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Xiao is not surprised by the attack. He had not known its time or its place, but the fact of it had been inevitable. Morax and his yaksha generals cannot shelter him forever.
He is alone on the training field, practicing in the generals' absence. They are on the battlefield, serving Morax against his enemies. Xiao should be there too, but Morax has deemed him not yet fit--had dismissed him when he presented himself among the yaksha on the battle's eve, telling him that he must mend completely before he enters the fight in his savior's name. So all Xiao can do is train until he regains the strength he lost after his hated last master's defeat, and hope for Morax's swift approval.
The attackers, it seems, mean to give him no chance to try and repay his debt on the field of battle. It is not only Morax whom he owes a debt to, after all. That debt is one of gratitude; the one that he owes these people is one of guilt.
It's because of both debts that he doesn't fight back. Some of these are Morax's people: injured soldiers or yaksha who have been held back from today's battle as Xiao was, or civilians inexpertly wielding weapons or expertly wielding farmers' tools. They are under Morax's protection, and it would be unbearably shameful to harm them. There are others who may not be under his guardianship, may be bound to other gods, but they are people Xiao has wronged, too. From their resentment alone he knows these are the comrades and kin of the many righteous souls he was once forced to slaughter.
He does retreat, step by step, lifting his spear only to block strikes with the shaft, ducking or side-stepping others. Not all are so easily turned away. By the time he's backed up to the wall of the training grounds, he's already covered with dozens of minor wounds, cuts and bruises and gouges where borrowed blades or swinging hoes found their mark. His attackers crowd in, and there's no longer room to sidestep--not without bowling over the teary-eyed, half-grown child on his left, or the fierce-faced old woman to his right.
A one-armed yaksha right in front of him wrenches his spear from his hands with her good arm. "My whole division," she hisses, eyes glowing with fury, "every one of them."
"My father," the child says through his tears, and, "My daughter," says the woman. Xiao presses his shoulders into the wall as the yaksha spins the spear, feeling the weight of their massed resentment seizing at his throat. He doesn't wish to die. If he had, Morax's hand, outheld, would not have been such a blessing. But he knows that he deserves it, that Morax's act had been an unthinkable grace.
As his own spear is leveled against him, Xiao tilts his head back, baring his throat. Then there's a sudden clatter from the gates to the right, and a sudden scramble amid the outraged group, and then Bosacius is in amid them, roaring remonstrations, flinging the yaksha who'd taken his spear from him to the ground. Xiao sags against the wall, lets his head fall, and closes his eyes.
He should feel grateful for this rescue, as he had for Morax's outstretched hand. Yet the unsatisfied resentment all around him grinds against his soul like broken glass.
***
Morax stands before an assembly of allies just as furious as he is, even if none of them can shake the ground with their rage. Their alliance is a precarious one, for Celestia has made clear that only one with power of their scope can be left alive at the end of its holy war. Just as Morax has built a seal against that knowledge when he sits in peaceful moments with Guizhong, he walls it away when dealing with these allies.
How they cope he does not know. All of them are in agreement as to how gods should treat their mortal dependents; thus they have agreed to remain allied until circumstances leave them no other choice. Right now, though, the ire crackling between them makes him wonder if at least one is contemplating an earlier break.
"I will not punish my people for attempting to do what you already should have done," says that most furious god, smoke swirling about their ashen form.
(Three years from now one of their own yaksha, much-beloved, will die in a stratagem Morax devises, and they will be crushed beneath Azhdaha's power when they try to assassinate Morax in revenge. Morax will make contracts with those of their remaining yaksha who do not follow their lead, and eventually all those who survive the War and its aftermath will willingly perish in the Chasm, redeeming that ancient breach.)
"They have already suffered enough," says another, more reasonable, whose grainy skin crunches at every movement. "I am willing to forbid them from another such attempt, but punishment will only harden their resentment."
(Five years from now he will sacrifice himself to guard his people's retreat from Osial, begging Bonanus to carry his plea that Morax take on his people's care. Morax will accept that final contract, and they will become fishers and sailors, the ones whose knowledge helps build Liyue Harbor when the Guili Plains flood.)
Nails that gleam like mother-of-pearl flash as the third gestures wordlessly to the God of Sand, silently echoing his sentiments.
