presence commanded respect, but underneath that he was just a man. Perhaps there was some kindness in the wolf you sensed he was.
"Er, thank you, sir," you said finally.
"I do not doubt you've heard of other Harbingers treating their men poorly, and you do not have to worry about that with me," Tartaglia assured you, "I may not be a great guy, but I do not mistreat my subordinates. No harm will befall you at my hand."
"I am... very relieved to hear that, Lord Harbinger," you said after a beat of silence.
A short, friendly chuckle. "Let's get back to training, yes?"
You took a deep breath, standing at attention. "Yes, Lord Harbinger, sir."
He placed a hand on the small of your back as he led you back outside. You broke off from him, aware of his eyes following you as you walked towards the group to find someone without a partner. You eventually spotted one of your lone classmates, Anya, who was standing awkwardly and looking very out of place. She brightened a bit when she noticed you. You and Anya were friends, having met in boot camp and bonding over shared favorite authors. You were comfortable sharing information with her.
Anya was a pretty young woman, tall and slim with white blonde hair braided down her back. She hurried to meet you as you approached her, hands catching your upper arms.
"Are you alright?" She asked, voice low and hushed, "what happened with Lord Harbinger?"
You sighed. "Nothing. He let me off with a warning. It was... surprising."
"You're not hurt? Not at all?"
You shook your head. "No. I'm fine, Anya. Lord Harbinger Tartaglia is... benevolent."
Anya would have said more, but one of the officers sent the pair of you a sharp look.
"We should start sparring," she said, and you nodded, getting into a fighting stance.
You blocked Anya's first punch with ease and ducked under her kick, swinging your leg out to knock her off balance, but she jumped at the last second. You barely had time to roll out of the way before she tried to bring an axe kick down on your head. She was good. Strong. As expected of any healthy Snezhnayan. But you were also Snezhnayan.
You sprung to your feet, blocking her next kick, and knocking her fist out of the way when she attempted to punch at you. Instead, you grabbed her arm as she was caught off balance, twisting and sending her sprawling onto the snow, stunned. You extended a hand to help her up, and she accepted with a chuckle.
"Not bad," she said, "still as sharp as always, I see."
You offered a smile. "Of course. So are you."
"Well played," came Tartaglia's voice, "good attack power, good execution, flawless form. Who taught you to fight?"
Both you and Anya jumped, turning to face the Harbinger.
"My mother," you said.
"Your mother taught you very well," Tartaglia said, and coming from a Harbinger, that was high praise. You felt your cheeks heat up.
"Thank you, Lord Harbinger, sir."
He studied you head to toe, a luster of intrigue in his eyes. He stepped closer to you, a grin finding its way to his lips. You shared a glance with Anya, but didn't move away from Tartaglia.
"Train hard and you will be unstoppable. I look forward to seeing what you become."
You could do no more than nod, watching as he stepped back a few paces, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Well," he said, inclining his head in your direction, "don't stop at my expense. Please, continue."
So you did. You sparred with Anya for what felt like hours, until your muscles were burning and sore and your breath was thin and the snow was falling in flurries around you. Tartaglia watched you, interjecting with pointers, praise, and every so often stepping forward to demonstrate a move. It wasn't every day you get personal attention from a Harbinger.
And then, he put a hand on Anya's shoulder, whispering something in her ear. She gave you a glance, its meaning indiscernible because of her mask, but she stepped aside, taking Tartaglia's place at the sidelines. And he took hers in front of you.
"L-Lord Harbinger?" You stuttered, and Tartaglia smiled.
"Try and hit me, comrade."
Your eyes widened behind your mask. Most recruits would absolutely jump at the chance to spar with a Harbinger. It was an absolute honor to do so. And you were honored, but you were also terrified. You stared at Tartaglia blankly until he spoke again.
"Are you refusing a direct order, recruit?"
You straightened. "No, Lord Harbinger, sir."
With a deep breath, you got into a fighting stance, and Tartaglia did the same. You looked over at Anya, and noticed that a few other recruits had stopped to watch. You swallowed your fear, your apprehension, and remembered what your mother taught you, what she'd continued to teach you until you left to join the Fatui.
Let the opponent strike first. Let them show their hand, then exploit that weakness.
But Tartaglia knew that too, and he watched you with practiced ease, eyes scanning for any opening you'd give. He knew what he was doing. You were not a Harbinger. You were not an elite. But you'd been taught by one of the top martial artists in Snezhnaya, and the fact that you were her daughter didn't stop her from training you harder than even her most skilled students. So you knew what you were doing, too.
And you were going to use every weapon in your arsenal.
You were smaller that Tartaglia, so you could use your own speed and his momentum against him.
"Hit me," he repeated, and you took a slow breath, completely calm now.
"You first, Lord Harbinger."
His eyes widened, just a fraction, at your sudden change in demeanor, but a sort of manic glee took over his face for a split second when he realized just how seriously you were taking this now. You watched him sweep your body with his gaze, eyes scanning for weak spots, anything at all. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips, making you realize the extent of his hunger for battle.
You were probably going to lose, you knew that much. But you'd sure put up one hell of a fight.
It was clear he was growing impatient from the restless shuffling of his feet, which was almost comical in a rather dark way. So you let that impatience brew until he struck. The kick was so fast you barely had time to duck beneath it, using his momentum against him to meet him with a high kick of your own, sending him toppling into the snow while his balance was off.
