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When Moze is young, he’s told to cover up his arms, to wear longer sleeves, to put up a hood when the marks crawl up his skin where other’s eyes might be drawn to. Attachments like that can only bring you pain as you join your family to experience immortality, they told him.
Above all, he should never mark up his own skin.
He nods along with their words, just like he’s learned to do to help avoid unnecessary pain at the hands of his “family.”
Moze goes along with their request - he keeps whatever strange symbols and messages arise hidden, follows their strict rules until none of the new “family members” in their ranks are the wiser. The elders breathe a sigh of relief at his obedience, tell him that he is being good, that none of those scribblings on his skin will matter in the light of THEIR gift.
Yet they don’t know that, under the cover of night, Moze rolls up his sleeves, tracing the words, the designs, the disjointed marks with his finger. The sign of a soulmate, he’d heard one of his “family” mention, low, quiet. They forget how well Moze can hear.
In the low light, he drags his eyes over this evidence of a connection to something out there, something outside of his family, something that etches these things into his skin somehow. He follows every loop, every whirl, every letter, savoring them like a flame in the cold. He wonders what they are, where they come from, why they appear on his body while his other family members can walk around displaying their blank arms for all to see.
Why does he have a “soulmate”, whatever that may be, writing on him like this when his own words only seem to fall on deaf ears?
In the end, Moze rolls his sleeves back up, just as he has been instructed. He does not write on his skin.
He has come to learn that his words matter so little from his “family,” forced to do what they will regardless, so what use is it to write them down for a soulmate?
—
Over the years, Moze secretly continues to check the patterns on his skin. Their designs grow less fanciful, more pragmatic. Lists of ingredients - groceries, perhaps? - notes of meeting times or reminders for later. The small doodles are far rarer now than they were when he was smaller.
One day, he rolls up his sleeve to just see a simple question: Is anyone even there?
The words are different than usual. Aside from being directed directly to him, the handwriting is more… almost scratchy, less refined, deliberate, poised, than Moze is used to from the mysterious “soulmate.”
He doesn’t know what possesses him to grab a pen and actually reply to the strange message.
Yes, I’m here.
Just three words - no more, no less. When he lifts the pen away from his skin, the realization of the rule he broke finally sinks in.
Footsteps echo from around the corner, and Moze immediately hides his arms once more.
He does not look to see if there is a reply.
—
The general - the one who destroyed his “family” - is the first one to explain what a soulmate really is, what the marks truly mean. When he brings him to her camp and a field doctor - another long-life species, with long ears and green scales scattered along her arms - examines him for injuries, the general spies his marks. “Ah, you have a soulmate!”
Moze stares at her. The general’s tone seems… positive? He is unsure, and his guard remains on high alert.
She takes in his reaction, tilting her head, eyes glittering as they once more glance down toward his exposed arms. He squirms under her intense gaze. None of his “family” have ever examined the marks this closely, given him attention as intensely as this.
“Do you know what that means - to have a soulmate?” Once more, Moze is surprised by the general’s tone. She doesn't talk down to him; rather, it seems like a conversation equals.
Slowly, he shakes his head.
Admitting this to her is a tentative showing of trust, and she sees it for what it is, grinning back at him.
“Soulmates,” she starts, as she takes a seat, gets comfy, “are something about half of the people on the Xianzhou have. I assume the statistics are somewhat the same around the rest of the universe, but I don’t remember for sure. Either way, the bottom line is that you and another person - they don’t have to be from the Xianzhou, but it’s most likely - have a special bond that allows you to see anything they write on their own skin as if they’d written it on you.” She waves a hand toward the words inked on his skin. “I assume you didn’t write those on yourself, at least.”
Again, Moze shakes his head.
“Have you written them back? I’ve heard that the Disciples can be… less than tolerant toward the idea of soulmates.”
Less than tolerant - is that what that had been?
Moze still doesn’t trust her, not after watching her destroy his “family,” but something in him doesn’t see any harm in answering her question. “Once. I… told them they weren’t alone.”
The general’s face gives nothing away. “And what did they say back?”
Moze doesn’t know, so he simply shrugs.
For a moment, she says nothing, just looks at him, his face, his exposed arm, the writing scrawled across his skin there. Her eyebrows furrow slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Moze has always noticed details, even ones as small as this. Then she merely sighs, steps back, gives him space. “Well, now that you’re here, maybe think about talking with them more. I’m sure they want to hear from you too.”
