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Childe stares at the sumpter beast lying on its side at the edge of a small enclosure, its back turned towards the gate and the people gathered there. It’s a big animal, larger than others Childe has seen, covered by shaggy fur. It should look majestic, but instead, the impression it gives slumped against the hard ground is almost…sad. Its coat is unkept, the food in the trough on the other edge of the enclosure untouched.
The nervous recruit by Childe’s side pipes up, “Sir, when working in Sumeru every unit is required to have a sumpter beast with them to carry essential provisions. Even– even a single-person unit.”
“And this is the best mount you have available?” Childe asks, one eyebrow raised.
“This is the only fully grown one we have available,” the skirmisher admits, his voice rising slightly as the harbinger turns to look at him. “I am sorry, sir. They’re herd animals. They don’t like being separated from their handlers, and they’re known to escape back to their pack if they’re taken by force.”
Childe frowns. “And this one?”
“This one lost its previous owners. It has no current ties.“
Childe hums, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation. “Does it have a name?”
“We don’t know, sir. It was found in a decimated camp, the only survivor of a battle.”
Childe’s expression brightens. “A battle-hardened sumpter beast? Now, that I like. Let’s see if we can get along.”
He vaults easily over the fence, not bothering with the gate. When his feet thump against the ground, the sumpter beast rolls its head to the side enough to glance at him before huffing and turning away.
“Hey there, beasty!” Childe croons as he slowly approaches the animal trying to not move too suddenly.
The sumpter beast resolutely ignores him, even when he reaches its line of sight, it refuses to look at him, ignoring him completely.
Childe isn’t so easily deterred. “What do sumpter beasts like?”
The recruit jumps to attention. “They’re herbivores, sir, but usually they’re not picky. Some have a bit of a sweet tooth and like fruits or even sugar.”
“Okay, let’s try that, then,” Childe says, snapping his fingers, his hand held palm up expectantly, even if his gaze is still on the beast.
“Uh, right away sir.”
There’s a short clamor on the other side of the fence, the recruits rushing to do his bidding no doubt before a breathless agent brings a sack of goods to him. Childe rummages through it, finding a nice, plump apple. He picks it out, tossing it from hand to hand as he wonders what to do.
He walks closer, the beast still ignoring him, but Childe doesn’t miss the way its nostrils flare with interest. He places the apple on the ground a foot or so from the sumpter beast before backing away, crouching against the fence, and waits.
The beast is still lying on its side, but it is more attentive now, the sad sag of its body lessening.
For a while, nothing happens. The recruits are starting to get fussy when finally, the animal rolls to its belly and slowly reaches its neck forward to catch the fruit in its mouth.
A sumpter beast is not a clean eater, slurping and crunching as it devours the fruit.
Childe grins. “Thought that might get your attention. Want another one?” He pulls another apple from the sack, tossing it to the ground halfway between the beast and himself.
It eyes him warily, before crawling forward to reach the other treat.
“There you go. I think I'll call you Ivan. You look like an Ivan to me,” Childe says. “I had a swordmaster once who was called that. He looked just as grumpy as you. The resemblance is almost uncanny.“
Ivan looks at him, unimpressed, but it does pick up the other apple, concentrating on gulping down the fruit even as Childe slowly approaches it.
“I think we’re gonna get along just fine,” Childe says as he reaches a hand to pat the animal on one massive shoulder, not quite ready to risk his fingers anywhere close to its mouth just yet.
Ivan just huffs at him.
—
It’s not quite as easy as Childe had thought.
“This would go much faster if you would just move,” Childe says for the tenth time that morning, pulling uselessly at the reins Ivan wears. “You’re a pack animal, you know. Carrying people and their stuff where they want to go is what you’re supposed to do.”
Ivan ignores him, grazing among the grass with no care in the world.
It had taken a few days for everything to get ready for Childe’s excursion. There were supplies to gather and a route to be planned and, meanwhile, Ivan needed to be washed and fitted with new gear.
It had all been fine for the first day. Ivan had allowed Childe to load his supplies on its back and followed him obediently for the first leg of their journey, but after the night, it had just – stopped.
Childe grits his teeth as he pulls on the reins again. Still, Ivan doesn’t budge.
Finally, Childe gives up, throwing his hands in the air as he huffs, “Okay, you win. We’ll take a break, you lazy lump!”
Still fuming, he plops down on a nearby rock, wishing there was some unfortunate monster for him to take his frustration on, but of course, he isn’t that lucky.
