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Gods are merciless. They destroy everything in the path and annihilate the world with every step. Gods are cruel, sadistic, takes and takes and takes but never gives. Gods are merciless. When they destroy the world, they laugh as it burns.
It's a belief that Nezha holds on to for almost a decade since his brother died.
Nezha stares at the retreating form of the Speer delegate, too stunned to move. Her fire is now gone but he can still feel the heat lingering on his cheeks. Can still see the flames surrounding him, trapping him.
What just happened?
He almost got burned alive, that's what happened. But dying is far from what he's feeling. Blood pounding, ears ringing, head spinning―he doesn’t think he’s felt this way since―since―
He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way.
Runin turns a corner and disappears, but he can’t help but feel her presence, still. It lingers, the way fire lingers even after being stamped out, stubborn and resilient, sparks clinging to everything and everywhere.
One thing is certain―he’s never met anyone like her, or ever will in this province. It was either downright ignoring he received from his family or formal, respectful treatments from everyone else.
Not this.
Some parts of Nezha are still more mad than amazed. She’s rude, obviously. Her whole behavior is. Rude and unwarranted, impulsive and insolent. She's been here for only two days and she already drives him up the wall, as though her entire mission is to make his life fucking infuriating for the next two years.
But now, as time passes and the ringing in his ears calms down, curiosity slowly but surely overrules the irritation. Yes, she hates him and his feelings are very mutual, but…
Who are you?
Well, whoever the hell she is, Nezha now intends to find out.
"Where are we going, anyway?"
His throat still burns with more curiosity, but he figures he bothered her enough. "Wait for it."
It's hard to tell with just moonlight and Rin no longer flaming her fire, but Nezha thinks she's frowning a bit. "If you're planning to drown me here, you're not being so subtle about it."
How fast she jumps to a conclusion that someone is always planning a murder; he wonders if it's simply her nature or she grew up a life that inevitably warrants it.
"I want to show you something."
"I know. You said. If a pool of water was that something, I hope you do realize Speer is an island."
He tries to suppress a smile. He knows he's failed. "Look."
"What?" As the familiar lights start to glisten, Rin looks over the edge of the sampan and gasps.
She likes it; he can immediately tell. Her face brightens up, more than by the light and he catches a surprised smile. She sinks her hand in the river and toys with the lights under the surface as though she can catch them. When they dart away, Rin adds flames of her own and they willow across the surface.
Nezha stares again but this time she doesn't catch him. She's too distracted by the lights. They warm her face up gently, softening her features, and for a moment, she doesn't look like the soldier who threatened to burn him alive. She looks like a girl captivated by the beauty of the world.
It suddenly strikes him, strikes him that he wants to see her like this more often. It's very opposite of the Speer delegate he first met, but somehow the same steel and stubborn nature.
She intrigues him; the more he knows, the more he wants to get close. Her sharp sense of humor, her casual flickers of flame, her impulsive retorts―he feels like he understands the surface of her, but only just.
Her fire soars upward in a beautiful arc and she laughs and Nezha finds himself grinning.
Gods are merciless. They are destruction, annihilation, only devastation. They crave death for it gives them joy, they kill and kill and kill and never save.
Yet why is she the only one that makes him feel alive?
Nezha is awake before she is, and his eyes linger at her sleeping form.
He doesn't mean to stare—but when he opened his eyes, his face was already turned toward her. Now he's now terrified any slight movement might jerk her awake.
The sun is already peering through his window. Rin usually wakes up as early as dawn to train, but she must be exhausted from the last day’s incident. She sleeps on, quiet breaths blowing on the hair fallen over her face.
He doesn’t know if she hates him for asking her to stay with him, but he was desperate last night.
So he simply lies still, despite the ache in his waist from the wound. When about another hour has passed, she stirs and he shuts his eyes, pretends to sleep. He turns his head away so she won’t catch his eyelids fluttering. He feels her slowly extract her hands tangled in his, ease herself off the bed. She’s so quiet; if he were asleep, he wouldn’t have known she’d moved. It’s the soft click of the door closing shortly after that alerts him she has left the room.
Nezha opens his eyes, feeling the life draining out of him.
