Arlecchino's boots echoed through the grand halls of the House of the Hearth, each step precise and deliberate. The building's cold, stony atmosphere mirrored her demeanor—unyielding and sharp, leaving an unsettling air in her wake. Despite the stone walls and the silence that clung to the hallways, this place was filled with children, orphans under her care, whose futures she shaped as coldly and methodically as any Fatui mission.

Beside her strode Tartaglia, better known as Childe, his carefree yet dangerous grin contrasting starkly with Arlecchino's stern composure. His stride was light, and he seemed almost out of place among the severe surroundings of the House of the Hearth. Yet there was something in the way he moved—predatory, controlled—that suggested otherwise. This was a man who thrived on conflict, who relished in the fight. And yet here he was, accompanying Arlecchino in this moment of relative quiet.

"You know," Childe began, his tone playful as he looked around at the children who had gathered in the courtyard ahead of them. "Never thought I'd see you in a place like this, Knave. You don't exactly strike me as the nurturing type."

Arlecchino didn't respond immediately. Her gaze was locked ahead, focused on the children playing in the courtyard, their laughter faint against the snow-laden landscape. The air was crisp, cold, and unyielding, much like the woman standing next to him. She remained silent, her hands clasped behind her back as she surveyed the scene.

Childe watched her for a moment, his grin softening slightly. He knew better than to expect an answer from her immediately, especially when she was deep in thought. So, he waited, his hands resting casually on the hilts of his twin blades, ever ready for action even in such peaceful surroundings.

The children were playing in the snow, their small footprints crisscrossing the courtyard in chaotic patterns. Snowballs flew through the air, followed by peals of laughter. It was a rare sight in Snezhnaya—a moment of innocence in a place ruled by power and ambition. Arlecchino stood at the edge of it all, like an overseer of a world that wasn't entirely hers but one that she had undeniably shaped.

One of the younger boys, his cheeks flushed red from the cold, paused in his game and looked up at her. His wide eyes flickered with a mix of awe and fear—emotions most people felt in her presence. He hesitated, then picked up a snowball, clutching it tightly in his gloved hands.

Childe, noticing the boy's silent challenge, chuckled under his breath. "Looks like you've got a little warrior on your hands."

The boy took a breath, then hurled the snowball at Arlecchino. It sailed through the air, barely holding its form before splattering harmlessly against the hem of her coat. Arlecchino didn't flinch. She merely looked down at the wet patch on her uniform before raising her gaze back to the boy, her face as unreadable as ever.

Childe laughed outright, slapping a hand on Arlecchino's shoulder. "Well, that's one brave kid! Should I give him a medal, or are you going to return the favor?"

Arlecchino's eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no malice in her gaze—only calculation. She knelt down, scooping up a handful of snow with the same precision she used to wield her polearm. The boy's eyes widened as she packed the snow into a tight ball, her movements slow and deliberate, giving him time to consider his next move.

Without warning, she flicked her wrist, sending the snowball flying with pinpoint accuracy. It hit the boy square in the chest, knocking him off balance into the snow. He let out a startled laugh, scrambling to his feet as the other children cheered.

"Careful what you start, kid," Childe called out, still grinning. "The Knave doesn't lose, not even in a snowball fight."

The children, emboldened by the sight of Arlecchino joining their game, began pelting her and Childe with snowballs, their laughter filling the courtyard. Childe, ever the fighter, eagerly joined in, scooping up snow and launching it with an enthusiasm usually reserved for battle.

Arlecchino, meanwhile, remained more measured in her response. She returned fire with calculated precision, each snowball landing exactly where she intended. Her expression remained cold, but there was a faint glimmer of something in her eyes—something that only Childe, with his keen understanding of battle and warriors, could see.

After several rounds of snowball warfare, the children finally began to tire, their energy spent from running and laughing in the snow. Arlecchino straightened, brushing the snow from her coat as she watched them collapse in happy exhaustion.

"They really look up to you, huh?" Childe said, stepping up beside her once again. His voice was quieter now, more reflective. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Even I can see why they'd feel safe here, despite... everything."

Arlecchino didn't respond, but her silence spoke volumes. She had always been more comfortable with action than words, and Childe understood that. He wasn't here to dig into her thoughts or motivations. He was here to deliver something far more practical.

He pulled a small envelope from his coat and held it out to her. "By the way, the Tsaritsa has a new mission for you. Top priority."

Arlecchino took the envelope without a word, her eyes briefly scanning the seal before slipping it into her coat pocket. Her mind was already shifting back to work, the brief respite with the children fading into the background.

Childe watched her for a moment, his usual grin replaced by something more serious. He knew what the mission was, and he knew it wouldn't be easy—not for her, not for anyone.