(Eleven years from now she will depart in silence and fade away, pouring herself into the waters of Lisha, willing to diminish herself to avoid Celestia's edict and in the end losing all recognizable sense of who she once was. Morax will allow her people to build a shrine to her by the waters, and long after they have forgotten he will go now and then himself to burn incense to her memory.)
The God of Ash is not content with the conciliation--and it is conciliation; Morax can see the narrowed eyes and stiff restraint--of the other two. They start forward, eyes flashing like embers. "What right did you have in the first place, Morax, to spare him? It was never only your people that he slaughtered. My own territory was also on that god's borders, and was just as much a battlefront! Yaksha I loved killed or dismembered at his hand, whole villages of mine lost to his appetite for dreams, and you let him live without even asking us?"
"Morax is not the first to have seized an enemy's yaksha as spoils of their defeat," Guizhong says, but even her serene and pointed look cannot soothe the smoke swelling out and beginning to fill the room.
Morax lets the ground shudder again beneath his feet. "I made a contract with Alatus. Whatever you may think I should have done, I cannot break it now."
"No," says the God of Sand, before the smoke can begin to choke them or the floor itself crack. "But your contracts with your yaksha require them only to defend your people from harm. I don't think it's unreasonable to ask that in this case, you require of him another, asking that all of ours be safe as well."
The God of Shells nods, ornaments of clearwater jade and coral chiming in her hair. "And we will witness its making."
"Very well."
By Bosacius' report, Xiao had already refused to harm their people, not only Morax's own. The request isn't just reasonable; his newest yaksha will welcome it. He has seen the weight of guilt in Xiao's eyes already. Had he not demanded his service in repayment for sparing his life, he doubts Xiao would ever have risen from where he knelt the moment after his last master's death, offering himself up to Morax's spear.
"And I will invoke another contract," the God of Ash says, "since you value those more than you value our goodwill. The one between us dictates the punishment of those of your underlings who without provocation harm our own. It does not limit that harm to what is done in your service. I will allow my comrades to let him off lightly, as he is no longer that god's yaksha, but at the very least, you will make clear that he is now yours."
"How so?" asks Guizhong, her gaze sharp, as she puts a gentle hand on Morax's arm.
"By inscribing both your first contract and this second directly into his flesh. I could demand his death!" they hiss before Morax can roar his denial. "If you agree to all our terms, I will be merciful, and demand only this."
This time, the floor does crack, tiles parting in twain. Yet Morax can feel the clauses of the contract draw tight as the God of Ash invokes them, binding him more firmly than any rope. It is his will that spoke them into being; it is his power that goes with them if he breaks them from within.
"Very well," he says. This time it is not a polite concession, but a dragon's angry growl, resonating within the smoke.
***
Morax is angry, and Xiao does not know why.
He outlines the terms of the contracts he is bound by, and has no choice but to bind Xiao by in turn, in a voice that drops now and then into a growl. So, too, does the ground shake beneath him as he speaks. Xiao had dropped to his knees the moment he entered Morax's presence, and so he does not stumble and lose his footing, but each little tremor makes him bow his head lower, useless as it seems to appease this rumbling rage.
However it might show around them, though, Morax restrains it enough to touch Xiao only gently, his grip firm but not at all tight. He raises Xiao's chin as if he's handling some precious object, and forces Xiao to meet his eyes. Xiao resists the urge to close them. This is Morax's will.
"Do you agree to this contract?" Morax asks.
Xiao is confused by the question, but he has been asked for an answer. "As my lord wishes," he says, lowering his gaze, since Morax's hold on him prevents him from bowing his head.
The ground shakes again, harder. His answer has not softened his god's anger either. But Morax's grip stays perfectly steady, not tightening one iota. "Then we will go and have it witnessed," he says in a voice like a mountain readying an avalanche.
***
There are no other witnesses but the other three gods and Guizhong at his side. Morax would have fought for that if he had to. Xiao could be a great general of yaksha someday, should his spirit mend from the damage done to it, and Morax would not have those he might lead witness his torment. Not even his other generals, who have taken Xiao under their wing; Guizhong had whispered that it might be better for them not to witness it either, for the sake of Xiao's pride.
Pride is not something Xiao's wounded spirit is capable of, but she isn't wrong. It will come with that same mending. Morax would not have him look back, once he is healed, and feel this shames him in front of those who wish to welcome him as their brother-in-arms.
Xiao strips to the waist without hesitation when Morax instructs him to bare his skin. He starts to drop to his knees, to bow his head. The God of Ash demands that he stand.