Moze has never gotten the impression that anyone wants to hear what he has to say, but he also doubts this general wants to hear that either, so he just shrugs and lets her take whatever she wants from that response.
The general just nods, standing to her feet.
“Get some good rest once the healer is through patching you up,” she tells him. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your mind still, and you have a lot of people to meet tomorrow.”
Get some good rest - a clear order. This is something that is familiar to him, and even though he still doesn’t trust this general, not by a long shot, he can at least do something as simple as this.
There will be other chances to assassinate her when he’s back at his full strength, he reassures himself.
After the door closes behind her, Moze’s eyes drift back to his arm, tracing the marks with his gaze as the healer finishes bandaging his injuries. So that’s what a soulmate is, huh?
His thoughts drift back to that night when he actually replied. He doesn’t know what they said, if they said anything at all. Would they even want to hear from him at this point? And if he did write back, if they did reach out, would they be okay with someone like him?
He thinks about how his “family” was, how they had never listened, yet always seemed to comment on how quiet he was.
Would his soulmate be upset by that too?
Moze doesn’t like that question. He doesn’t want to think about it, so he doesn’t.
He has a “big day” tomorrow, after all.
—
Moze slips into the life that General Feixiao provides him like he does most things - quietly, unseen. Some people start talking about him, calling him the “Crow-Feathered Weirdo,” and he lets the strange nickname slide. They’re just building him up to be however they envision him in their heads, corroborating their own ideas, so nothing he says will change their minds.
So he lets them say what they want and sets out to do what he’s been tasked with - gathering information for Feixiao, protecting the general… attempting to assassinate her. It’s a strange life he lives, but he finds he likes it much more than his old existence with his “family.”
Moze also meets Jiaoqiu, the general’s military healer. From what Moze could tell, he had previously retired from the position under a different general, but he had returned to help General Feixiao some time after she had essentially taken Moze in.
He doesn’t know what to think of the foxian at first. After all the years spent with his “family,” Moze has an instinctive wariness in the presence of anyone who practices medicine, can never let down his guard with them, but slowly, over time, that changes.
Jiaoqiu is different.
The healer asks him questions, and the strangest thing is that he actually listens to the answers that Moze gives him. It startles him the first time they have to interact for a medical check up, and yet Jiaoqiu still waits for him to get over that initial shock and reply.
Not only that, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t force Moze to take any medicine, and everytime he prescribes him something, he tells him exactly why he is giving him this, what it will do to help him, what it contains.
No one has ever shown him this kind of consideration before. Feixiao is kind, but she is also his enemy. The other soldiers respect his abilities, yet they keep their distance, do not see him as he passes by in the shadows. Yet Jiaoqiu sees him, hears out his limited lines.
Moze almost feels exposed in front of him, like Jiaoqiu can see under his skin and directly into his heart.
Strangely enough, he doesn’t mind this. If it were anyone else, he would immediately have turned invisible, disappearing in multiple ways. With Jiaoqiu, he wants to be with him, so he’s willing to become accustomed to this usual discomfort to do so.
And soon enough, Moze begins to seek out Jiaoqiu’s questions, those probing words, thoughts, feelings voiced aloud. The shadow guard never understood how to start conversations, only to speak when spoken to, reaction moreso than action. Yet Jiaoqiu allows him openings, invites him into discussion in a way no one else has ever done. He still respects when Moze doesn’t want to speak, maybe teasing a little before letting go, and through all of that…
Jiaoqiu helps him find his voice again.
—
“Why did you go ahead and take action?”
Jiaoqiu’s question rings in his head alongside the beating of his own heart, the inhale and exhale of his lungs.
Moze looks at the bodies of the abominations of abundance, the fractured forms of those in his former “family”.
All of the pain they had him endure - the medicine, the suppression, the separation from his soulmate - all for the sake of a home that was built on lies. Silenced in so many ways, this is how he now speaks out.
He does not know how to reconcile these feelings, so he simply bares his wounds for the healer.
At least one of the two of them knows what they are doing in this moment.
As Jiaoqiu removes his jacket, he briefly halts his movement. Moze almost doesn’t notice, lost in his own swirling thoughts, until he sees the healer staring at his arm. When Jiaoqiu realizes Moze is looking at him, he smiles - one of those unreadable grins that the shadow guard has not learned to translate into a meaning that’s tangible to him - and finishes taking off that piece of clothing to treat the wounds underneath.
