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The piercing cool metal grips your wrists as three poles impale your scales, keeping you shackled in place within the depths of this darkness. More chains are coiled around your waist like a snake wrapping your body tight, squeezing you ruthlessly, until you’re left struggling to catch your breath.
With your mind in a haze, your chapped lips trembling in the cold of this prison, this embrace reminds you of the warmth of arms that used to encircle your waist at the end of each day. A welcoming hug from callused and scarred hands that had pressed onto your body.
A searing heat would seep through your silk robes where those arms once rested, lighting a flame within your cold self which erupted in the pits of your stomach.
This person would always wait for you. He was accustomed to staying by your side through thick or thin, a cocky grin splayed on lips that spilled utterances befitting his arrogance. It didn’t matter what others said about him, he would take those words, mix them with scraps of metal and forge them into weapons that could overturn the skies. As you peeked at him from beneath your eyelashes, fondness oozing from usually frosty emerald eyes, a glazing meteor could be seen. One that burned brighter than the stars at night—than the sun itself.
A dazzling star who accompanied the lonely moon.
Yinyue, he would call you. Longzun-daren, he’d say with a smile. Dan Feng, he’d whisper into your ear at night as sweat spilled onto your cheeks, bodies pressed close.
Like an enticing secret only for two.
Yingxing, you could only say in reply. Yingxing, Yingxing.
Yingxing…
You do not know how long you’ve been down here.
All you know is that the floor is cold, the prison cell too dark, and that it was all too quiet. That the man, Yingxing, is dead.
Yingxing is dead.
The sentence repeats itself in your head every moment your chest rises and falls; every second you blink.
Yingxing is dead, and you buried him with your own two hands.
These hands of yours had trembled, dirt soiling skin like jade, staining your nails, unable to be removed like the red soaked into your pores as you clutched your beloved till his end. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, the plan wasn’t supposed to go like this. But all you could do was watch all the power within you settle around him, carefully surrounding him with a blanket of cloudhymn magic, and stare as it did nothing—as you did nothing—the life leaving his body no matter how desperate you were.
You had gone crazy then. You had ripped out your heart, stolen flesh from an Aeon and fed it to him with your own quivering lips, did everything you could to have this arrogant craftsman return to your side. To have him accompany you until the end.
You had hoped, you had wished, you had prayed.
But the bracer on your arm had gone cold no matter what you did.
The slow creaking of a gate being opened wakes you up from your trance, like a cold shower. Your hair stands on its end at the sound from not too far away; a signal of the beginning of an end.
Footsteps head your way, multiple of them. They each bristle against the icy floors with light and firm steps, as though they were here for a peaceful stroll rather than to bestow punishment upon a foolish sinner. You recognise these footsteps, yours a mere mimicry of them, ingrained into your very bones from the countless teachings of the owners.
For the first time since you’ve been locked in this prison, a smile graces your lips.
You have been waiting for this moment ever since you were taken away and sentenced to a judgement worth the load of crimes on your shoulders.
A row of feet stand in line before you.
You glance up at the people who raised you with blank eyes. You can hardly recognise them. Their faces blurred behind a mask of lies, concealing the hidden motives that you never knew existed, until you were chained down at the bottom of the abyss and too late to regret.
Pathetic, they call you. A mistake. They sneer at the broken horns atop the crown of your head—oh, how easily they crumbled like the white lily that wilted before your eyes—and look at you with contempt for not being the perfect puppet they tried shaping you into.
You stare right back at them, your emerald eyes burning like the blue flames of the azure dragon; unyielding and steady.
They flinch at your gaze, feigning composure as they ask about the whereabouts of the dragon heart. The smile on your lips only grows wider as their voices turn frantic at your refusal to confess, the pitch of their shouting rising higher and higher, booming in the quiet space.
The weight sitting on your tongue is heavy.
Their ravenous screams turn to disappointed silence, and you are taken away from the prison cell to your final execution. The clanking of chains drag across the floor as you take one slow step after the other, a trail of crimson following you from behind with the three gaping wounds now exposed.
When you enter the room where your final execution will take place, you see an assortment of weapons lining its walls. From swords to axes, each weapon shines brightly in the dim room, sharp and well-maintained.
Someone else might have gleamed with excitement seeing these weapons on show, perhaps in a different situation. Nevertheless, that someone was no longer alive.
Your eyes glint with amusement. It was generous of them to even give you this simple choice at the face of death.
But your hands do not hesitate to pass the crossbows and glaives, directly taking hold of the spear who had accompanied you through countless battles; the spear made by the skilled hands of your beloved, carving your name into the weapon.
For as long as you are alive, this is the only weapon you will wield.
The preceptors finally take their leave as your fingers grasp the spear, the door slamming shut. It’s ironic, you find, that despite having been born alone and having lived the majority of your life the same way, the fleeting warmth of dear friends who had shared their laughter with you and the beloved who had cast a beacon of light for your aimlessly drifting soul, have left a hole in your heart that can never be filled again.
What goes around, comes around—just like the cycle of rebirth, you were fated to end this life alone once more.
Kneeling on the ground, you close your eyes and take a deep breath.
In all your life, you’ve never uttered these words, completely foreign to you. Your voice croaks, hoarse from weeks of silence, and the words feel a little strange on the tips of your tongue. Still, you whisper these solemn words for the beloved you buried with your own hands.
I’m sorry, you say. I’m sorry, you cry. I’m sorry.
Like a final prayer, you repeat them over and over as you pierce your scales with the spear he gifted you. You’ve never believed in the Aeons, not in the same way the mortals or immortals of the world do. After all, your life was one that transcended humanity, the powers of permanence running through your veins; a higher being worshipped by the others of your kind.
But here and now, they easily leave your stubborn mouth that never could reveal the thoughts it truly meant.
I’m sorry, Yingxing. There will be no next life for the two of us, but let me accompany you in this one.
May we unite in death.
Red fills your sight as you continue to slice through your flesh again and again. Slashes of cuts appear over skin that had remained unblemished for years, finally experiencing the whirling sensation of blood gushing from your body as all your cells cry out in pain with the healing magic within you gone.
You tighten your grip on the spear and grit your teeth, unflinching. The jade pendant sitting beneath your tongue presses against the entrance of your throat.
This is nothing, you think. This pain is nothing compared to the anguish you felt the day you had lost Yingxing.
The day you had lost your heart.
Your vision begins to blur as your body turns cold. Flecks of starlight appear, swirling and glowing in your view like a resplendent milky way. The corners of your lips curve softly at the sight, and you shut your eyes before tears can form and obstruct your vision. You want this warm sight to be the last thing you’ll ever see; this light carried with you to your end.
Little do you know, however, that the punishment you faced was tampered with. The cunning preceptors you’ve known all your life botched your hatching rebirth to preserve the powers of the High Elder they cannot afford to lose. Yet you will not be able to do anything about it.
You will simply revert back to the beginning; back to an egg, and lose all your memories of this life.
You will live each day in darkness, wondering if there’ll ever be a star who could accompany the lonely moon confined to the bottom of this desolate prison.
You will question why you were reborn with a piece of jade in your mouth, and why the single bracer given to you by a friend you no longer remember runs hot on your skin. You will eventually leave the prison with a spear of unknown origin, and wonder why your movements naturally flow like calm water as you cut through the enemies blocking your path to the stars you’ve always dreamed of.
But you will never know that the ruthless blade breathing down your neck with a vengeance you can’t comprehend, is the star you’ve always been looking for.