"I need a more stable surface," Morax says.
Turning his back to Morax, Xiao says, "I will be so for my lord."
His spine is a straight line of determination, but for all the firmness in his voice, it comes out flat. The resentment swirling around this room is strong enough that even Morax can feel it; a yaksha, far more sensitive, must feel deeply oppressed. A god's resentment is a powerful thing, and these three carry not just their own wounds but those of all their followers.
"Very well," Morax says, with the weight of the contract he's forging, and raises his hand to draw it across the small of Xiao's back.
A contract such as this does not need to be inscribed in words to be binding. Not when it's Morax's power that makes it such. The stamp of Geo is all that is necessary, and will double, for the God of Ash's satisfaction, as a brand.
It will also make clear to all who see it whose protection Xiao is under, and that such torment will never be allowed to happen again.
The first stroke runs at an angle across Xiao's spine. His skin shivers under Morax's touch. Power flows out of Morax's fingertips and into his flesh, twisting and hardening it, leaving a raised thick line that isn't a burn but twists like one into a keloid scar. Unlike a scar, Morax knows it still aches with the weight of his power. Such alteration of flesh only slowly becomes bearable, and never entirely loses its feeling.
Aside from the involuntary twitch, Xiao does not move at all. He stares straight ahead. From behind Morax can't see his face. He suspects it's impassive; Xiao's tendency towards stoicism has been clear since his first day in Morax's keeping.
Without raising his fingertips from Xiao's skin, he draws the next line, shorter, slanted upwards in the other direction. The keloid lines left behind are reddened, but darkening quickly to rusted brown. When they finally heal, they'll be amber. Morax has inscribed contracts in this way before. All of the previous have been upon the unwilling.
Three more lines, each shorter than the last, all connected together in one folding triangular shape. The upper half of Morax's symbol, stamped Xiao's body.
Morax raises his hand a few inches. "So," he says, a dragon's growl, letting the floor shake for a second while there's no risk it will make Xiao stumble and mar the pattern. "That affirms the first contract. I will begin the second."
Words, clauses, careful phrasings pile up in his mind, stones building the unyielding wall that will bar Xiao from harming the people of any allied gods. Morax sets his fingertips back against Xiao's skin.
***
The God of Ash is staring at Xiao with a hunger that is both like and unlike Xiao's previous master. That god had delighted in the pain Xiao caused others, sometimes demanding he drag prisoners into the court and dispose of them exactly as instructed, slowly and exactingly or swiftly and messily at turns. When the whim had struck and no prisoners were at hand, Xiao had also suffered for that delight. There is something of that in this god's burning eyes.
It isn't, though, quite the same. Xiao doesn't dare to meet that gaze, knows it would only offend further; instead he fixes his own on the far wall, looking past all three of Morax's allies. He stills himself as he had stilled himself when his previous master had looked around the court for someone to enact that suffering upon. He has never been certain how to act under torture. If he stood impassive, his past master had made it worse in order to draw out a reaction; when he let it show too early, the punishment for weakness had been just as bad. But staying expressionless when he was doling it out always seemed to bore that god faster, just a little, so that he had to inflict slightly less pain to those he killed.
Morax is the god of Geo. Xiao hopes that a stone face will satisfy him.
The first line feels like a wall dropped upon the base of his spine. It's only his control of Anemo that keeps Xiao from gasping. He pulls air in and out, slow and steady, as Morax continues the pattern.
Pain is familiar. That doesn't make it any less unpleasant, but it does make it easier to bear. What hangs heavier on Xiao's shoulders is the weight of resentment in the room. That of his attackers' has been festering in his chest since that failed attack, dragging at each breath. Having their gods before him, the focus of all their angry prayers, increases that weight tenfold.
The weight of all his sins. Those angry prayers are pleas for a justice that Morax has chosen to exempt him from. Xiao knows that he deserves even more punishment than this.
But Morax has chosen to exempt him. And by doing so, he has taken any choice away from Xiao. All Xiao can do is the will of his new master, the one who spared him in battle, the one who gave him his new name, the one who took his service in exchange. It is Morax's will that he lives. The contract Morax is inscribing upon his flesh is its testimony.
Therefore, it is Xiao's obligation to accept this weight and refuse to let it crush him. No matter what his sins might deserve.