A god had destroyed him. A god almost destroyed even more. He's more than lucky to have escaped the Dragon's grasp. Yet still, the god managed to destroy his will to live. The god took away every reason for him to live. The god makes him wish that he doesn't live and instead his little brother does, for that's what everyone in his family wishes.
A god is a force not to be reckoned with.
Yet there she is, proudly wielding the god in her palm.
They sit on the top of the tower, leaning against the battlements that shield the wind yet unable to block the cold air; but neither of them move. Her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist, silence accompanying them.
He doesn't know how long they sit there. The sound below has faded away and now the celebration seems to have ceased. The world quietly welcomes the new year. They should probably go in, too.
Neither of them move.
"We should go," he says finally.
Rin doesn’t say anything; she hasn't spoken a word since the kiss, which makes him slightly nervous despite himself. Was it a wrong thing to do? Yet she kissed him back, pulled him to her, and now accepts his hand he offers. Her hand is cold and she must be shivering, but she doesn't call her fire. He can't read her expression.
Footsteps echo loudly against the dark surrounding them. It's as if nobody exists except for the two silent figures walking across Arlong. The world is comprised of just the two of them, and nothing feels more right.
They arrive at the door of her room. Rin drops his hand and turns.
"Good night," he says.
She bites her lip. It seems to be a habit of hers—whenever she's concentrating, thinking hard, or nervous. Nezha can’t tear his gaze away from her. Their eyes meet and lock. He bends down as she rises up at the same time and they meet in the middle. This kiss is somehow even better than the first, sour taste of wine still there but sweet. He feels her arms sneak around his neck as he presses her against the door.
Then suddenly, she pulls off and pushes him off her. He staggers back. She’s breathing hard, her eyes wide, standing still.
"Good night," she says. Then she opens her door and disappears within seconds.
Out of all the things in Arlong, it's snow that releases Rin free.
She showed up on his door, excited, cheeks flushed. "It's snowing!" she declared.
"Is it?" he asked, still half asleep.
"It snowed all night! Come on."
That's how they're in the middle of it all, snow thick on the ground yet more coming its way. It's a lot despite being the first snow of the year and Rin seems to find delight in the world covered in white. She lets her fire drift across the fallen snow, melting it in its wake, forming a path. She draws letters, shakes trees till the branches scatter the snow, makes snowballs till her fingers turn blue, and demands that he should join her.
He thinks he can stay here, staring at her laughing forever.
Snowflakes land on her hair. Nezha wants to brush them off, just to have an excuse to touch her, but they look so pretty on her.
“You have snow on your hair.”
He blinks out of his stupor. “What?”
Rin reaches up and ruffles her hand through his hair. He isn’t sure he’s breathing.
“Does it snow often?”
“Every year in winter.”
“I didn’t know they could stay this beautiful on the ground,” she says softly.
He brushes off a single snowflake on the side of her hair, his fingers brushing her cheek. He sees her still. Nezha can’t believe he has this effect on her and he really wants to kiss her again. So when he leans his forehead against hers and she doesn't move away, he does.
She presses herself close to him, returning the kiss. He can't help but notice how well they fit together, as though their every edge and difference was for them to click and match.
When he draws back, her eyes are half closed and fluttering, lips slightly parted. She blinks and stares up at him.
"What?" He doesn't mean it, but it comes out in a whisper.
She opens her mouth, closes it, shakes her head. Pulls him down and kisses him again. He gathers her up in his arms and an aching slow happiness spreads inside him and he can’t help but grin.
Rin pulls away. “Stop smiling.”
“Why?”
"Just stop it."
His lips twitch further. "Telling me to stop actually makes it worse—"
His breath gets cut off as something hooks behind his ankle and he stumbles, feet instinctively searching for balance but the ground is too slippery. In a flash, he slips and finds himself falling hard on the ground, cold shock instantly spreading on his back and Rin landing on top of him.
“The fuck―”
"I told you to fucking stop it." But he sees her grinning through the distorted vision as he blinks.
"Was this necessary?"
"No. But this is."
Before he can speak, Rin grabs a handful of snow beside his head and throws it against his face. As he splutters, she lets out peals of laughter, scrambles up and runs. He immediately pulls himself up, shakes off the snow, and chases after her.
This is what living is; the first fall of snow and Rin's laughter flying with the snowflakes.
