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The air is stale, frigid.
He’s used to feeling like he’s two paces away from suffocating, inhaling icy spikes that pierce directly into his lungs. Darkness is what he’s familiar with the most—where there’s no light, a bone-freezing chill follows, sending a shiver down his spine. He wills himself to move, to shift his weight so his knees do not grow too sore from where he’s kneeling.
There’s a steely slithering that echoes around him, blaring in his ears. It almost drowns out the steady pounding of his heartbeat, and he has to stifle a pained gasp when the chains keeping him bound in place dig into his wrists. Only when the pain blooms in his arms, straining from the effort of being held up for hours on end, does the pain begin to coalesce in his legs. They keep his legs bound, too, restricting his movements in any way possible.
Still, he pushes through the pain, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth even as his blood surges through his veins, desperate to be wrought free from these shackles. But for as long as he lives, for as long as his sins hang over his shoulders like drifting shadows, he will not pay with his blood, but with his whole soul.
He finally manages to shift into a position that he feels comfortable—comfortable enough given his current circumstances—and sighs, ignoring the sweat that has formed on his forehead. This pain is—will—be fleeting. He tries to console himself with these thoughts as he directs his gaze towards the ceiling.
The room they bound him to has him surrounded by pure steel in all directions. But even he knows, as he tilts his head back just enough only to be met by a dark void above him, that outside of these walls, there is light.
Light that he will never see. Light that will never wash over him.
Reprieve cannot be granted in places where light does not reach them.
But it still provides him a small comfort all the same.
There are days when he’s lucky, when the guards decide to grant him a sliver of mercy that he’s unbound from his chains–not all of them, but he’s grateful for the rare moments that he’s able to stretch out his legs or move his arms.
When his hands are free and he’s able to flex his fingers, he reaches out for the pile of books and scrolls that are stacked in a close-by corner of his steely prison and reads them. He does not have many pastimes in this cell, but he does his best to make the most of the time he does have when he’s granted it.
One must wonder how he’s able to read when he’s engulfed in darkness, but he makes do with what he has. If he’s lucky, sometimes there will be a guard kind enough to leave the cell door cracked open, allowing the smallest bit of light to flood in. The air that flows through the crack is not warm, but it provides him just the smallest bit of respite when he holds up a book to the light and begins reading.
His fingers trace the pages, eyes flitting between the words scattered before him. Sometimes he has to strain his neck just to get the right angle, making sure the light hits the books and scrolls just right. The stories he reads often weave together idyllic images that he can’t see through normal means, allowing him to fill in the blanks himself. He wouldn’t consider him the most creative person out there, but it does keep him occupied.
It’s better for him to visualize a universe not bereft with sins of the past than to be reminded of them when he’s bound to his chains again, alone with his mind in the late hours of the night. Dreamless nights are common for him, though sleepless nights plague him even more. Even as darkness surrounds him in every corner, slips over his figure in tendrils, crawling over his skin, he does not allow himself to become one with it.
But only by exhausting his mind after finishing a particularly engaging book does he allow slumber to come to him easily, hardly able to keep his eyes open even when the guards put the chains back on.
Sometimes, in the rare times he does dream, he dreams of himself gazing upon the sun rising above the horizon and thinks of everything good in the universe.
Sometimes, he foolishly believes that one day, that horizon will greet him with open arms.
He’s used to silence greeting him when he wakes up, but today is different.
Today, he wakes up to the rapid shuffling of feet down the hall, followed by a clamor of voices that echo and bounce off the walls.
He blinks away his drowsiness, willing himself to listen in on the voices that flow into the hall. It’s not often that the prison is full of activity–he hardly gets a peep out of the guards that stand watch outside of his cell–but it’s causing quite the commotion as multiple voices join into the fray.
He’s barely able to make out any coherent sentences, the voices all blending into a cacophony where he can hardly tell one from the other, but as he hears a pair of footsteps approaching his cell, there’s one voice he’s able to discern from the rest.
