Work Text:
Death should’ve become easier by now.
It was not Chidi’s first time escaping to Yunmeng Lake. The visits had grown in frequency and duration with every millennia she spent as the God of War. A God of War wasn’t meant to create Wars, but to direct them when they were inevitable. They tended to become inevitable too many times.
After seeing enough blood, it became clear that the reviled enemy, at the end of the day, has the same blood and bones and spirit and fear and rage. Thousands of wars, thousands of lives. Victor or not, there was always loss. Wars were waged to protect, and yet, the protection came at an unforgettable cost.
She yearned to shirk the burden onto another’s shoulders, but how? How could she push it onto another who was not made for this, when she, who was created for this very purpose, struggled under its weight? No, it couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.
There was little peace to be found in Shuiyuntian. But here, the wine was warming and the music was soothing. Life bustled, and she hoped it would rub off some of its hope on her, but a sheet of clear ice separated her, left her watching on but unable to reach for the thriving pulse just beyond.
She noticed the flute on the second day. It was tempered by pain and hurt and suffering, yet remained pure. Innocent . The child sat across the road from her balcony, and his suffering was great. His song was purer still. It was, inexplicably, hopeful. The longer it went on, the more wine flowed in her blood, the more mesmerising it was. Loss and hope, together . The miracle she’d struggled to achieve in thousands of years, and it was a mortal child who made it more than the impossible.
His destiny was clear as crystal. He was to die right here.
She watched as the flute slipped through numbed fingers, and her heart twisted in the face of death like never before. A miracle, extinguished because it was not destined to be. Because it was meant to be impossible.
When she moved from the balcony for the first time in three days, she wasn’t sure what she meant to do. Immortals were not to interfere with destiny. But her feet led her steadily down the stairs, across the road, kneeling before the shape curled on the snow.
He was colder than the snow beneath her fingers. She hadn’t realised he was gone already.
She knelt by him in silence. It was selfish, to cherish her one earthly desire for hope in the face of pain. But she couldn’t stand the death of her miracle. How was hope to survive if she didn’t nurture it?
The choice was simple enough. She saved her miracle, and her miracle saved her. Facing death got no easier, but the reminder of life she returned to let her hope.