Chapter Text
The silver blue of the predawn sky, found over their heads and inside two eyes above him. A lovely voice weaving itself into the wind’s whispers and early birdsong, lulling him further. Cold dew dripping down his skin, raw hot pulsing inside his chest, and a warm hand over his head. Those were the last things Xiao saw, heard and felt as his mind slipped away and his body grew numb. When velvety darkness filled his sight, he fell weightless into a deep, fathomless slumber.
He didn’t know how long he spent falling—maybe a few seconds or even a whole day—but it didn’t bother him. It was nice; he’d always liked to fall, it gave him peace. To let go of his grip on control, and give himself completely to the wind’s whims. It was the closest thing he had to flying. Falling wasn’t the problem; it was hitting the ground. But this time, the crash to reality didn’t come. Instead, his feet found land on their own, and he knew he’d arrived, somehow.
When he opened his eyes, and he realized where he was, it felt like life was mocking him. He’d at last entered his realm of consciousness, after weeks of failed attempts. And all it took him was almost succumbing to his karmic debt. What a sick joke.
The landscape of his soul was a recreation of the marsh, but as tainted and broken as himself. Instead of the serenity of Dihua, here it was a perpetual battlefield. This was a place where he could exercise restraint of the old gods inside him by facing them upfront. On the outside, he fought monsters. On the inside, he fought demons. There wasn’t a moment his soul was free of strife.
But this time—
“This place…feels different.”
He surveyed his surroundings. Miasma, black as smoke, still shrouded the place, blocking the sky. Tree bark and stone still looked like they’d survived a fire. A thick blanket of ash continued to cover the ground. The river of his memory remained foul and fractured. But the air wasn’t as heavy and impossible to breathe.
Indeed, the wind was absent; it no longer swayed the reeds of his thoughts. The marsh was silent; no voices of dead gods threatened to deafen him. The marsh was deserted; only he stood in the arena atop the stone pillar, where they built Wangshu in reality.
These were signs that something was wrong. Never has his mind been so…still. He raised his defenses just in time to block the strike of a taloned claw, using his strength to push the attacker away. His own voice but rougher—angrier—spat at him.
“At last you are here, coward.”
Raising his eyes, he faced a mirage of himself. Its body was translucent and wispy, his own Nuo mask sneered at him, eyes glowing and reflective. The long wild hair, torn apart rags, taloned fingers and bloodied bare feet were the only way to realize the truth.
This wasn’t another dead god using his image to torture him. This was—
The ego hissed at the double, as if its existence offended him, while summoning a memory of his spear. They circled around the battlefield, seeking an opening—calculating, measuring each other.
“I see; you managed to escape. Now everything makes sense. You’re the reason why my Vision started to act out.”
“What other option did I have!? It was the only way you’d notice me after locking me away in the depths of our heart!”
“As you should be. You’re a mistake; you shouldn’t exist. If I could, I’d have got rid of you the moment you manifested.”
“Yes, if you could. But you can’t, because it’s thanks to ‘this mistake’ that we even got a Vision. But you’re so scared of the truth, you attempted to reap its rewards while never accepting it!”
“I know the truth. I am an Illuminated Beast. I’ve an open inner eye by nature. I never needed a Vision to use my element. This Vision wasn’t granted by a wish.”
“True, true, true, wrong.”
“What?”
“We have a desire. One that made Celestia manifest it physically. If it weren’t for the Eye of God tethering our wish, we’d have lost in the sea of karma. You know I speak the truth. Why else would we have a Vision in the first place!?”
Both lunged at the same time. Talons capable of tearing flesh and bone, blocked and pushed away by a spear-shaped will. Blessed, sharp jade passed through the still air—its target dodged away. They returned to circle around the battlefield; two birds of prey waiting for the right moment to strike again.
“I needed an external Eye to blend in better with humans, now that I reside in the inn.”
“Forgot already? We got a Vision long before Wangshu existed. You never stopped to think of the implications of that reveal, but that’s not a surprise. You distract yourself with your ‘duty’ because you can’t be alone with your thoughts anymore. You prefer to suffer the cacophony of hatred over hearing my voice. That’s why you continue to fight despite having no obligation to. It’s a mere excuse to ‘no longer remember’.”
“It’s not an excuse. My duty—my purpose—is to purify Liyue. It’s normal for me to accumulate karma. That I forget memories is a necessary sacrifice. If it serves to keep you quiet, it is its only benefit.”