“His sentence has already been decided. It is only right that I am the one to see him off.”
He recognizes that voice. When he first awoke from his deep slumber many years ago, it was that voice that greeted him. The first time that voice spoke to him, there was a door keeping them separated, but his instincts told him that this voice was familiar–it was warm and kind, and he desperately wanted to reach out to it. Instead, he had listened intently, hearing that young man’s voice pierce through the steel door. The young man had spoken to him as if he were an old friend, as if he were a confidant that he could confide in.
He couldn’t return the sentiment, unable to speak–or rather, he had chosen not to speak. But the young man seemed to not mind at all.
“I don’t know when we will cross paths next. The Preceptors and the Ten-Lords will no doubt interrogate you for as long as you’re alive. The price for your sins is immeasurable–the title of Imbibitor Lunae, the role of high elder… they weigh almost nothing now, yet they are burdened with immense guilt. The choices that he made will forever follow after you… but shouldn’t you be allowed to make your own choices, too?
“Yet, currently, I am not different from you. There are choices that I cannot make–choices that I do not have the power to make. But I’m working towards that. Not just for your sake, but for the rest of the Luofu. I cannot promise anything–that is well above my means. But if I’m given the chance…” The young man had grown quiet, but his resolve never wavered. “I will make sure that you are given a choice of your own.”
It was the first and only time that young man had spoken to him. In the years that followed after, he had heard many voices from the other side of the door, and none of them were as kind or warm in their reception of him. He had not spoken to them, blending in with the silence that he had grown accustomed to. Soon they, too, disappeared as well, leaving him to wallow in his cell alone.
He had been content with that for a long time now. But upon hearing that familiar voice that stuck with him for as long as he’s been chained up, he’s taken over by a feeling he had long thought to have disappeared from every corner of his cell.
There’s a sudden blaze in his heart, surging forward with a force that nearly takes his breath away as those footsteps stop outside his cell. His blood nearly sings, coursing through his veins, and suddenly he’s tugging at his chains, ignoring how his body is nearly screaming at him to stop. But he cannot stop, not when he can sense that the tides are changing for once.
The guards by his door seem to be shaken by the man’s sudden appearance.
“But general, the Ten-Lords–”
“The sentence has already been passed. Open the door,” the man demands, but his voice still emits that same warmth underneath the thinly veiled urgency.
He can sense the guards’ hesitation, but a beat passes before there’s the familiar jingle of the key ring being procured from one of their pockets. His breath is caught in his throat when a click is heard from the other side, followed by the deafening screeching of his prison cell door being opened.
It’s the first time in years that it’s being pushed open all the way rather than a measly crack that he once considered to be a blessing. He’s not wholly prepared for the way light floods his cell, and he squints as he waits for his vision to grow accustomed to the sudden brightness.
When his vision finally becomes clear and focused, a figure steps into his cell. He looks up and finds that he’s looking directly up into the sun–and it is as radiant and bright as he had once envisioned during the times when the darkness nearly suffocated him.
How is it that one man can hold the whole sun in his gaze? That golden gaze looks down at him with a warmth that spreads to every inch of his body, staving off the cold that he was innately familiar with.
The man flashes him a small smile, and the roaring in his ears is quelled with one simple look.
“Dan Heng.”
It’s the name that belongs to him. It’s the only thing he has to call his own.
He didn’t think it was possible for his name to be spoken with such affable ardor.
Dan Heng–the man speaks his name as if they’ve known each other for as long as their souls have been wandering the universe. Dan Heng–not Imbibitor Lunae, not that man’s name. Dan Heng–he cannot return the man’s sentiment, but there’s a sense of familiarity that he can’t shake off, even as he tries to tell himself that he does not know this man.
Yet his mind traces his muddled memories, reaches out beyond the fuzziness and clouds that hang over his past.
Like a bird soaring through the sky, breaking through the clouds that hang overhead, Dan Heng lifts his head and shamelessly, foolishly, brazenly basks in the warmth that follows after him as his memories land upon a name he had thought to have been lost forever.