As he does so, Jiaoqiu speaks again. “Does this hurt?” His voice sounds different almost, more tense.
It doesn’t matter whether it hurts or not - if this is how these wounds need to be treated in order to heal, then he just has to endure - that is simply how it is. Just as he did in the past, so too can he do now.
Some things never change, do they?
Suddenly, the gauze tied around his arm is drawn too tight, and he can’t help but audibly suck in a breath at the pain of that pressure. “Ow…”
“If it hurts, then tell me. What good does enduring your pain do?” The foxian’s words confuse Moze. That is what he knows to do best, to sit silently with himself, to feel until the feeling fades. “Just seeing you like this is agony for me.”
Agony… The shadow guard may be used to that himself, but the idea of causing Jiaoqiu agony is a whole other pain entirely, one that is sharp, stabbing, searing.
Unlike physical sensations, this is truly a pain he would rather not endure.
“I’m… sorry, Jiaoqiu.” Moze doesn’t know if this helps, but he lays the apology out before them. “I’ll be more forthcoming in the future.”
The healer turns away from him, wordlessly reaching for a clean outer bandage. A strange silence settles over them, not like the quiet of a solo mission. Moze has not been one to dislike muted moments, but the soundlessness now… It does not settle well under his skin.
Jiaoqiu finally turns to face him again, begins to wrap the bandage around Moze’s injury. He’s not looking at him, focused on his work, but seeing his face makes Moze feel a little better.
When the healer finishes his work, he stands up and finally speaks. “Make sure you are.” Jiaoqiu smiles at him, and it doesn’t feel like the smile usually sees him wear.
Jiaoqiu slips on many smiles - some threatening, some playful, some true smiles born from a moment of surprise or laughter. The one adorning his face now seems more a shield than anything.
With those words, the foxian turns again and begins to walk away, back toward the reinforcements that they had not needed in the end.
Quietly, the shadow guard stands and trails after him, staying visible even though he’d rather merge with the shadows in this moment.
Forthcoming, he tells himself, following Jiaoqiu.
He will always follow Jiaoqiu, until he no longer can.
—-
After they return from that mission, Jiaoqiu suddenly seems to be too busy to talk to him. Moze can’t find him at the usual places that align with his schedule. When he asks Feixiao about Jiaoqiu’s strange behavior, she simply sighs, says it’s not her place to say.
Moze feels emptier without Jiaoqiu. He misses him more than he ever realized he would. He isn’t sure what to do, how to help so that he can finally spend time with Jiaoqiu again. Does he need help with the work he seems to have taken on? Are there errands that Moze can run for him?
…Did Moze do something to cause this?
That question echoing in his mind distresses him more than he thought it would, sits under his skin like an internal injury. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he wants to try and fix it.
Moze misses Jiaoqiu.
The shadow guard finally catches him a few days later before Jiaoqiu leaves the Alchemy Commission. When he becomes visible, the foxian hardly looks surprised. “Moze,” he greets him. His name sounds strange in Jiaoqiu’s mouth, so distant, so formal, lacking the warmth Moze is accustomed to.
“Jiaoqiu, I… Is anything wrong?” He doesn’t know how to ask what he wants. Words have never been his strong suit, and usually that is an issue that’s never troubled him, but now… Moze wants to bridge that gap.
Jiaoqiu’s eyebrows pinch together slightly in a way that most wouldn’t take note of, but this is Moze, and this is Jiaoqiu, so of course he notices. “Things are fine,” he snaps, then sighs. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
Moze is not the best at reading the tones that people talk in, but he doesn’t think that Jiaoqiu sounds like he’s fine. He’s not going to push though - if Jiaoqiu doesn’t want to talk about it, then he’ll wait until he’s ready. That’s all he can do, right?
“If that’s the case, I’ll stop disturbing you.” A strange sadness settles over him as he feels himself slipping into the shadows, and he turns to leave.
“Wait.”
At the sound of Jiaoqiu’s voice, he stops in his tracks, becoming visible once more. “Yes?”
Moze glances over his shoulder, sees Jiaoqiu purse his lips, regarding him with a long look, a heat behind his expression that feels like it’ll burn Moze, even with this distance between them.
“Have you ever written on your arm before?”
Moze tilts his head, not sure how this relates to their current conversation. “Once. I… soulmates weren’t something I’d known about until I got here, and before then…” He glances away from that intense gaze, thoughts of his “family” and their constant vigilance surrounding the marks on his skin flood his mind, clouding his vision. He shakes his head, grounding himself in the present. “My ‘family’ had strict rules.”