"I'll say this," he began, his voice lower now, "it's not going to be like the others. You're being sent after Focalors... or whatever name she's going by these days."

Arlecchino's hand stilled for a moment before she continued brushing the snow from her gloves. Her face remained unreadable, but there was a tension in the air that hadn't been there before.

"Just... be careful, Knave," Childe added, his usual bravado tempered by a rare hint of concern. "This one's personal, whether you like it or not."

He turned to leave, his coat billowing slightly in the wind as he walked away, but not before casting one last glance over his shoulder. "And don't worry, I'll handle things here while you're gone. These kids will be safe."

Arlecchino watched him go, her posture rigid and her mind already calculating the next steps. She didn't need his reassurance—she never had. But still, his words lingered in the air, mixing with the cold wind as she stood there, her gaze shifting to the envelope now tucked securely in her pocket.

With a deep breath, she turned back toward the House of the Hearth. The children had returned to their games, oblivious to the weight of the mission she now carried. Arlecchino's boots crunched against the snow as she walked away from the courtyard, her mind already locked onto the target ahead.

The air inside the House was warm, but the warmth did nothing to melt the cold resolve in Arlecchino's heart. She was the Knave, after all—a leader, a warrior, a woman who didn't hesitate when duty called.

And now, her next mission awaited.

..................

The light of the early morning crept into the House of the Hearth, casting long shadows across the floor as Arlecchino silently packed her belongings. Her movements were precise, quick, and without hesitation, as she carefully placed her weapons, documents, and other essential items into a sleek black suitcase. The familiar weight of her polearm rested on the edge of the bed, within arm's reach. Despite the methodical calm of her preparation, the tension in the air was palpable.

Footsteps echoed down the hall—a lighter, more hesitant sound than her own—and soon enough, the door creaked open slightly. Lyney, with his trademark mischievous smile, stepped inside first. His twin sister, Lynette, followed quietly behind him, her expression as neutral and unreadable as ever. Freminet, the youngest of the group, trailed last, his eyes darting around the room with a nervous energy.

"You're really going through with this, huh?" Lyney said, his tone light, but with an undertone of concern. "Fontaine isn't exactly a vacation spot, even on good days."

Arlecchino didn't respond immediately, continuing to pack as if nothing had changed. She tucked the envelope from Childe neatly into a hidden compartment, along with the necessary dossiers regarding their mission. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and firm..

Arlecchino stood at the center of the room, her movements precise as she methodically folded a long coat and placed it into her small travel case. Her face remained stoic, though her eyes flickered with intent. She picked up her polearm, sliding it into its sheath with a quiet click before slinging the case over her shoulder. She said nothing, but her presence commanded the room, her silence speaking volumes about the gravity of the mission.

Lyney, leaning against the edge of a nearby table, lazily shuffled his deck of cards, flipping them through his fingers as he packed lightly—just his essentials. His bag lay half-open on the floor, a few scattered items tossed in without much care, though his eyes occasionally flickered toward Arlecchino, watching her every move. "I don't see why we're even bothering with all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense," he muttered, tossing a card into the bag with a flick of his wrist. "It's not like we haven't infiltrated Fontaine before."

Lynette, kneeling by her own travel case, was more focused. Her fingers worked deftly as she packed, but her attention was divided between Lyney's idle words and the task at hand. "This is different," she replied softly, not meeting his gaze. "We're not just infiltrating this time. We're going after someone—someone who's unpredictable."

Freminet, sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, adjusted his diving gear, making sure every piece was in place before tucking it carefully into his pack. His brow furrowed in concentration, but the tension in the room wasn't lost on him. "Do you think... she really is unstable?" he asked hesitantly, glancing up at his siblings. "The people have been talking about her... saying she's lost touch with reality."

Arlecchino's eyes flicked toward him, her expression unreadable. She didn't answer immediately, instead fastening the last strap on her bag before turning to face the three. "We'll find out soon enough," she said coldly, her voice devoid of any hint of emotion. "But regardless of what she has or hasn't lost, our mission remains the same."

Lyney pushed off the table, his signature smirk returning to his face as he swung his bag over his shoulder. "Furina, ...Focalors, or— whatever she's calling herself these days... if she's really gone mad, it'll make things interesting, won't it?"

Lynette shot him a sharp look, silencing him before he could continue. "This isn't the time for games, Lyney," she said quietly, standing up and adjusting her coat. "We have a job to do, and we can't afford distractions. The people are already losing faith in their Archon—if we're going to capitalize on that, we need to be smart."

Freminet stood up as well, slinging his pack over his shoulder and glancing between the three of them. He didn't say much, but the uncertainty in his eyes spoke volumes. He was the youngest, and this mission was different from the others they had carried out before. This wasn't just espionage or sabotage—it was a direct confrontation with Fontaine's Archon, someone with power far beyond what they usually faced.