“To the Abyss with this so-called duty! This month only served to prove we’re no longer fit for this! Look at the state we’re in—the state you got us in! We barely lasted a week without our Vision. Vision holders ended up doing most of the job in the end. And they had to drag you away or you’d have succumbed sooner. Face it: Humans will protect themselves one day. We’re needed no more!”
Another lunge. Another exchange of blows. Both struck, neither landed an attack, before returning to their dance.
“That day is not yet today. Thus, I’ll continue onwards.”
“So you admit you’re slowly killing yourself, only to not face your own irrelevance?”
“I’m atoning for all my past transgressions. All the dreams I gorged myself with; all the lives I snuffed out, both human and divine. A life of servitude towards this land I took so much from won’t be enough, no matter how long it lasts.”
“It wasn’t our fault! She was the one to blame, and she’s dead already! It’s been over 4000 years; the resentment of those she forced us to hurt were long put to rest! Why not entertain the idea of something different—better—for ourselves!?”
“It’s for words like those, I’ve you locked away. You insist on being a foolish fantasy, a pointless distraction.”
“What’s wrong with wanting to feel good, to feel complete!? Hah! But again, old habits die hard. We’ve always been an addict. You think almond tofu is your real substitute for dreams? Oh, no; the real substitute is karma now. Deep down, you miss feeling as good as we did when we directly ate happiness! We still want it, but you negate yourself. You’d rather self flagellate, sucking up the poison caused by oh-so-mighty Rex Lapis—”
“Do not insult Rex Lapis!”
“I’m only saying how you really feel. Deep down, you’re sick of cleaning the mess Morax caused, and was unwilling to deal with himself. We resent having us do this job that left us with nothing. The same as she did!”
“Lies. It’s different this time. I chose this life.”
“If you can’t imagine anything other than being a god’s bloodhound, was it a choice at all?”
“You only try to confuse me—to make me sway. You lie as any other remnant. I did right in keeping you locked with them. You’re a danger.”
“How would I not be!? You left me to fester here, alongside their hatred you’ve accumulated for millenia! Why do you think the old gods have such a good idea of what to do to tempt you!? Those dreams you’d been dreaming? Woven by them, using the feelings in me as a blueprint. It’s now that we have lost the protection of our Vision, they were free to act!”
“Then all I’ve to do is not separate from my Vision again. Once I lock you away, even if you pull the same trick again, I’ll already know better. I don’t even know why I agreed to do it in the first place.”
“Indeed~ Why did you agree to this plan? To rediscover our wish, you said. But if you really believed this was a fool’s errand from the start, then there’s only one reward to this endeavor. We agreed because it was his idea, and we want him happy.”
“Silence.”
“The happiness of a god is sweeter than any mortal dream. A sweetness unparalleled thanks to all his attention being focused on us. But we never would’ve imagined he’d leave again. He always leaves! But this time, he tethered—shackled—himself to us.”
“Silence.”
“It’s exhilarating to have this much power over someone—over a god! But it scares you. It reminds you of her to feel this way, but you can’t help it, and that terrifies you. So you tried to engineer an excuse—a way you could use it without exposing yourself. ‘If I reach my limits sooner, I can call him back. It’s not that I wanted him back; no, I made a contract to call him back—’”
“I SAID SILENCE!”
The ego howled as he lunged first this time. The double, instead of backing away, caught the spear by the pole as it went to skew it. The double forced him to face it upfront. He saw his own reflection in the empty, mirror-like eyes of the mask. The anger, frustration and embarrassment were obvious on his face.
“You’re doing it again! Whenever someone—even yourself—makes you face the truth, you respond with repression. But not this time! I will not be silenced! You won’t ignore me anymore!”
The doppelgänger, using the spear as a lever, flipped him overhead into the ground. The ego was too shocked by the apparition’s sudden strength to react, landing bluntly on his back. He composed himself fast enough to avoid the claw of five talons going for his face. He rolled away to save his eyes.
The good thing was that, having let go of the spear to attack him, the ego recovered it from the other’s claws. But he couldn’t respond with an attack of his own; the double pushed him to the defensive. Sparks flew every time the spear blocked the relentless attacks. His ears ringed, both from the fall and the doppelgänger’s words.
“Would you still deny yourself now, even when everything inside you is screaming!? Even when your mind is the clearest it has been, you refuse to listen to yourself!? No; you will hear me! We want—strongly and badly! And the proof came from literal heaven!”