Even so, it doesn’t take too long for his temper to cool. It is a nice day, and they’ve stopped at a nice meadow on the edge of the forest.
It isn’t so bad to take a morning off, Childe supposes, ankle crossed over one leg, his elbow propped up against his knee. He’s not in a terrible hurry, and the mission is mostly about tying up some loose ends anyway after the stunt Dottore had pulled. Nothing that can’t wait a few hours or days.
And no one needs to know he’s late because of a stubborn sumpter beast.
An hour later, Ivan strolls after him with a single gentle tug of the reins.
—
There are a few simple rules to follow, Childe learns, to get along with Ivan.
You need to respect its morning graze, but that’s fine, as Childe can just get his workout out of the way early.
Ivan hates to get wet – which can be a bit of a hassle with Childe’s hydro vision and when the route takes them to a rainforest– but it will be forgiven for a few scratches behind ears along its snout or an evening brushing.
An apple or a sugar cube will do wonders for Ivan’s motivation – though Childe learns the hard way that said motivations needs to be well-secured or they will be eaten before it’s been earned. For a sumpter beast, Ivan can be surprisingly nimble when it wants to be.
And most of all, you never, ever try to ride Ivan. Packs are fine, but any rider will be thrown off without remorse. Childe learns this the hard way.
But when the nights turn cold in the desert, Ivan doesn’t mind him curling against its side, the steady thrum of its heartbeat lulling Childe to a more restful sleep than he’s had in a long while. And Ivan doesn’t mind him rambling one bit.
“You’re not bad company,” Childe tells Ivan one night as he’s leaning against its side next to a small fire. “Even if you do snore louder than my last bed partner. But then again, I can’t really hold you to his standards, him being a god and all.”
Ivan, predictably, doesn’t respond, only snoring harder.
“I wonder what Zhongli would think of you?” Childe continues, running his fingers through the coarse fur of Ivan’s flank, thinking of dark hair, silky smooth and much longer. “Maybe I should take you with me to Liyue next time I go visit. Tell him there’s now competition for my heart, and they’re the strong, silent, and reliable type.” He chuckles before he yawns, already half-asleep. “I bet the face he’d make would be priceless.”
—
A few days later they get ambushed by a group of eremites. Honestly, Childe is surprised they’d gotten this far without trouble. A traveler alone in the desert with a sumpter beast loaded with goods is a tempting target for anyone not familiar with Fatui ranks and symbols.
Of course, anyone thinking a Fatui Harbinger is easy pickings doesn’t usually live to tell the tale.
With six men against one, their attackers are too confident in their numbers, surrounding Childe and Ivan in plain sight.
Their arms are drawn, but their postures lax, as their leader gestures towards Childe, “Hand over the goods and the beast.”
“Hm, don’t think so,” Childe says, barely suppressing a smile, his fingers twitching, ready to pull his blades out of thin air. What luck, he thinks. He’d been getting bored with the peaceful trip, anyway. A fight is a welcome distraction.
The eremite laughs. “The foreigner doesn’t seem to understand the situation he’s in,” the leader says, raising his sword. “Lads, let’s teach him a lesson.”
Before they have a chance to attack, however, a roar sounds from before Childe’s back.
He only registers it as Ivan’s when the sumpter beast charges forward, throwing two of their attackers in the air with a single wave of its massive head. It doesn’t stop there, running right over one of the fallen men. The man who raised a sword against Childe barely has time to scream before the sweet, peaceful, stubborn Ivan tramples him to the ground.
“Shoot the beast! Shoot beast!” someone shouts.
The next thing out of their mouth is a fountain of blood, Childe’s arrow sticking out of the man’s throat.
“Hands of the sumpter beast if you want any chance to live,” Childe yells, his expression thunderous. With a flick of his hand, his bow is gone, replaced by his trusted hydro blades as he lunges at the closest man still standing. “Come pick on someone your own size! No one touches Ivan!”
After that it’s all mayhem, men shouting and Ivan roaring, but it does not last long. Six men reduced to three hardly stand a chance against a harbinger. In the end, the only ones left standing are Childe and Ivan.
Even with the enemies dead, Ivan keeps pacing around, nervously shaking its head from side to side, almost pushing Childe out of balance when he tries to get close. Its eyes are wild, its nostrils flaring.
“It’s okay. It’s okay!” Childe shushes Ivan, one hand coming to rest on its neck while the other rubs down the bridge of its snout. His voice drops lower as he tries to soothe the beast.”Hey, were you worried? There’s no need. I can hold my own.”