Arlecchino's gaze swept over the group, her cold demeanor unyielding. "We leave now. The boat is waiting for us at the docks."

Without another word, they moved as one, heading toward the door and into the cold night air of Snezhnaya.

__________--☆--__________

The boat ride to Fontaine was quiet, save for the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull and the occasional creak of the wood as it cut through the water. The four Fatui members sat on the deck, the night sky above them clear, dotted with stars. The moonlight reflected off the surface of the water, casting an ethereal glow across the sea.

Arlecchino stood at the bow, staring out at the horizon, her mind focused on the task ahead. Though her expression remained neutral, the tension in her shoulders was palpable. Behind her, Lyney sat cross-legged on the deck, once again flipping through his deck of cards, though his usual banter was absent. Lynette sat beside him, her arms crossed as she stared at the water, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Freminet sat a little ways off, fiddling with a small device in his hands as he often did when he was nervous. He glanced up at the others every now and then, his gaze lingering on Arlecchino for a moment before returning to his device.

"Once we land," Arlecchino finally spoke, breaking the silence, "we need to blend in with the people. Fontaine is on edge, and the last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves."

Lyney chuckled, glancing up from his cards. "Blend in, huh? With these masks and coats, we'll fit right in," he said sarcastically, though there was a seriousness behind his words.

Lynette shot him a warning glance before turning to Arlecchino. "What's the plan once we're in?"

Arlecchino's eyes remained fixed on the horizon. "We gather information. We need to know exactly what state the archon is in—and what the people think of her. If she's truly lost control, it'll make our job easier. But if not... we'll adjust."

Freminet spoke up quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if she... hasn't lost control? What if she's still strong?"

Arlecchino didn't answer immediately, her cold gaze unwavering. "Then we'll deal with her. One way or another."

The boat continued its journey toward Fontaine, the city of water and justice looming ever closer. As they approached, the group grew quiet once more, each of them preparing for what was to come. They were Fatui, masters of deception and manipulation, but this mission was different. This time, they were going up against one of the Seven—and even for them, that was no small feat.

As they disembarked at the docks of Fontaine, the four of them moved with practiced ease, blending into the crowd of merchants, sailors, and city folk. Arlecchino led the way, her sharp eyes scanning the bustling streets for any sign of danger or opportunity. Lyney and Lynette walked just behind her, their eyes darting around, picking up snippets of conversation from the locals. Freminet stayed close to them, his quiet presence almost unnoticed amidst the noise of the city.

The people of Fontaine were anxious, that much was clear. Conversations about Furina—Focalors—were everywhere. Some spoke in hushed tones, others with open frustration or concern. It was clear that the Archon's strange behavior had not gone unnoticed, and many were beginning to question her ability to rule.

"She's been talking about things that never happened," One woman whispered to a companion as they passed by.

"Wars, disasters... it's like she's seeing ghosts."

"I heard she hasn't shown her face in days," Another man muttered.

"Maybe she's gone mad."

Arlecchino's expression remained unchanged as they walked through the streets, though the tension in her movements was barely noticeable. She absorbed the information, storing it away for later. The rumors were worse than she had anticipated—but that only made things easier for her and the Fatui.

As they continued through the city, Arlecchino turned to her companions. "We'll split up here. Gather as much information as you can. We'll meet back at the safehouse tonight."

Without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving the others to their tasks.

Lyney watched her go, his usual smirk returning as he turned to his siblings. "Well, looks like we're in for some fun," he said with a wink. "Let's see what the people of Fontaine have to say about their beloved Archon."

Lynette rolled her eyes but nodded in agreement. "Just be careful. We don't want to draw too much attention."

"Let's just try not to let Father down.. you know how father feels about failure.." "oh Lynette ! You worry too much! And anyways I have a plan not to let Father down." Lyney smiled.

Freminet remained silent, his mind focused on the mission. Though they were used to high-stakes operations, this one felt different. They were walking into a city on the brink of collapse, and the fate of Fontaine—and its Archon—hung in the balance.

.........

As the moon hung high above the horizon, casting a silent white hue across the waterways of Fontaine, Arlecchino slipped into the labyrinthine streets of the city, her presence melding with the shadows. The bustling crowd of townsfolk and travelers flowed around her, unaware of the purpose that drove her forward. She kept her hood pulled low, the fabric concealing her features as she meandered through the narrow alleys, the sound of the splashing water beneath bridges mingling with the chatter of the locals.

Arlecchino's keen ears were attuned to the murmurs of the people, each conversation a potential thread in the tapestry of information she sought. She moved gracefully, her steps light and measured, an embodiment of quiet confidence. As she passed by a group of merchants, she paused, pretending to examine a nearby stall laden with trinkets. The scent of freshly caught fish wafted through the air, mingling with the salty tang of the sea, but her attention was elsewhere.