Jiaoqiu’s eyes soften slightly, that fire behind them slowly burning out, but they still remain sharp, unreadable. “Would you have written back more than just once had you not been under your family’s rules?”
Moze isn’t sure how to answer that, can’t imagine a childhood with his “family,” without their rules, without their punishments. It hurts his brain to think about. He doesn’t know if he can pick that apart - who they are, their true impact on him and who he is, what they’ve done - and come out okay on the other side. So he stays away from those thoughts, and he simply remembers the first time he discovered the marks, his curiosity alight until it was quickly snuffed out, and those late nights tracing those new patterns on his skin.
“I think so,” he finally settles on.
Some of the tension seems to bleed out of Jiaoqiu’s shoulders, and he nods, smiling - a small smile, but still a real one nonetheless. “That’s good to hear.”
Moze nods along with him, though he’s still confused as to why, exactly. If that’s what Jiaoqiu says, then that’s just how it is, so Moze believes him.
He’s just happy Jiaoqiu is smiling at him again.
A brief shadow crosses the foxian’s face, and he tilts his head. “Would you want to know your soulmate now?”
Moze is confused, wants to ask why Jiaoqiu has so many questions about his soulmate right now, when a familiar voice speaks up.
“Jiaoqiu!” Feixiao’s voice carries from past the entryway before she makes her way inside. “Can you take a look at something for me?” She glances between the two of them. “Am I interrupting something?”
The healer sighs, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.” He turns to Moze, and the shadow guard sees “Nevermind my question, it’s… just don’t worry about it.”
With those words, he disappears further inside the Alchemy Commission, Feixiao following behind him, leaving Moze there, more bewildered than he had been before.
Jiaoqiu seems to feel better after talking, so that fills Moze with some relief, but the conversation wasn’t what he expected it to be. Moze isn’t exactly certain of what he expected, but he and Jiaoqiu had never discussed the topic of soulmates before. He’s not sure why the healer would bring this up now.
“Would you want to know your soulmate now?”
Jiaoqiu doesn’t ask meaningless questions. When he asks Moze something, he truly wants to hear what he has to say.
It’s not so easy to let something like that out of his mind.
Moze has learned over his lifetime that his words don’t mean much, aren’t worth saying. But Jiaoqiu is different, he makes Moze’s words feel like they have weight to them.
The shadow guard stands there a moment, still, silent, before slowly shedding his jacket. He checks his arms for any traces of his soulmate, a mysterious entity he hasn’t spared much thought for since joining the General, especially since meeting Jiaoqiu.
He sees a short note scrawled in illegible handwriting. Most of his soulmate’s writing had grown to be more and more unreadable like that, he thinks as he remembers those late nights as a child, tracing those marks with his fingertips, not truly understanding what they were.
Does he want to know who they are? Moze isn’t sure. Not many people understand him, are willing to be patient with him. People like Jiaoqiu are rare - Moze has never met anyone like him, actually, now that he really thinks about it - and even though soulmates seem to be a good fit for each other, who is to say that this is certain?
Jiaoqiu does not always ask easy questions, and Moze does not have an easy answer.
—-
A week later, while eating lunch with Jiaoqiu and Feixiao at the healer’s house, Moze finally tries to answer the question that has been lingering in the back of his mind this whole time. “I don’t know if I want to meet my soulmate.”
“What do you mean by that?” A strange tension buries itself in his tone, one that hadn’t been there earlier. Lunch up to that point had been a mostly silent affair, but even so, Moze would have noticed it. He knows he would have.
After their conversation where Jiaoqiu had asked Moze the question, things had been better. Jiaoqiu returned to his usual schedule, the one Moze knew, and they spent time together again. Still, Moze felt that there was something that the healer was holding back. He hadn’t asked him about soulmates again, but Moze could just tell that whatever had prompted that line of questioning was still weighing on him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Moze watches as Feixiao puts down her soup spoon slowly, as if she doesn’t want her movement to catch the attention of a dangerous foe. It’s strange, because they are in Jiaoqiu’s home, which is one of the safest places Moze knows. “Are you okay, General?” he asks.
Feixiao glances quietly from Moze to Jiaoqiu, then back to her shadow guard as she stands. “I’m not sure the food is sitting right with me,” she says, her voice poised, level, just as Moze is used to hearing her talk to high-ranking political figures or speaking in an official capacity. He’s not used to hearing her talk like this when it’s just the three of them though. “I’m going to get a breath of fresh air for a moment. You both can continue eating.” With that, she turns on her heel and strides swiftly toward the door.