An old companion that fought by his side. A young lieutenant that rose to the lofty position of general. A young man that fulfilled a dream that seemed unreachable for him.
Jing Yuan.
Dan Heng nearly trips over himself when he starts walking.
He feels like a baby finch that’s spreading its wings for the first time–he’s entirely out of his element, but it’s something that he’s innately familiar with even as he puts one foot in front of the other, trying to find his balance. It doesn’t help that they still have him in chains, but only his wrists are bound.
It must be quite the spectacle to behold–to witness the former high elder of the Luofu stumble over his own two feet as he follows Jing Yuan and his unit. The guards that surround him on all sides as they walk through the halls of The Shackling Prison do not say a word, but their gazes are forever glued to him. There’s a range of emotions among the unit keep watching–indifference, detachment, and animosity, to name a few.
But that hardly holds Dan Heng’s attention. People are allowed to harbor their own opinions towards him, even if he is not directly responsible for the events of the past. There’s more pressing matters at hand–such as the matter of him steadily approaching a floating boat–a starskiff, he had read about once in a book–docked outside the prison.
Dan Heng suppresses the shiver that wracks his body as cool air whips past him in small tendrils. He looks around, noticing that Jing Yuan and the guards have stopped walking.
“Where are you taking me?” he asks, and he’s nearly startled by how small his own voice sounds. He’s not familiar with the tune of his voice, not having spoken too much even when others demanded that he did. He straightens out his back, clearing his throat. “I had thought the sentence called for my banishment.”
Banishment. He should be thankful it’s not death, right? But even Dan Heng isn’t too sure if such a punishment is befitting of him.
Jing Yuan turns to face him. The general has a towering stature and large build that pales in comparison to Dan Heng’s natural build. Jing Yuan’s ivory locks fall over his shoulders like starlight, swaying with his movements, a direct contrast to the golden hue of his shining gaze. His lips curl into a lazy smile, lax even with the gravity of the situation.
“We’re heading to the Seat of Divine Foresight,” Jing Yuan answers easily, his voice instantly slicing through the air as if trying to quell the winds. Oddly enough, Dan Heng doesn’t feel as cold anymore. “You haven’t seen the Xianzhou Luofu in years, correct?”
Dan Heng frowns. “I don’t think sight-seeing is part of my banishment, general.”
“I’m well aware of that. Yet, I only feel that it’s right you gaze upon your home at least once before you’re sent off.”
“That’s painfully sentimental.”
“Though surely it’ll make for a better memory than having The Shackling Prison as your only recollection of the Alliance?”
He doesn’t know how to respond. Jing Yuan doesn’t seem to mind.
“Do not think too hard on the finer details for now, Dan Heng. Though it will be fleeting, we will have time to converse before you must leave.”
It won’t be enough time, Dan Heng knows this. A few measly minutes to speak with the general before they part ways cannot compare to the countless years he had spent trapped in his cell. It will be a futile attempt to get all the answers that Dan Heng seeks.
But even so, he must try.
“You’re far too forgiving, general.”
Jing Yuan chuckles, clearly amused by Dan Heng’s comment. He tilts his head in confusion, carefully observing Jing Yuan. The general pretends to wipe away a tear, waving his hand as if sending the guards away. They seem to hesitate but with a flick of his wrist both him and Dan Heng are making their way towards the starskiff, while the guards walk away to return to the positions within The Shackling Prison.
As Dan Heng settles into the backseat of the starskiff, regarding the pilot with a gentle nod of his head, Jing Yuan speaks again.
“Forgiveness and recklessness could be seen as two sides of the same coin, Dan Heng. Take care to remember that.”
Dan Heng is not surprised to be greeted by a new set of guards when they arrive at the Seat of Divine Foresight. What does surprise him, however, is the speed at which he is ushered to a vacant room–and as he looks back at Jing Yuan in confusion, the general simply laughs, the sound filled with such genuine mirth that it almost dispels the wariness that he feels.