"Have you heard what she said in the Council yesterday?"

one of the merchants whispered, casting a furtive glance around before leaning closer to his companion. "It was like she was speaking in riddles. The Archon is... different."

"Different how?" the other merchant asked, leaning in with intrigue.

The first merchant shrugged, his brow furrowed. "I can't quite put my finger on it. But there's a feeling... she's not as stable as she once was. The way she spoke about the past—things that never happened— it sent a shiver down my spine."

Arlecchino stilled her breathing, focusing on their conversation, every word woven into the fabric of her understanding. "Not as stable," she repeated in her mind, allowing the phrase to settle. This was the sort of doubt she needed to cultivate.

She moved on, weaving through the crowd, her ears catching fragments of conversations as she passed cafes and bakeries. A group of young adults leaned against a wall, animatedly discussing the latest happenings in the city.

"Focalors needs to be more present," one said, frustration evident in their tone. "If she can't even keep the people united, how can she lead?"

Another scoffed. "I heard she's been talking about the history of Khaenri'ah. Like she's reliving it in her mind. It's a bit concerning, don't you think?"

Arlecchino's lips curled into a sly smile, but she remained composed, her interest piqued. The more she heard, the clearer the narrative became. Khaenri'ah—the fall of it had left scars, not just on its people but on the hearts of those who spoke of it.

Continuing her exploration, Arlecchino slipped into a quieter side street where the noise of the main thoroughfare faded into the background. Here, the dim light from lanterns flickered gently, casting dancing shadows on the cobblestone paths. She noticed a small group of older women gathered at a bench, their voices hushed but earnest.

"I worry about our Archon," one of them said, her voice trembling slightly.

"She seems lost in thought all the time, as if she's somewhere else entirely. What will happen if she can't find her way back?"

"I heard she spoke of visions appearing when she sleeps," Another woman replied, her tone conspiratorial.

"That she sees things, understands them in ways we cannot. But what does that mean for us? Can we trust someone so... detached?"

Arlecchino's heart raced. Detached. It was the perfect word. The more the populace felt that Focalors was slipping, the easier it would be for her to slip into the role of an alternative. She stepped back into the shadows, keenly observing them as they continued their worried discussion.

As the night deepened, the city transformed, the vibrant colors of the day giving way to muted shades of blues and purples. Arlecchino made her way to the harbor, the sound of the lapping waves soothing against the backdrop of her thoughts. She leaned against the wooden railing, gazing out at the water as ships bobbed gently in the harbor, their lanterns casting a soft glow that mirrored the stars above.

Here, she could reflect. The whispers of doubt surrounding Focalors were not just idle chatter; they were a signal of shifting tides. Arlecchino knew she had to play this right, to ensure the seeds of discontent grew into a harvest of chaos that would lead to her benefit.

Just then, a figure approached, interrupting her solitude. A young man, perhaps a dockworker, stopped nearby, leaning against the railing beside her.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.

"Just passing through," Arlecchino replied, her voice smooth as silk. "What do you think of the Archon?"

He shrugged, casting his gaze out over the water.

"She's... well, it's complicated. Some say she's got a heavy burden, trying to keep the city together. But others think she's losing her grip. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes."

"Interesting perspective," Arlecchino said, nudging him slightly. "What do you think will happen if she continues down this path?"

The dockworker hesitated, then replied,

"Who knows? People are already starting to talk. They want someone strong to guide them. They might turn to someone else if they think she can't handle it."

Arlecchino's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "Someone strong, you say? And who might that be?"

The man shrugged again, his expression a mix of uncertainty and curiosity.

"There's always someone waiting in the wings, ready to take charge. It's a cycle."

As he spoke, Arlecchino felt the weight of his words settle around her like a cloak. The cycle of power, the relentless push and pull of leadership—it was a game she had played for a long time. "Perhaps," she mused, "you'll see a new leader rise when the time comes."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving the dockworker to ponder her words. The night was still young, and the city of Fontaine was a treasure trove of secrets waiting to be uncovered. Each whisper she collected would become a thread in the tapestry she was weaving—a narrative that would ultimately unravel Focalors' reign and pave the way for something new.

Arlecchino slipped back into the heart of the city, her heart racing with possibilities. The mission was just beginning, and as she moved through the streets, she felt the thrill of the hunt coursing through her veins. Each step was a step closer to the truth, and each whisper brought her closer to reshaping the future of Fontaine.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
IM SO SORRY FOR THE SUPER LONG WAIT! IM WRITING A HALLOWEEN SPECIAL FOR THIS ONEAND IM SO SORRY! ILL TRY TO POST MORE.

-The author