The training grounds were utterly silent, save for the whistling of the wind and your own heartbeat thudding in your ears.
Have... I done something wrong?
"L-Lord Harbinger—"
Tartaglia laughed, rising to his feet. His eyes were wild, but intensely focused. He shrugged his coat off, and an officer rushed to collect it from the snow, then clearing away from you and the Harbinger.
"Oh, yes," he said, his grin growing, "you intrigue me more and more every second. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"
You blinked, taken aback, but you answered earnestly. "I have been training my whole life, Lord Harbinger, sir."
"You have a warrior's spirit," he said, "show me more, would you, comrade? This time, I won't let you surprise me."
You let your own smile overtake your face. "I count on that, Lord Harbinger."
Sparring with Tartaglia was nothing like sparring with Anya. He was quick, precise, calculating. You were doing all you could to keep up, ducking, dodging, blocking and trying with all your might to land a blow, and you did land a few, but his form was even more perfect than your mother's. He quickly adapted to your momentum based fighting style, using power based hits instead of speed based ones, making it harder for you to counterattack. You noticed that your fellow recruits had stopped sparring to watch your battle with awed silence, but you pushed the anxiety that having an audience brought to the back of your mind.
"Having trouble keeping up?" Tartaglia huffed, blocking your kick, and you shook your head.
Confidence is key. Don't let the enemy see your doubts.
"Not at all, Lord Harbinger, sir."
"Good," he said, grin wide and bordering on manic, "give me all you've got."
You were panting, growing tired, and you were pretty sure you were covered in bruises, but your veins were singing with adrenaline and you felt alive. Every strike and block left your body stinging with aches and your mind buzzing with energy. You were sure you'd feel it later, once the rush faded, but right now, you were running on pure instinct and the pain was secondary.
The sun had begun to sink and the cold had dropped to biting levels when you finally stopped, chest heaving and sweat sticking your hair to your temples despite the frigid air.
"Every morning," Tartaglia said, clapping a hand on your shoulder, "you will meet me for training. You, comrade, are one of a kind. And with my guidance, you will bring glory to Snezhnaya."
You were stunned by what he said. The other recruits who had remained to see your sparring match were muttering amongst themselves, looking at you like you were a Harbinger yourself. And with the praise Tartaglia was heaping onto you, you had a feeling you wouldn't be treated as a mere recruit any longer, not when someone like him had taken a special interest in you. You knew Tartaglia had been going easy on you. You knew restraint when you saw it. If he were to go all out, you most likely could have been killed. No, scratch that. You would have been killed.
And yet, why had he held back? Was he afraid of hurting you? The other Harbingers didn't go easy on their men. But Tartaglia had promised you no harm would come to you, and from what you were quickly learning, Tartaglia was different from the other Harbingers.
You were also starving. The last time you'd eaten was at lunch when you'd had a brief pause from sparring to have a meal, and after that, you went right back to it. But that was hours ago. And as soon as you came to that realization, your stomach growled so loud it started you.
"Go eat," Tartaglia said with a huff of laughter, "shower. Take care of yourself. And do not keep me waiting tomorrow morning. At least, not for too long."
He said the last bit with a mischievous smirk, making your cheeks flush.
"Y-Yes Lord Harbinger, sir!" You said, standing at attention. Tartaglia waved his hand dismissively.
"At ease."
You did as he said, but didn't have time to say any more before he was collecting his coat and walking away, leaving you to watch his retreating figure.
You headed off to the mess hall after that, scarfing down your dinner and then heading to the locker room to take a shower. You had to get under the spray off water in increments since your chilled flesh wasn't used to the heat, but once you were fully under, the water felt heavenly on your sure muscles. You were correct about the bruises, they covered your skin like patchwork and we painful to touch. You'd have to visit the infirmary to get some solvent for the abrasions, you figured. You'd do it tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning.
You felt your nerves gather into a tight knot in the pit of your stomach. You had no idea what sort of training Tartaglia had planned for you. It was probably harder than general training, which made you nervous, but you took a deep breath, focusing on the positive. A Harbinger had taken you under his wing, which was a huge honor. You'd receive training from one of the Fatui's elite, and that would in turn make you one of the Fatui's elite.
It was frankly a lot to take in.
You switched off the water after finishing with watching your hair and body, dressing and drying off as best your could before going back out into the cold. You took your sweaty uniform to the laundry room, leaving it on the table for the cleaning staff to take care of. You had a few uniforms, so that was covered for tomorrow. After that was taken care of, you went back to the barracks.
The barracks were full of your fellow recruits, some gathered in broken circles and chatting, some curled up in their beds, asleep. The chatter died when you entered the room, careful eyes studying you, and you dropped your head as you climbed the ladder to your own bunk, ignoring them. You tucked yourself under your blankets, running your fingers through your still damp hair, which had frozen when you went outside. It had begun to thaw once you were indoors, leaving it cold and wet. You tucked the blanket up around your head, curling in on yourself.
You were unable to fall asleep until lights out was called, and everything was quiet save for the howl of the wind outside. You had no idea what to expect tomorrow. It scared you as much as it excited you. You sighed, closing your eyes, feeling exhaustion tug at your consciousness.
You supposed you'd have to wait and see what happened.