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Zhongli wanted to be alone.
It was not what he needed to be. In a time like this, Zhongli should be there for his people, for his allies. He needed to lead them, to protect them. He needed to assure them that everything would be fine. He needed to remember that he was not the only one who lost somebody. Perhaps, the people of Guili would feel her loss far more than he ever could. Loss through war was something he was far too accustomed to—his soul wouldn’t notice the empty spot if it was only a drop in the ocean.
He needed to take care of the people of Guili. He needed to be there for the yaksha and the adepti under his command. He needed to figure out what to say to them.
“Rex Lapis, what happened!?”
“Rex Lapis, is it true? Did she really…?”
“Rex Lapis, what are your orders?”
“Rex Lapis, what should we do?”
“Rex Lapis, are your wounds recovering? Are you okay?”
“Rex Lapis, who was it?”
“Who did this?”
“What happened?”
Rex Lapis walked alone through a field, stepping quietly through the hills in slow pursuit of that one destination he had in mind. He thought back to the faces of all those back at Guili Assembly who worried about him: Ping, Cloud Retainer, Bosacius, Xiao, Marchosius… He regretted causing them concern. He lamented at his inability to even fully explain the circumstance—how could he even begin to look them in the eyes and tell them that it was finished? That the battle was over, and he lost?
How could he tell them that Guizhong was gone?
Zhongli felt pain in each step. He looked down at the arms of his “human” form, dully shimmering with Geo, and mentally traced the new golden crevices etched into them. He had sustained many battle scars over the years, but he hardly remembered which came from where. He might not even fully remember the battle if someone were to tell him—his earliest days as a warlord were a blur to him now, and rightfully so. He did not wish to remember. However, this time, tracing the new marks on his skin, he wondered if he might remember his scars after all. He wasn’t in this form when he received them—he was a dragon in his full size, but the wounds still carried over in some way from one form to the next. He was never rid of the pain of them, not until they healed. The unknowing eye (as was the case with most mortals) might see the golden streaks and judge them only part of his form, a mark of his power as the Lord of Geo, but on that, Zhongli wouldn’t correct them. It wasn’t that he needed them to see him as strong or impenetrable, necessarily—he only wanted them to not feel fear.
They tried so hard, to keep Guili Plains safe. Ever since the day he and Guizhong made that pact between them, to combine their peoples to build a settlement that will last, that had been his goal. His purpose. These lands had been at war ever since he was born. Years of peace were marred with the tension created by the threat of another war on the horizon, by the threat that some god would become bored of their own domain and seek another. Morax had seen conflict after conflict—he was a dragon, and dragons were born for war.
“Those little people are as small and fragile as dust,” she said, her small smile seeming like it should contradict her somber tone, but it didn’t. “That’s why we’ll make them a haven. I wonder what will happen, if they don’t have to be afraid anymore? Wouldn’t you like to see it, too? What kind of world they will create?”
“With your brawn and my brains, this city would surely become a great one.”
For years, it appeared that peace had finally come. They had stood strong against one enemy after another, and they continued to stay strong against the vengeful remains of dead gods. Rex Lapis had the yaksha and adepti to thank. He hoped that this home they created would be worth it for them.
Then came one last battle. They were attacked with little warning, a demon hoard led by that ancient dragon god Zhongli thought he would never again have to see. Amidst the chaos of the battle, Zhongli and Guizhong found themselves facing the dragon alone.
Zhongli still heard his mocking tones, still felt his power crushing his flesh with every impact, his strikes hurling him through mountains. He shut his ears to the memory now. It was easier to, because he had reached his destination.
Zhongli stood silent amidst a field of glaze lilies. This was where he met her. This was her final resting place.
“It seems that our journey together has come to an end. As for that stone dumbbell, forget about it, would you?”
He pulled the stone dumbbell out, letting it float silently above his hand. Zhongli wanted nothing more than to honor her wishes, but her last request was a task he could not complete. He couldn’t forget about it. Maybe, he would never unlock it. She was much smarter than he was, after all. However, it was still hers. It was still her memory.
Zhongli felt his heart clench within him, growing cold and still. Every breath felt like he was forcing it out. His physical pain was nothing new. The pain of loss should also be nothing new. However, it wasn’t. Zhongli didn’t believe that he had ever experienced an ache quite like this one. Perhaps, it only was because it was fresh? Would it subside and become mere memory a few years from now? A few months? A few weeks?