“There are certain matters I must attend to before I see you off,” Jing Yuan answers the question that’s at the tip of Dan Heng’s tongue. “In the meantime, I’ve arranged this room for you. Think of it as a moment of respite to gather yourself. The servants have already drawn a bath for you.”
“And the guards?” Dan Heng glances between the two guards that stand on either side of him. He’s used to having his every action under surveillance, but it doesn’t make it any less oppressing to deal with.
“They will stand outside after they remove your chains.”
He flashes the man an incredulous look. “What faith do you possess to trust that I will not try to escape, general?”
“Unless you believe yourself capable of outrunning the Cloud Knights and myself, I’m choosing to trust that your patience will remain unperturbed.”
It’s a ridiculous notion–Dan Heng’s patience has always been unbreakable, but it’s not that that perplexes him the most. Rather, it’s the trust that Jing Yuan exhibits towards him that he has a hard time wrapping his head around. Surely a man of his position should show some restraint with his brazen actions, but the words he shared with Dan Heng on the starskiff come to mind.
Forgiveness and recklessness could be seen as two sides of the same coin.
When Jing Yuan departs and the guards reluctantly remove his chains, stepping outside of his room and closing the door with a soft click, Dan Heng is left to reflect on these words as he sits within the porcelain tub. He sighs in contentment, steam unfurling around him as he submerges himself in the hot water.
He had maintained his own appearance to the best of his abilities while in The Shackling Prison, but at least he is given the luxury of taking his time rather than being rushed in the darkness.
It’s the first time he’s getting a proper look at his own face. He blankly stares at his reflection in the water.
Though, he knows that this face doesn’t belong to him. At least, not fully. Those glittering turquoise eyes and inky strands of hair that float in the water are his, yet they’re not. They belonged to the man before him, yet they are inexplicably connected to his visage. The horns that adorn his head are a reminder that the ribbons of fate have bound them together, but Dan Heng knows that he can carve a path of his own. He has to.
And that’s the reckless part of Jing Yuan coming out now, isn’t it? To allow Dan Heng to forge his own way ahead without lingering too much in a prison of his own making. Even if there are those who would wish for anything but.
Dan Heng can’t seem to rub off the feeling that something is amiss, that there are too many blanks to be filled in as soapsuds cover his body, cleansing him of filth. The faint scent of mandarin oranges and bergamot floods his senses, revitalizing his spirit.
Time–and by extension, life–is fleeting. Dan Heng allows himself this sliver of respite, however fleeting it might be in the long road he sees ahead, sitting back in the bathtub and simply allowing himself to breathe. He closes his eyes, exhaling deeply, and relishes in how the crisp air breathes life into him rather than aiming to suffocate him. He can’t live in this moment forever, but it provides him a small comfort knowing that his days will no longer fall victim to stagnation.
As he drains the tub, rubbing a towel over his wet body, a sharp knock raps against his door. He hardly gets a second to wrap the towel around his nude figure before a servant promptly steps inside, purposefully averting her gaze from him. He directs his attention to the items she carries in her arms.
“The general has provided you with a new set of clothes,” a servant tells him, setting the aforementioned clothes down on the ottoman by the vanity. She bows her head, still unable to look him in the eye, and he can’t discern if she’s simply being respectful or if she’s too afraid to look at him. “Please, change into them. The guards will put the chains back on once you’re done.”
As quickly as she appears, she’s stepping back outside, closing the door with a soft click.
Dan Heng’s feet gently pad against the marble floor as he makes his way towards the vanity. He carefully picks up each piece of clothing, his eyes raking over the fabric and smaller, finer details embellished on the coat and pants. The colors are hardly imposing, too–similar shades of jade green, black, and white that mirror his current attire.
He realizes that this, too, is recklessness. Brandishing a new outfit will hardly stop the disdain in people’s eyes when they gaze upon him. His horns will stick out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd–only the high elders of the Vidyadhara have them, and the masses will come to recognize him immediately.