Moze frowns, then turns back to face Jiaoqiu.
The foxian in front of him is no longer holding his chopsticks as he had been moments before. Instead, his elbows rest on the table, his chin resting on his folded hands. On top of that, Jiaoqiu is smiling.
Ah. Moze now understands why Feixiao was so quick to leave.
“So,” Jiaoqiu starts again, voice calm, too calm. “Why do you not want to meet your soulmate?”
“I…” Moze feels like he’s walking into a trap, one that he doesn’t understand why it is set, doesn’t know what will cause it to spring. He doesn’t know what Jiaoqiu wants to hear, but he told the healer he would be more forthcoming, so that’s exactly what he will do.
Moze clears his throat, takes a sip of water, all the while feeling the foxian’s eyes following each movement, before he tries again. “I don’t understand many people - you know this.” Moze looks to him for confirmation, and Jiaoqiu nods, otherwise remaining motionless. “The same is true in the inverse. I… don’t know if they will want to when they meet me. And I don’t want to put them or myself through that.”
Jiaoqiu opens his mouth to reply, but Moze holds up a hand, and the healer stops, glances at his face with widening eyes, settles back down, waits for Moze to continue.
Moze never asks for space to speak. Instead, he fits his voice between the cracks in conversation or when a question is directly asked of him, and only if he truly feels as if he has something important that needs to be said. Jiaoqiu is very aware of this as well, knows the significance of such an action.
“Another reason I don’t want to meet them is that… I like things as they are.” A strange look crosses Jiaoqiu’s face, but he does not interrupt again, waits for Moze to say his piece. “People do not adjust to me easily, but Feixiao has given me a new life, and… I deeply value the time I spend with you. I don’t want another person in my life who tries to come between that, and us.” Moze shakes his head, thinking it over.
He doesn’t mind if Jiaoqiu has a soulmate he finds one day and eventually distances himself from Moze - yes, that would hurt, but he wants Jiaoqiu to be happy over anything. He doesn’t want to reach out to a soulmate that may someday eclipse what they have right now; Moze is quite able to endure pain, but he has realized that this thought hurts more than anything - the thought of losing Jiaoqiu.
When Moze notices that the silence has not been broken after a few moments, he glances up at Jiaoqiu. “Does that make sense?”
The foxian’s hands have settled on the table, folded in front of him, and Jiaoqiu stares down at them, a myriad of thoughts passing over his face.
Moze doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he quietly reaches his hand across the table, enveloping the foxian’s hands in his.
Jiaoqiu finally looks up at him, and another smile settles on his face, a sort of half grin that pushes up against the feelings that made him want to frown - a real smile. Then he shakes his head, huffing out a short laugh. “You’re so silly, Moze.”
Moze isn’t sure what Jiaoqiu considers humorous about him in this interaction, but before he can ask, the foxian pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a small scribble. Moze recognizes the colored ink from Jiaoqiu’s favorite pen before the foxian reaches over to him and repeats the action, and…
Oh.
Oh.
The same mark stands out on the skin of his forearm as well.
Then that means…
The questions Jiaoqiu asked him, his response just now when Moze answered him, the way he’d been avoiding him after Jiaoqiu treated him - he’d seen his soulmarks back then, he realizes. Moze had barely thought about them until Jiaoqiu brought them up again. Why would he, when he already had someone like Jiaoqiu in his life?
Moze glances up at Jiaoqiu, finally meeting his eyes.
The shadow guard doesn’t need to say anything; he never does with Jiaoqiu, but he will, for him.
“You’re my soulmate.”
Jiaoqiu nods. “You’re not upset about meeting your soulmate?” The question is teasing, but Moze recognizes that he’s still probing for his thoughts.
“Not if they’re you.”
Jiaoqiu blinks, then laughs, smiling again. Moze likes seeing him smile like this.
Another thought occurs to Moze. “I’m sorry I didn’t write-”
But Jiaoqiu stands up, leans across the table, and kisses him.
In his whole life, Moze has never been so happy to be quiet.
—
As Moze prepares for his next mission, he pauses for a moment, reaching into his pocket to take out a pen he now ensures he always has on his person.
Pulling back his sleeve, he writes the words I love you.
When he checks his arm before leaving, a new response is written in scrawling script: I love you too.