“I’m not meant to—! I’m not worthy of—! I’m a Yaksha! I’m only a tool—a weapon! I don’t have the right to have—”
“That’s bullshit, and we know it! Enough with your excuses! Why should you care about all that, when it only brings us misery!? Why remain in a cage when it’s already open, and the sky so inviting!? Wake up and see it; see what you want! Face these feelings inside you! Face yourself—face me! Acknowledge that I’m YOU!”
“YOU’RE NOT!”
The ego finally retaliated, swinging his will against the shadow to force it away. Both figures were now at opposite ends of the battlefield, staring at each other. The ego remained alert while trying to regain his bearings. The shadow was still—abnormally still.
“What…did you say?”
“You’re not me… There’s no way you’re me…”
A small century passed after those words. The only sound was the ego’s panting. Then, a cold chuckle that became a chilling laugh. It perturbed the Yaksha to the bone to hear his voice produce such an unhinged sound.
“That’s right. I’m no longer you, I am me! I am the one who wants! If you won’t accept the feelings behind this wish, then it’s no longer yours at all! This wish is mine now!”
The shadow morphed. Its body twitched and spasmed as feathers covered its body, especially in the arms, in mocking imitation of wings. The familiar Nuo mask’s tusks turned into a beak, wisps of dark turquoise light spewing from its breath. It wasn’t a feral mirror of himself anymore, but an avian-humanoid monstrosity. Paralyzed by horror, the ego could only watch.
It moved to strike him, but he dodged, breaking the grip of fear in his heart. He tried to strike back, but it jumped away. He tried to follow, but his legs felt weighed—he couldn’t jump up. In his shock, the shadow almost hit him with a diving attack—a very eagle-like attack. He rolled away by instinct; he could still move, only not upwards.
“You…really are a monster!”
“Maybe. But I’m more alive than you could ever be!”
The clash continued, but the shadow’s capacity for aerial strikes moved the fight to its favor. It was akin to a wild beast, or a big child lashing out. His only advantage was his experience and speed against its brutal force and animalistic technique.
“Why should the body be at the control of a living dead like you!? Why should someone like you be on the outside when you don’t even experience it—live it!? If you want to die a slow death, be my guest, but I want to live! I want to feel alive—whole—again! Unlike you, who only uses this body as a moving coffin!”
“What—what in the Abyss are you talking about!?”
“Didn’t a god say: ‘to want is proof one is alive’?”
Recognizing the phrase, the ego hesitated for a second, but it was enough. The shadow kicked him in the stomach, sending him to the ashen ground. Before he could recover, it lunged over him. He tried to block it, but found his spear cleaved in two, having taken much of the blunt of the taloned feet. But better a torn apart spear than his guts.
The shadow trapped him beneath its weight. It clawed and punched at his face. The ego tried to teleport away, but there wasn’t any air to answer his call. He could only protect himself by grabbing the shadow’s wrists, keeping it from lashing his face.
The shadow broke free from the ego’s grab, but instead of attacking him, it grabbed his neck. The ego panicked; his windpipe was closed. He struggled harder, trying to take the claws away.
“It’s my turn under the sky’s glow! You, you can waste away in the darkness, with the dead gods you’re so concerned about! Leave the one god I care about to me! I’ll treat him well—better than you ever did!”
“You mean—No…. Are you planning to—!?”
“Yes! I’ll do what you’re too afraid to do: I’ll fulfill my wish! And the best part is that he will not stop me! He promised! I’ll not let this opportunity pass me by!”
No, that couldn’t be. If what this monster said was true, and those dreams were distorted manifestations of such wish, then—
Up in the clouds, he saw the memories of that horrible nightmare, like a giant mirage. This demon was straddling the Anemo archon; his mangled body, defiled by bites and bruises and the demon’s claws. Turquoise ichor flowed from each injury like a fountain. Tainted feathers covered the ground, their source being two broken yet majestic wings that might never again take flight. And the demon, like a giant carrion bird, satisfied its bloodlust with the wind god’s living carcass.
Something inside the ego broke.
The ego did the only thing he could do: put his own hands around the shadow’s own neck. Too focused on strangling the demon, he failed to notice his hands had morphed into talons too.
“I’ll never allow that! I’d rather die than let you hurt him!”
“It’s what I want—what you want!”
“You’re wrong! I’m wrong! These selfish feelings are all wrong! If to want is to live, then I don’t deserve it!”