But if he could make them disappear, even for a brief moment…
Dan Heng looks down at his hands. For all of his life, the chains in The Shackling Prison had purposefully sapped his powers, sealing them off to prevent him from using them. He never had any intentions to use them in that place–he felt that he had no use for them.
His Cloudhymn magic is not as strong as it used to be. Even as it begins bubbling to the surface, flowing to his fingertips as if beckoning to be used once more, he feels as if something is missing. Perhaps it’s part of the price he has to pay for those sins that linger in the shadows.
He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he allows that power to surge forth for a brief moment. A thunderous roar fills his ears, followed by the gentle trickle of rain. Life flows through his veins, and for a brief moment, Dan Heng envisions the true image of himself—of the man that he wants to be.
He slowly opens his eyes, allowing the world to greet him once more.
He gazes at himself in the mirror—those glimmering, translucent horns are nowhere to be seen, and his hair is shorter now, barely even touching his shoulders. It’s different, but it’s a look that belongs to him. Relief floods his senses, and there’s a word that lingers comfortably in his chest as he begins changing.
Forgiveness.
He realizes, as Jing Yuan walks by his side, his wrists bound once more, that daybreak is reaching the Luofu.
Days and nights blended together into one seamless stream during his time in The Shackling Prison, and Dan Heng realizes with each step he takes as they approach the dock with the starskiff that will take him away for good that it is the first time that he is experiencing the warmth of a new dawn.
Sunlight peeks over the horizon, flooding the streets with beams of golden light. It washes over his skin, and he basks in this newfound feeling, of knowing that the life he wished to have was within an arm’s reach. For the first time, he finally felt as if the past was merely just a memory, dissipating into smoke with every second the sun began to rise into the sky.
There’s a shift in the air, and Dan Heng casts his gaze over his shoulder to notice the Luofu citizens that are slowly emerging from their households, blending into the streets as they tend to their duties for the day. Foxians, Vidyadhara, and humans from all walks of life come into his view, hardly batting an eye in his direction.
He relishes in the comfortable silence that daybreak brings. It’s different from the silence that greeted him in his cell, nearly suffocating him with its emptiness. Dan Heng wonders if he will be able to make up for all the days that he missed, witnessing the sun peek over the horizon.
The closer that he and Jing Yuan reach the starskiff, the more that he grows suspicious of the general’s quietness. He does not peg Jing Yuan as a man to remain silent in any situation, especially given that he was always the one to engage in conversation first. But Dan Heng waits. He waits, because it’s what he’s most familiar with.
The two men stop in their tracks when they reach the dock, gazing upon the starskiff in mutual silence. It appears that they arrived early, for the Foxian pilot is not found in its cockpit.
Jing Yuan turns to face him. Dan Heng meets his gaze head-on.
He half-expects the general to cut to the chase, to inquire what’s troubling Dan Heng.
“I trust that the clothes are to your liking?” is the first thing Jing Yuan asks instead.
Dan Heng almost doesn’t know what to make of his carefreeness.
“I’m rather fond of them, general.”
“You’re allowed to be honest, Dan Heng. I won’t bite you.”
“Do you believe me capable of misleading you?”
“Hardly. Though, I must be honest with you myself, I had quite the hard time deciding what would suit you best. Diviner Fu gave me an earful when I asked for her advice.”
Dan Heng has read about the Master Diviner in some of the scrolls he had piled up in his cell. A formidable woman–confident in her readings, yet quick-witted and sharp-tongued. He’s certain that such mundane matters like choosing what clothing would fit him best is beneath her, but he tries not to think too hard about how even someone like her can easily yield to the whims of the general.
He wonders what it must have taken Jing Yuan to convince the Ten-Lords of banishing him from the Luofu entirely.
“You and Diviner Fu have excellent taste. I’m flattered that the two of you took the time out of your busy schedules to provide these clothes for me.”
He doesn’t even bother trying to ask how they managed to get his exact measurements.
Jing Yuan lets out a hearty chuckle. “Trust me, though she wouldn’t admit it, Diviner Fu enjoyed the challenge. I will relay your praise to her next time I meet with her.”