“Anything you’ve gathered about the Speerly?”
Nezha feels his brows scrunch up at his father’s words. “I’m sorry?”
“The Speerly,” he says impatiently. Nezha is standing in front of Vaisra’s desk in his office, after having been called. His father rarely does, so he is more than confused when he still can’t figure out why.
“Fang Runin. What did you learn from her?"
Nezha blinks. “She fights well. Best soldier in Speer.”
“What’s her intentions? Speer’s motives?”
"I—"
"Don't tell me you haven't figured out a single thing over a year."
Shame immediately floods him at the condescending tone. "Speer doesn't particularly agree with the alliance. It's more of a test to check the waters—"
"Tell me something I don't already know," Vaisra snaps.
He hangs his head down but he also frowns at the ground; does Rin think he's spying on her? Is that why she's pushing him away?
“I shall look for something more, if I can,” he says carefully.
"Good. You'd better."
His cheek still burns.
He hasn't looked in a mirror to see if any marks remain, but the stinging indicates that there is a high possibility. He avoids any reflection when he locks himself in his room.
Night has fallen outside. He can see his silhouette reflected on the window.
He presses his forehead against the window, the cold seeping into his skin. He can see vague shapes and contours of the world outside. There's no sign of angry fire sparks anywhere. A sigh escapes his mouth, fogging the glass. He closes his eyes and thinks back to what he said to her. Yelled at her.
He shouldn't have said that.
She shouldn't have said that either, shouldn't have acted like that, but that doesn't mean it validates his behavior.
Nezha hasn't exactly dwell on what he said till dinner. Actually the opposite, really. He's still pissed, hurt and mad. Frustration that has been augmenting for weeks exploded with that argument.
He doesn't fucking get her. What does she want? One moment, she’s pulling his arm to point out what she discovered in one of the many books in the library, the next she straight up ignores him till the point he seriously wonders if he imagined the last couple of months.
He thinks he can't do this with her if she keeps on running away.
Rin has always been perceived volatile but only so. He's gotten better at reading her moves. They're actually quite easy to catch once you notice. The lip biting, the way she either bursts out her thoughts or ponders too long with no inbetween, the way she drives for the undercut and changes her height disadvantage into her surprise maneuver, the way she gives her wrist a flick when summoning fire, not as a necessity but to show off.
But with this―this time, he can’t seem to quite grasp.
He cannot predict what she's possibly thinking right now. His prediction was missed several hours ago at dinner. He found himself frowning before realizing he thought he would see her here. He assumed… He was wondering whether she would acknowledge his presence or not. Whether he should talk to her or not.
But she was nowhere to be seen, scattering his frettings to dust.
He cooled his features down to calming nonchalance. Sat down and ate.
Whatever. He tried to talk. He approached her. She ignored him. She brushed him off.
She can stay out there forever for all he cares.
He doesn't think about Rin for the rest of the night. He doesn't think about Rin when he stands and returns to his room and locks himself up. His cheek still burns, whether from her slap or just a stinging reminder that his mind sickeningly won't let go.
He sits on his bed, but doesn't lie down.
His fingers twitch on the covers, unable to stay still. He should probably sleep. Today was a long day.
Cold wind sneaks around his ankles as he fidgets.
Groaning in agitation, he stands up and grabs his winter robe. Tearing open his door, he sets out. Down the hallway, out the walls. Cold wind immediately slaps his face as he leaves the Palace and he shivers. Winter still lingers and the air is more than freezing. It's a cloudy night; he can barely see ahead without the usual moonlight.
She probably isn't there. She probably let out her anger and temper and went back inside or whatever. She’s probably sneaking food from the kitchens for missing dinner. She’s probably shooting her flames out into the sky, pissed. She probably isn’t there. She isn’t there. She isn't there.
Nezha turns a corner, and stops.
Rin's there.
He shakes his head to make sure. She’s so still, she might as well be a statue. The exact same spot she was before. Huddled close, arms tight around her knees, as though trying to shrink into nothingness. She looks so small.
He takes a step. She doesn’t move. Several more steps. She doesn’t move. She’s bound to have noticed him by now. She doesn’t move.
He sits down next to her. Close enough that their shoulders brush. Never taking his eyes off of her.
She doesn’t move.