He saw his reflection in the mask’s eyes. The shadow’s long hair and feathers pooled around his head, giving the impression they were his own. The attacks had torn apart his own clothes and flesh, giving him similar lacerations. If it weren’t for the mask, nobody watching from the outside would’ve been able to tell them apart. The ego and shadow were indistinguishable at a glance.
Space lost all meaning. Time had petrified into an eternal moment. Around them, the world melted away. Like a wet watercolor painting, impressions of feelings bleed together into an inky tar.
Unaddressed desires. Longing. Yearning. Guilt. Fear. Shame. Unworthiness. Self-denial. Self-loathing. Self-hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. HATE. He knew this poisonous cocktail of emotions. It was karma, but it didn’t come from the dead gods. It came from him. From his own rot.
When did his claws move towards his own throat? When did the mask appear on his face, or feathers covered his body? When it became only him in this place? Or perhaps, there was never another. It has always been him. Only him. Two manifestations of a single, split psyche once fought for dominance, trying to claim control of the one self known as Xiao, had now united for one purpose: the eradication of each other.
The elimination of himself.
It’s what he deserved. He was a monster—no different from the ones he hunted. He devoured dreams from the innocent because he couldn’t find any in himself anymore.
Dreams were not for him. To have dreams meant you had good in you. And no good ever came from him.
Dreams were good—felt good. Feeling good was a sin to him. It meant he had to take the good from another, hurting someone else for it.
He knew that, and yet he dared to look at the sky and covet it. A craving that required hurting him.
He couldn’t allow that. He needed to protect him. Protect him from himself. If he could protect him from these feelings—this disgusting desire—with his death, he’ll gladly—
“That won’t do, Xiao”
Xiao opened his eyes from behind the mask. He looked at the sky’s reflection in the murky waters of this world.
A soft breeze pushed away the nightmare above, unveiling a patch of perfect blue sky. A pure white dove came down in a beam of light, diving gracefully towards him. Its song was the sound of the blowing wind, sweet as the melody of a flute. Or a gentle, lovely voice.
“It’s no good that you go on hurting yourself like this.”
“That voice…”
“You’re always so kind to others, so please, show that same kindness to yourself.”
“No…You don’t understand…”
“I know it must be difficult to face the ugly side of yourself. But don’t confuse one part for your entire self.”
The dove disappeared behind him. Two grand white wings, and a pair of arms in long gloves embraced him from behind. Seeing his reflection with wings struck a nerve; his heart clenched within him. Xiao, paralyzed, could only let the angelic wings swallow him. Each feather was a warm, calloused hand caressing his body, sending shivers to his very core. Inside, he smelled the sweet perfume of apples, the intoxicating smell of wine, and the subtle fragrance of Cecilias and dew-drenched greenery.
The voice resonated once again; so close it was like someone whispered the words into his ear. Xiao could almost believe he’d felt warm breath tickling his earlobe.
“This part of you is only lashing out because it’s hurt, and neglected for so long. No matter how negatively you see it, it still deserves your acknowledgement. Listen to it and get to know it. It will be hard, it will be painful, but I know you’ll become stronger from it. I know, because I know you! You’re one of the strongest souls in this world. Despite all the things you’ve gone through, you’ve remained yourself—the most beautiful heart I’ve known. Caring, brave, protective, kind, gentle, and so full of hope—that’s you! My precious little bird, you don’t have to fear facing this storm. You can take off the mask and expose your tender heart. No matter what you find within yourself, I’ll love you just the same. You’ll always be my dearest, beloved Xiao.”
A wounded, sorrowful bird cry echoed through the air. The dark ink cloud above started to downpour over them. The air got filled with ugly sobbing as the wings’ cocoon opened, revealing two figures. The ego was shamelessly weeping, his face exposed. Alongside him was the shadow, but smaller, hiding its mask inside its tiny, trembling claws.
The dove flew from behind them, and the ego—for the first time—raised his eyes to face it. Its eyes were two pools of turquoise light. It was smiling—he knew it was. The wind coming from its beating wings caressed his face tenderly—lovingly. Its head nuzzled his cheek, and Xiao swore it felt like a kiss.
“So, don’t bully yourself too harshly. Give yourself the chance to know yourself—to accept yourself. I’ll be cheering you on, waiting for you to come back to me. Back to an open sky, full of light!”