Dan Heng gives him a smile. “It would be greatly appreciated. I’d hate for her hard work to go unacknowledged.”
His chest feels light as they converse. It’s the first time he’s been able to properly speak with someone rather than be subjected to endless interrogations that yield fruitless results. He’s not used to this feeling. He sincerely hopes that the path that lies ahead of him will allow him to carry this in his heart forever.
But he knows that in the present moment, it’s fleeting. He’s a step too close to parting ways with his homeland for the foreseeable future, and whether he will be allowed to come back will be up to fate. Dan Heng regards the general with a serious look, trying to gather the courage to press the man for answers he desperately needs.
“General, there’s something that I need to know,” Dan Heng says. “It’s been bothering me for some time now, ever since I left The Shackling Prison.”
Jing Yuan’s lips curve up into a small smile, as if he already knows what Dan Heng is about to ask him. Still, he replies, “If it’s within my means to provide an answer, I will do my best to give you one that’ll be satisfactory.”
Dan Heng swallows thickly, trying not to shrink beneath the immense pressure of Jing Yuan’s gaze. The general is not a man to be trifled with, and yet, there’s warmth in his golden eyes, speckled with mirth and affection.
Dan Heng does not believe this gaze is directed towards him, even as they lock eyes. The longer Jing Yuan looks at him, the more Dan Heng believes that he is trying desperately to reach out to the man Dan Heng used to be, to the man that the general used to know.
Still, Dan Heng finds himself treading ground that he must grow familiar with once more.
“I understand that you took immense steps to call for my banishment from the Luofu,” Dan Heng starts, keeping a careful eye on Jing Yuan. “The Preceptors would’ve never allowed for my death, yet they grow resentful of the choice that has been made. If it had been allowed, the Judges would’ve passed a different choice. But among all the choices that have been made up to this point, it’s yours that I fail to comprehend.”
Even being chained up in the Shackling Prison didn’t make him feel this bare. Simply being in Jing Yuan’s presence makes Dan Heng feel so vulnerable, as if the blurry images at the far-edges of his memory are suddenly colored with familiarity. There’s a certain warmth to them, one he wonders if he has any right to feel in the first place.
His lips pull into a thin line. “Please, help me understand… Before I go, I must know why it is that you chose to help me.”
Because why would a man of Jing Yuan’s standing stoop to Dan Heng’s level? Why would Jing Yuan, with all the power he currently possesses, decide to find a way to pardon Dan Heng that would appease all parties that wished to make him pay for his sins?
He wants to know Jing Yuan’s answer, but his mind already seems to fill in the blanks, and as he hears the general’s exasperated sigh pass his lips, Dan Heng only fears the worse. He hesitates.
“Is it because of—“
“Is that what you want to believe, Dan Heng?”
He nearly startles at Jing Yuan’s strong gaze, how it nearly pierces straight through him. The warmth that they once exhibited seems to harden into an emotion that he can’t quite decipher. Dan Heng grows quiet, trying not to fidget in his spot.
“It’s hard to not come to that conclusion when history hides nothing at all, general,” he replies quietly.
“But that is because you do not have all the information at your disposal, correct?”
“It’s always been like that, being kept in the dark. I only wish for someone to be honest with me.”
Jing Yuan averts his gaze, looking past Dan Heng. Dan Heng follows his line of sight, noticing that the general is gazing at the rising sun. It’s comforting, feeling the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck. It’s new. It feels a touch too close to freedom.
Freedom–that’s dangerous for a man who has never known it.
“Life is a constant stream of choices and consequences,” Jing Yuan starts, his voice ringing out into the air. “Sometimes, we are presented with choices that outsiders believe do not reflect our character. Sometimes… we are forced to bear the consequences of those choices, and they follow us into death, or even into our next lives.
“In the eyes of many, perhaps we are given too much freedom to choose what we believe is right.” Dan Heng turns to face Jing Yuan, and the general flashes him a smile that is nothing short of fond. “Is it so hard to fathom that I chose to help you because I wanted to, Dan Heng?”