Little by little, Ivan calms down, huffing at Childe as it bumps its head against his chest.
“There you go, everything’s fine.”
They leave the site of ambush behind, and as the smell of blood clears from the air, Ivan returns to its normal, slightly grumpy self.
Later that evening, when they make camp, Childe rummages through his pouch, grinning when he finds what he’s looking for. “You did well for our first battle. I’m promoting you from recruit to sergeant,” he says to Ivan as he tags the extra emblem to the harness it wears. “Sergeant Ivan, you have earned an extra portion of oats and two apples tonight.”
Ivan eats the apples greedily but is less interested in the new emblem.
No matter, Childe thinks. It’s a silly gesture, but it does feel nice to have someone watching his back.
—
The desert is a bust, the lab Childe was looking for already destroyed, and the one next to Sumeru city too heavily guarded. He does find some men in need of disposal, though, so the whole trip isn’t a complete waste.
They are almost at the border when everything goes wrong.
There’s electricity in the air that Childe knows too well, something pulling him towards the Chasm.
The Abyss.
Childe tries to steer clear of whatever is calling to him – this is not his mission, and he doesn’t want to get Ivan involved – but somehow they end up walking in circles, the stench of the Abyss growing stronger, their sighs in the back of Childe’s mind turning louder and louder.
Ivan seems to sense that something is wrong, too, anxiously bumping its snout against Childe’s back every time he stops.
What they stumble across in the end is a gateway. It’s guarded by a lector, the kind Childe had only seen from afar when he was still in the Abyss.
It turns its masked face towards Childe. “And what do we have here? A new companion or an enemy?” it says. “Either way, I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”
“Too bad because I have no intention of staying,” Childe says as he pulls out his blades, sending a wave of hydro toward his opponent.
“Hm,” the lector hums, dodging Childe’s first strike. “We shall see about that.”
The lector is not alone. With a snap of its fingers, the rift opens, a horde of hilichurls, mitachurls, and abyss mages pouring out.
With them comes something else. The whole world around Childe seems to pulse with the sick miasma, making him falter.
“Ivan, run!” Childe yells as he lunges at his enemies, hydro changing to electro.
He needs to make this fast.
The fight is a blur. The Abyss screams and sings in Childe’s ears far too loudly. Mixed within there are screams and roars, and a manic laughter that might be his own. Blood, so much blood, but it’s never enough. His body grows larger, stronger. The blades are a part of him, and then they are not, fizzling out of existence as Childe stumbles, all strength leaving his limbs. His right side is on fire, but in front of him, the lector crumbles to dust.
For a moment, everything is quiet; the only sound his own ragged breaths.
Then the world tilts, and everything goes black.
—
Something wet nudges Childe’s cheek.
A worried honk. Another wet sensation.
Awareness pieces itself back together slowly. He’s lying on his back on what feels like hard ground and there’s something wet on his face.
A tongue. Something is licking his face.
The nudging gets more frantic. When Childe manages to drag his eyes open his whole field of vision filled with a hairy snout.
“Ivan,” Childe slurs, one hand coming up to pat his companion in what he hopes is a soothing manner.
The sumpter beast bleats in response, right next to Childe’s ear, making him grimace.
“N-not so loud.”
Ivan doesn’t listen, honking again as it pushes against Childe’s shoulder as if trying to get him to move.
Childe groans, pain blooming across his side when it’s jostled. Oh, right. He’d been fighting. When he tries to feel what’s wrong, he finds a deep gash. His hand comes away warm and wet with blood.
“Oh shit,” Childe swears under his breath. This isn’t good.
No wonder Ivan is so upset.
He isn’t much of a healer on the best of days, but he is adept with hydro enough to keep the blood inside.
Only when he tries to use his vision, his eyesight narrows dangerously, the world threatening to tilt off its axis, making him groan.
Bits of pieces of the battle come back to him slowly. He remembers his body changing, growing taller. The foul legacy transformation. He’s almost completely out of energy. No wonder he feels like he’d been run over by a sumpter beast.
With a and pressed against his side, Childe grits his teeth, a thin trickle of hydro answering to his call. It’s not enough to heal, but he should at least be able to stem the blood flow for a little while, but it won’t be any help if he can’t get to a proper healer.
Ivan is still pacing nervously next to him before it slumps down on its belly to Childe’s surprise, like it’s expecting him to tie his pack on its back.