The dove left in a flurry of feathers as the song of the flute concluded. The feathers blew up towards the sky, tearing apart the veil of clouds in a firework-like explosion. Light fell over the marsh, revealing it had changed. The once barren, tainted Dihua was now filled with flowers, like in its ancient past. They weren’t Glaze Lilies, though; two kinds of white flowers swayed with the gentle breeze. The polluted waters were now crystal clean, and the fractured sections overflowed and reunited with the main river.
His inner world had never been so beautiful before.
Wailing made him look down at the shrunken shadow. When it raised its head, the mask cracked, exposing the bawling face underneath. A childish version of himself—one he thought was no more—sat before him. It raised its eyes and claws, as if trying to grasp the wind.
“Don’t go… Please, don’t leave me again! I’m sorry! I’m so...weak! I was just so angry because it’s been so long! I want to go back! I want to go back to where I was happy, and safe, and at peace again! I miss it! I miss home—I want to go home! But I can’t, so please stay! Don’t leave me alone! I need you! You’re the only option I’ve left!”
Ah, so that’s what it was. He knew what it was—who this was.
He embraced the shadow—no, his younger self. The small figure trembled, obviously unused to being this close, this vulnerable, with anyone. The ego understood, not being used either, not even with himself. But he tried; if he really believes he’s capable, he can try being kind. For him. For this little one. For himself.
“I thought that when I got a new name...you no longer existed.”
“I’m here…I’m still here…I’m here…”
“Yes, you were always here, within me. I just… I just couldn’t recognize you anymore. And so, I left you alone, helpless against the hatred of the dead gods because… I tried to forget you so I didn’t hurt anymore. I’m so sorry…Jinpeng…”
His old, lost self slowly raised his little claws. Jinpeng clung to him for dear life, and the sting between his shoulder blades was almost familiar.
The past and the present. Shadow and ego. Both parts of the same psyche, the same heart, united to form a clearer self. A self who knows itself. Integration, a painful but necessary step began. Both sank into the waters of memoria, still hugging each other. The projection of their bodies dissolved, needing to remain separated no more. This was his inner world; everything in it was him.
Xiao allowed the memories to overflow his mind’s eye. Although calling them memories was a stretch. The merciless march of time had eroded much of his past. All that remained were merely impressions; flashes of childhood sensations, stitched together into a coherent story.
The first feelings of the one named Jinpeng were of the Wind.
The feeling of the breeze on his youthful face, under his juvenile wings; his weightless body riding the currents, his hands touching the sky. The exuberant elation of being free overwhelmed him, unveiling one simple forgotten truth. He is an Illuminated Beast; an Illuminated golden eagle. It’s natural that the sky was his home, and the wind his first love. Anemo was the primordial source of his comfort, and his reason to be. He was born to fly high, to be above the strife of the ground, to be free.
But then, the impressions shifted. His nose clogged with a sickly sweet odor, masking an iron foulness. A saccharine tang replaced the clean, pure taste of rain clouds on his tongue. It was equal parts intoxicating and disgusting; addicting and nauseating. The soft, cold voice of his former master echoed through the sea of memoria. Her face was a blur, but her instructions remained in the crevices of his psyche. For they came with the revolting reward of new dreams.
He ate joy. He consumed aspirations. He devoured nostalgia. He indulged in the entire spectrum of human happiness. Each shifting flavor was a different feeling, and his understanding and empathy grew. That’s how he learned to recognize it: the sweetness of dreams mixed with the aftertaste of blood. Of violent, sudden death abruptly cutting the good feelings. Sudden death that, he soon realized, he was the cause of.
He wanted it to stop. He wanted to get away. He wanted to go back.
The impression shifted once more. The tainted sweetness became terror, pain, and horror. His old master’s voice got muffled in the whirlpool of negative emotions. So used to the feeling and taste of others’ happiness, his own despair was poison. A toxin that threatened to destroy him. In the midst of physical and mental pain, a memory shone clear as a star as her voice echoed through the memories.
“Such beauty does not belong to a monster. The sky must be free—saved from one such as you.”
He tried to find any light within himself to refute those words, but it was no use; there was nothing there. She was right, he was a monster. He’d been gutted out of anything good, bright and kind in him. And now, returning to the innocence of the sky was impossible. He couldn’t even fly anymore.
Despair and shame set in, alongside the ache of hunger and injury. It was a barren, cold winter; no prey available, and snow wasn’t nourishing at all. He was soon defeated by the hunger and hopelessness threatening to destroy him. And so, despite being thrown away, he returned back to her. He’d learnt his lesson.