“But nothing comes for free, general,” Dan Heng rasps, shaking his head. “Every choice comes with a price, and the price that you must pay for my freedom–”
“Is one that I’m willing to bear.”
“...Why?”
“Because I know what it’s like to feel powerless. I know how it feels to have everything torn from your grasp in an instant, and you’re left to pick up the fragments, piecing together what little remains of what good you had in your life.”
Jing Yuan’s gaze is distant as he stares out towards the horizon, as if looking towards the sun has him on course for a stellar collision. But beneath that distant gaze is an emotion that Dan Heng is intimately familiar with– after all, he has carried with him since his rebirth.
Hope.
Dan Heng resists the urge to take a step back when Jing Yuan approaches him, but stops when he sees the general pull out a key ring from his pocket. Jing Yuan slowly reaches out, his hand hovering over Dan Heng’s wrist–so close to touching, yet remaining respectful of Dan Heng’s space.
He pushes the key forward, lodging it into the keyhole of Dan Heng’s shackles before twisting. The metal bindings fall to the ground with a hard thud, clinking against the wooden floorboards as if making a toast.
“We all deserve a chance to start anew. To the observers, it could be seen as an act of recklessness or forgiveness depending on the person who wants to turn over a new leaf.” Jing Yuan lowers his hands. “But we all deserve a choice. I made mine. You deserve a choice, too. It’s your right.”
Are you proud of the choice you made, general? Is what Dan Heng wants to ask him as he shakes out his wrists, but one look from the man is enough of an answer for him.
I would do it again in a heartbeat, is what Jing Yuan wordlessly expresses.
And Dan Heng chooses to take that answer and pin it close to his heart where no one else would dare touch. For him, this is enough.
Silence falls over them as a pair of footsteps steadily approaches them. The Foxian pilot finally arrives, giving both Jing Yuan and Dan Heng her sincerest apologies for arriving late, and they watch as she quickly jumps into the starskiff, starting the engine. It purrs to life, and Dan Heng knows that this is it. This is the final step that he must take.
He nods at Jing Yuan before slowly turning away, taking careful steps towards the vehicle. With each step he takes, he can feel his heart threatening to burst from his chest, beating rapidly against his ribcage. He turns his back to Jing Yuan, because the choice of looking back is one that he can’t make now, not yet.
He has one foot in the starskiff when Jing Yuan speaks one final time.
“I pray that your journey is a safe one, Dan Heng.”
It nearly shakes him to his core, but his resolve remains unwavering.
He doesn’t say anything. He knows, deep down, that Jing Yuan understands.
Dan Heng takes a deep breath before he fully boards the starskiff, casting his gaze off to the side as he settles into his seat. The Foxian pilot is amiable towards him, oddly enough, flashing him a smile before she tells him to sit tight for the ride. The vehicle shakes with the effort of preparing to take off, and Dan Heng doesn’t allow himself to let out a breath of relief until the starskiff gradually lifts into the air.
It zooms off, away from the place he once called home and into the endless sea of stars that greet him.
Freedom is waiting for him beyond that horizon. He just has to find it.
It’s only when the Luofu is but a distant speck that Dan Heng finally allows himself to look back. A small smile tugs at his lips as he places his hand against the window, tracing the outline of the Luofu as it grows smaller and smaller with each passing second. He sighs, closing his eyes.
Forgiveness and recklessness could be seen as two sides of the same coin. He turns those words over and over again in his mind. It’s a lesson, Dan Heng finds. A lesson that Jing Yuan is passing to him–his final message. To live a bit recklessly, to forgive and to forge a path forward on his own terms… That’s the kind of life Dan Heng deserves. That’s the principle that he should hold dear to his heart.
The future remains uncertain. He doesn’t know what lies ahead of him.
But the past?
He will not let it deter the choices he will make from this point onward.
“May our paths cross again in the future, general.”
A new dawn begins.