When Childe does nothing, Ivan very carefully lies down on its side right next to Childe, letting out another, demanding bleat.
Childe stares at the animal in incomprehension. There’s nothing on Ivan’s back that he needs. His pack is gone, lost in the battle no doubt. The only thing remaining is the base harness.
Unless–
“You–” Is Ivan offering to take him on its back?
Ivan huffs again, shaking its shoulders.
“Okay, okay–”
Childe groans as he tries to get a hold of Ivan, one hand tangled in the harness it wears, the other gripping at the soft fur of Ivan’s shoulder. So far so good.
The sumpter beast seems satisfied, starting to raise as soon as Childe is in position. When it stands up, Childe wants to scream. No matter how he tries to stay still, the movement threatens to rip his wound open. His side feels like it’s on fire, the fur beneath him turning an alarming shade of crimson.
Ivan neighs,
“I’m alright,” Childe shushes the beast. It’s not quite true. His breath is coming in in short, shallow gasps and he’s barely hanging on, but he is on Ivan’s back, at least.
Where are they? Still, somewhere close to the border of Sumeru and Liyuel, Childe hopes. How far are they from the closest Fatui camp? He can’t remember. His only chance is that a sumpter beast manages to stumble on a friendly faction.
“You think you could find some help?”
Ivan bleats again and starts to trot. Childe can only hope it knows where it’s going.
“Good boy,” he mumbles against the shaggy hair of Ivan’s neck. “I’m just– ‘m gonna rest a bit.”
He sags against Ivan’s back, his vision again growing dark.
—
“Childe! Ajax!”
The voice calling his name is familiar and so are the amber eyes staring down at him when Childe finally opens his eyes. “Z–Zhongli?”
“Please do not move. You are badly injured,” Zhongli says. One of his hands is pressed against Childe’s aching side, pulsing with warm geo-energy. The other squeezes reassuringly around Childe’s hand.
“How– what–”
“I could feel you the moment you bled on Liyuean soil. I found you as soon as I could.” Zhongli says, a haunted look in his eyes. “You were unconscious on the back of this animal.”
Childe could laugh in relief. Ivan had really done it, gotten him safe. How lucky that they’d been so close to Liyue.
At the same time, worry starts to churn in his gut because even if Zhongli is here, he can’t see Ivan. ”Where is it? The sumpter beast?” he aks, trying to push himself up.
Zhongli’s hands move to Childe’s shoulders, their unyielding grip forcing him to stay in place. “Do not try to move. I have done what I can, but the bindings are fragile,” he says.
“I needed to help you, but it would not co-operate, instead trying to attack me.”
His words are not reassuring.
“Zhongli, what did you do.”
“It is simply bound so I could work.”
“Release it! Now!”
Zhongli sighs. “Very well, but you need to stay still.”
Zhongli’s power hums in the air and Childe can hear something crumbling away. Right after, there is an indignant roar as Ivan rushes towards them, barely managing to stop in time before they collide.
Childe chuckles. “Hey, buddy! I’m okay! We’re you worried?” Very carefully he lifts his hands to pet Ivan’s face.
That seems to pacify the sumpter beast, who huffs, pressing closer to him. It’s only when Zhongli tries to move that Ivan starts to growl, showing an impressive amount of blunt teeth.
“It’s okay,” Childe hushes, one hand still scratching behind Ivan’s ear, the other wrapping around Zhongli’s. “He’s a friend. He helped me.”
“A friend?” Zhongli says, mock-offended, but the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Husband, I hope I am rather more than that.”
Childe grins. “What can I say, my heart has been stolen by the dashing Ivan.”
“Ivan?”
“Yes, Ivan, my second in command. And a very good boy.”
The said good boy is again busy rubbing its snout all over Childe’s face.
“Ah, you are talking about the sumpter beast.”
This time when Zhongli gets up, he keeps his hands up in a pacifying gesture. Ivan still gives him a wide berth, staring at him suspiciusly, but at least it isn’t growling
“We should make haste. You still require a proper healer and after that a bath,” Zhongli says. “You reek as badly as your new companion.”
“Mmm, a bath sounds nice,” Childe says, still smiling. “You’ll take me home?”
“Of course.”
“And Ivan, too?”
“Hm. I was not prepared to accommodate a sumpter beast, but let me see what I can do,” Zhongli says, turning toward the sumpter beast. Very quietly, so that Childe can barely hear, he adds, “Thank you, Ivan, for bringing him home.”