To express his wants was a doorway to pain.
He returned to kill for her, so she could feed him the hopes and dreams of his victims once again. They were the perfect drug to soothe his soul. An escape from the reality he was literally grounded upon. Those fluffy, sweet feelings gave him a literal high, elating him for a few moments. Yet, once the brief, stolen flashes of happiness faded, the shame and regret returned.
Hunt. Hurt. Get hurt. Kill. Consume. False happiness. Despair. Repeat.
Time lost all meaning in that endless loop. A vicious cycle that kept him dependent on her. He didn’t belong to himself anymore. He was no longer free. He never again looked up to the heavens. It only reopened the wounds on his back, reigniting the phantom pain of mangled wings.
The sensations shifted once again, and gold cut through the looping feelings. A bright golden light, the rich smell of earth, and the solidity of rock filled the space. The terrifying awe of facing the sublime struck his heart. He knew this feeling well: it was Rex Lapis—mighty and relentless as an earthquake.
He thought such light was going to kill him. It could’ve killed him, and he would’ve been alright with it. He deserved to be put down, like the demon he was. But instead, the golden Cor Lapis light spoke.
“In the fables of another land, the name ‘Xiao’ is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. He endured much suffering as you have. Use this name from now on.”
That was the first memory of the one now known as Xiao. That was his real, true beginning.
His first choice, now released from his old master, was to bond himself to another. To the one who had freed him. Rex Lapis gave him a new life; it’s only fitting that he’d watch over his atonement. What other option did he have? He was no longer Jinpeng, the monster who couldn’t return to the skies again. Who didn’t deserve the skies.
He didn’t know anything other than killing though, but Rex Lapis said it would be enough. He became the weapon that shed blood in the name of his god. How fitting it was that he now fought for the soon-to-be new archon of Geo, for he now found himself earthbound.
That’s how he went from a hunting bloodhound to a tool for war. His battles were far more complex than mere slaughter, but it paradoxically kept him stable. War had rules and strategy; he didn’t kill at random anymore, and death had a reason. He wasn’t alone either; camaraderie with his fellow warriors came slow, but got rooted deep. His comrades, juniors who looked up to him, siblings-in-arms, a family.
But it was always there. The temptation to numb himself again with that drug never left him. He constantly fought against it; his new master had forbidden it. So he focused on the fighting for his Lord, and carried on.
His addiction didn’t stop, it only shifted. The cycle of hurt persisted, but now it was purposeful. His fighting and killing were for a greater calling. His shame was fuel that moved him onwards. For centuries, he knew nothing else but Liyue and fighting.
Until, one day, things changed.
The neighbouring eastern nation had long been dormant in an icy spell. But one day a powerful surge of energy occurred. It was so powerful that it shook the entirety of his Lord’s lands. Rex Lapis gave him the task of keeping an eye on the border, in case of possible new enemies. His role as a watcher—as a protector—began observing the frozen, mountainous land of the rising sun. He became the first in Liyue to see the changes.
Mountains were split. The cold was pushed away. Rain clouds gathered and poured. The snow melted and the landscape grew greener. Birds came flying from the east—something never seen before. The wind blew gently, sounding curiously like music.
He reported each change diligently, and from his Lord’s musing, he learnt the name of that land: Mondstadt. No signs of hostility came from the east. Whoever was the cause of Mondstadt’s changes, they weren’t against Liyue, so he was returned to the battlefield.
He fought and killed until his Lord obtained victory. And when war was no more, he was the first to answer the call to be a Yaksha. He would still be a weapon, but now he became an instrument of purification.
He didn’t know if it was easier or harder to fight at that time. Their numbers were higher, but the dead god’s resentment was fresher—more intense. What he know is that those days weren’t as different; to scout, to fight, to endure. That’s the life of the Yaksha. To cleanse through battle. To purge through slaughter. To clean the land by tainting himself further. A new war, with a different purpose.
And despite the horrors of a damned life, he found himself content. He couldn’t do anything more. He couldn’t be anything more. He didn’t know anything else.
He’d long forgotten what it was like to fly. What it was like to be free. What colour the sky was. He’d grown accustomed to being earthbound—stuck on land, bonded to someone. The weight of his sins kept him down more than his lack of wings.
“And yet, we never stopped yearning. Longing to return home. That’s why he is so important to us. He is our hope.”
A pulsing beat. It spread around, and the shifting impressions of memoria became concrete memories. Memories of the wind. Of the sky. Of him.