He watched as Cloud Retainer nearly rose up from her seat in indignation, while Guizhong only laughed. Cloud Retainer had a slew of words for her about transdimensional subspace theory, with a startling amount of vigor and emotion on the seemingly random topic, but Zhongli could not say that he actually understood a single word. He just continued to sip his tea, glad that they were having a good time.
He never knew he would so enjoy hearing the human children laugh. Guizhong took time out of their work to sing for them, and every time she finished, they would ask for another. She sang of pleasant and also whimsical ones—she started making up songs that seemed to be pure nonsense, although Zhongli wondered if there was a hidden meaning. He asked Guizhong about it later, and she laughed at him.
“What? Did I…say something wrong?”
“Oh, no! Not at all! It’s just so funny—Zhongli, I was only making up lyrics on the spot! Of course, that one about ‘The Wren and the Fish and the Noodle Maker’ might just be a keeper, I will admit.”
“Zhongli! Can you walk…just a few paces back?” She called out to him, waving her grease-stained hands to shoo him backwards. “Alright, now take a look. Is this centered?”
“Ahh…” Zhongli tilted his head. “A few paces to the left? No, upwards.”
“Upwards and to the left?” she questioned, hammer radiating with the glow of her power in hand as she perched on top of the wall.
“Yes, what you said. Up and to the—no, too much to the left, go a little to the right.”
“Come, Zhongli!” Guizhong took him by the hand, motioning for him to follow her, all the way up to the top of Mount Tianheng.
“Look at the stars,” she said with awe. “They seem even brighter than usual, tonight. Hmph, but perhaps, not quite as lovely as this.”
She looked down at the land below. The Guili Assembly of today was rich in vibrant farmland, as far as the eye could see. “We did well, Zhongli,” she said, her voice quiet but vibrant all the same. “I will never get tired of looking at this view, I think. They’re prospering. Thank you for that.”
He failed her. One cold fact had settled in his heart ever since the midst of that very battle, when he realized that they may not survive it, or rather, that perhaps only one of them will. He felt that it would be better if, should only one survive, that it would be her. Guizhong was the one who birthed this vision. Guizhong thought to the future; Zhongli remained chained to the past, regardless of whether or not it was a past he clearly remembered. Zhongli knew that one day, he would meet his end just like other dragon in this land. But Guizhong was Dust. The element of life. The very essence of the humans she led. If anyone was going to bring them light and hope, it was her.
Though perhaps, those reasons were not all Zhongli thought about, right now, as good as they were. Maybe he thought more instead of her smile, of her laugh, of the sound of her voice, of her wit and humor, her heart, her passion. He missed her. All of her.
Zhongli knelt in the field of glaze lilies and fingered the petals of the flowers, keeping himself in the present as her clenched his eyes and remembered to breathe. When she was dying, he brought her here. It was her last request. She spoke to him one last time, and Zhongli was left alone with the story.
It shouldn’t have ended like this. It was too soon. They were supposed to lead this people together. How was he supposed to do it alone? How was he supposed to be everything she was?
If this happened a thousand years from now, it would still be too soon.
Zhongli wiped away his tears with scarred hands. He wasn’t supposed to break down like this. But then, wasn’t that the reason why he asked to be alone? Though perhaps, he should go back. Xiao kept requesting that he allow him to be an escort. The battle had left him paranoid, no doubt. Zhongli didn’t blame him. Why would Xiao trust him to be alright now, of all times? Did he not prove to them all his weakness, through his loss? He wasn’t invincible. He may be a god by title, but at the end of the day he was just another body riddled with scars.
He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save them.
You’re not alone, a voice that sounded like hers emerged in his thoughts. Why would you think that? You have all of them.
Marchosius, the faithful god of the stove. Cloud Retainer, Mountain Shaper, and Moon Carver. Bosacius, Bonanias, Indarias, Menogias, and Xiao. Pervases and Ping.
They were the Guili Assembly. Zhongli thought about this with a shaky breath, steeling himself for what was to come, reminding himself that this wasn’t just about him. This tribe was made up of all of them, too. He knew that their trials may not be over. They would have to be ready. He would have to do everything in his power to become everything they needed him to be, but likewise, he needed to trust all of them. That was the true nature of their contract.
However, for now, all Zhongli wanted was to be alone.
Just for a while. He breathed against the pain. He let the scent of the lilies bring him the peace he craved in his soul. Just for a while.
He hummed a song to the glaze lilies. He didn’t have a voice for singing, nor an ear for music, but he knew this tune. He would never forget it, he decided.
He would never forget her.