She doesn't move. He might as well not be here at all. But when he tentatively puts his arms around her, she comes to him. And when she does, she breaks.
He isn't sure he's strong enough to hold her broken pieces till she stitches herself back together again, but he tries. He tries. He tries.
Rin is asleep on his shoulder.
Nezha gazes down at her letting out even breaths. She drifted off in the middle of him whispering, telling tales on the constellations. He pushes back the hair fallen over her face and brushes her cheek with his fingers. Her skin is so warm. She mumbles something incoherent, but continues to sleep. His heart aches.
"Do you ever wonder what kind of story you will leave behind?" she asked before sleep took over.
"Story?"
“Just like the stars. Generations later, when people talk of Yin Nezha, what do you think they'll say?”
Of course she thinks ahead. For Rin, the world is a clock and she keeps on running, eager for the next hour. She burns away what she left behind and constantly charges forward. His world has stopped and he’s been living in the past forever. Curse her for dragging him out.
He gazes down at her, and wonders how he ever could've thought she was weak. She seemed so when she first arrived in Arlong—looking stiff, out of place, scowling. An annoying job he has to tolerate for two years.
Nobody, nobody has the nerve or the energy or the pure fire she possesses. He envies her will, her refusal to stay within chosen boundaries, her determination to burn everything blocking her path. He envies what she has achieved, even though he shouldn't. It is a result of pain and enduring that she is where she is, and she deserves it. He shouldn't envy her pain, but he does.
Nezha presses his cheek against the top of her head, sighing as she shifts closer to him in her sleep.
He doesn't know what he did to gain her trust, for her to relax like this beside him, but he intends to earn it.
"Your meetings sure as hell last too long," Rin remarks as he approaches her. Her back is to him, facing the rivers but she must have heard his footsteps. "Does more than half of it consist of how to splurge on decorating the throne room?"
She turns, grinning, but she sees his face and her smile falters. "What's wrong?"
He shakes his head, words locked in his throat. He wordlessly pulls her toward him and wraps his arms around her. He leans against her, burying his face in her hair. He feels her stiffen, but doesn't pull away.
"Rin."
"What?"
"I don't want to go on a war against you."
He cannot see her expression, but he closes his eyes tight anyway.
"You're not supposed to say that."
God, he knows that. He isn't supposed to tell her anything. He isn't supposed to come here straight after a meeting on how to prepare in case war erupts and Speer is on the opposite side. He isn't supposed to lean against his potential enemy.
He isn't supposed to want to live again, but here he is.
Nezha pulls his face away from her, reaches for her hand, clasps it tightly between his.
"This can work," he insists. "I know it can, if we just try…"
“Nezha…”
Whatever she says, she cuts off. Instead, she bites her lip and Nezha knows she has swallowed whatever she’s going to say for now, and nothing can coax it out of her.
With no words to spare, they simply hold each other. Rin holds him and he holds her, afraid that she might disappear, terrified the world between them might crack and force them apart. Afraid to let go after he finally knows how to breathe.
"Good night," he says softly.
She clutches at him, as though he might disappear. He has no intention of pulling away. "Don't leave me."
The rawness in her voice surprises him. Rin isn’t the one who shows emotions. Sure, she’s impulsive and spits out words without thinking or caution, but when she actively tries to hide her feelings, she locks them up and meets blows with steel.
Rin's eyes are already closed but his are open, studying her too tired face and the furrow of her brows.
They don't need to say it; Nezha knows he loves her and he knows she loves him. Rin knows he loves her and she knows she loves him. They never say it because they don't need to. It's encompassed in every word, gesture, brush of hands and eye contact.
No, it's not the lack of love Nezha is worried about.
Nezha tucks her hair behind her ear, watches her breath even out and drown in his arms, and wonders what kind of plague is worrying through her mind. She's rarely this vulnerable.
Is she, too, possibly thinking of an outcome where one of them is forced to fight the other? Where they will see each other in the battlefield on opposite sides? Where they're pointing their blades at each other? Where the world and fate and the tapestry of the future are too grand and solid for them to twist and change the outcome?
I won't leave you, he thinks. I'll find my way to you, no matter what.
A god may have taken everything, but Nezha knows Rin is a force beyond the divinity of the gods.