Each line carries equal weight to the first, driving into the small of his back with all the force that Morax can bring to bear. Such force has carved valleys and uprooted mountains, raised great cities and drawn the dragon Azhdaha from the earth. Xiao breathes in and out, long and slow, gaze still pinned on the wall beyond but slowly going unfocused as all his concentration centers in on bearing that pain.
Morax lifts his hand. Xiao is only half-aware of the ground shaking, or of what his lord is saying to his fellow gods. He's familiar with the sigil of his new god, and agonizingly aware of the lines inscribed upon his back. He knows that the Geo symbol only half-finished. There will be more.
"As Rex Lapis, known as Morax, God of Contracts, I make this contract with my yaksha general Alatus, known as Xiao."
Xiao just barely manages not to start. General? He's no general. Morax doesn't even consider him yet fit for the field. But the names are true, and he can feel Morax's power leaning upon him to answer. If this is some contractual loophole that Morax is crafting, all Xiao can do is play along. If it's not... all Xiao can do is answer as Morax desires.
"I, Alatus, make this contract with my lord," he says, making himself look again at the wall. There is an uneven crack in the wood caused by the shaking of the floor; he knows it to be from that tremor just now, because it wasn't there before.
This time, the line drawn across Xiao's back doesn't feel like a wall coming down. It feels like grit ground into a wound, or raw flesh dragged across gravel. The grinding feeling of it doesn't cease when Morax's finger comes to a stop, but continues to build, growing steadily and without surcease.
"As my servant, you will respect the servants of my allies as if they were your own comrades."
"I will, my lord," Xiao says.
The second line is as grating harsh as the first, the same sensation of sharp pebbles poured into his flesh. Continuing to pour, as the first line continues to grind, the pain of it steadily rising high.
"You will protect, defend, and give shelter to the people of my allies as if they were my own people."
"I will, my lord."
As the third line gouges through his flesh, the first two seem almost to feed upon it. The pain is so intense, so grating and blunt, that Xiao could almost imagine it turning into pressure, like gravel is indeed piling up on open wounds, gouging flesh as it sinks deeper.
"You will never turn your strength upon them, or do them harm," Morax says, voice hard and rumbling dragon-loud, "except to defend yourself, and then only in defense."
The weight of the other gods' resentment redoubles, and the God of Ash hisses, something crackling in the sound, like flame being stirred by wind. "Never," Xiao gasps out, not sure whether he's choking on his sins or on smoke.
He welcomes the fourth line, the grating, digging agony of it. The first, by now, is truly incomprehensible as anything but pressure if he wishes to stay conscious. The hunger in the God of Ash's eyes isn't delight at all. It's pure and eager hate.
"Should the general Alatus break this contract, his life, and his service with me, are forfeit, by my guarantee."
The last line is almost painless compared to the still-building pressure of those before. Xiao feels like he's floating, light-headed, aware of nothing but the Anemo flowing around him and the screaming agony at the small of his back. He has to consciously force air into his lungs to find breath for an answer.
"As my lord wills," he says.
The escalating pain of the new contract solidifies all at once, all five lines of it hammering into his spine with the implacable weight of stone.
Morax lifts his hand away and catches Xiao easily as he falls. Xiao catches a glimpse of the God of Ash's face before he folds over the solid bar of his lord's arm. Their satisfaction is almost glee, and for the first time, Xiao feels some satisfaction of his own. A modicum of justice has been done, within the limitations imposed by Morax's will.
Some of the weight of resentment in the room has eased. Not much, not when these gods hold all of their peoples' as well as their own. But witnessing his punishment must have been some salve. As much as being so punished had been for him. The guilt doesn't drag so heavily now.
He tries to stand again, but there's no strength in his limbs. Morax lifts him over his shoulder as easily as if he were a sash being tried on. He is careful not to touch the brand, though Xiao doesn't imagine that his touch would make it hurt any more than it already does.
"Our contract is complete," Morax says. Whether to Xiao or to the other gods, Xiao doesn't know. It must include those others, for Morax turns and strides out of the room with Xiao still over his shoulder, Guizhong a floating presence trailing along behind. Each step shakes the ground.
As they leave the gods' resentment behind entirely, Xiao's breath comes easier, and easier still. The weight of his sins still lies within him, and always will. But its weight is counterbalanced by the weight of his lord's symbol at the base of his spine. Xiao will accept that stamp without question. The pain is nothing against the guarantees that it provides.