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Xiao kneels beside a pool of clear water with a sigh, taking a tiny bit of comfort in the peace and quiet of Jueyun Karst even as his body protests every movement in the form of constant aches and pains. He knows that he must be a sight to behold, with his ceremonial garb stained with patches of dried blood and dirt from a days-long battle.
Leaning down, he dips his hands into the cool water and ignores the reflection that stares back at him, scarred and gaunt. He brings the water to his face and scrubs, eager to clean himself of at least a little of the gore left behind from warring against yet another powerful god.
He’d been hesitant to leave his Lord’s side even after the battle had ended—the war may be drawing to a close, but it has not yet finished, battles still raging on in other countries far from him—but Morax had been insistent, as he always is when Xiao exhausts himself down to the last reserves of his power. Perhaps, now that the fighting is soon to be over and all that is left is to rebuild, Xiao’s power will no longer be needed. He is not a being who thrives in peacetime, after all.
The least he can do for now is make himself presentable for Morax and the rest of their retinue, and so he lifts more water to his stinging skin, washing off what dirt he can from out of his clothes. It won’t be enough for him to return spotless, but at the very least he can stop the bleeding from his shallow wounds so that he doesn’t make a mess of his Lord’s palace.
Sighing softly, he lets his hands fall away from his face so he can look at his reflection in the now-still water, but it’s not his own face that grabs his attention. Instead, his eye is caught by another figure appearing in the reflection, just over his shoulder.
Xiao’s blood runs cold and he instinctively summons his spear to his hand. In a flash of lightning-quick movement, he whirls around and brings the spear in front of him in a defensive position, his blade aimed at the newcomer’s throat. All the while, his mind races, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.
Before him stands a woman draped in flowing white robes, half of her long, straw-blonde hair swept back into a bun at the back of her head. Despite her humanlike appearance, she almost appears to glow, as though a halo of light just barely outlines the edges of her skin against the backdrop of the mountains and sky. She smiles when Xiao meets her gaze, his eyes wide with surprise.
It has been hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years since Xiao has been caught off guard like this, and yet this person has managed to get within feet of him without so much as a sound to indicate her arrival. This in and of itself is enough to stop Xiao from running her through with his spear—if her appearance hadn’t been enough to deter him before, then the overwhelming pressure coming off of her in waves, as though daring him to challenge her, definitely is.
“Who are you?” he demands, lowering his spear just slightly, though he doesn’t dare to let down his guard. The woman has her hands hidden in the sleeves of her robes, folded elegantly over her torso, and so he cannot see if she carries a weapon with her or not.
The woman’s smile stretches a tad wider in the face of his question and she exhales a soft chuckle. “You have good intuition, little Yaksha,” she says, a melodious lilt to her voice that Xiao finds to be simultaneously pleasing to the ear and deeply condescending. He clenches his teeth in mild irritation, barely daring to blink lest he takes his eyes off of her for longer than a split second. He does not respond to her flippant words.
She tilts her head slightly to the side, her waist-long hair following the motion as it cascades in a waterfall down her back. “Surely someone as keen as yourself has no need for introductions,” she continues, an amused edge to her impassively saccharine expression.
For a few long seconds, Xiao does not answer, simply watching her with an unblinking eye. Then, slowly, he straightens himself up from his battle stance and turns the blade of his spear toward the sky. “You are a messenger,” he says slowly, his sharp gaze searching hers for any sign of confirmation. Her eyes are a deep shade of crimson, like twin pools of blood. “From Celestia, I presume.”
“You are very wise,” the woman praises, but the flash of her too-white smile feels somehow threatening, as though she is seconds away from devouring him.
The sight of it makes Xiao’s skin crawl with discomfort. He exhales a breath in an attempt to calm himself, though even that comes out shaky around its edges. “What business do you have with me?” he demands, refusing to break from his strong-willed stance.
The messenger’s face softens into something almost fond. It reminds him of the way he’s seen humans regard their beloved family pets—filled with affection, bue with the understanding that the subject of that affection is nothing but an animal at the end of the day.
“I’ve come with good news,” she replies. “The Archon War has drawn to its close at last, and the seven empty seats of Celestia will soon be filled again.”
Xiao blinks, inhaling sharply through his teeth. “Then the fighting is over?” Though he’d known this to be coming, there is a persistent part of him that had begun to think an end to the bloodshed might never arrive. “And Morax…?”
“He is claiming his rightful place as we speak,” the woman assures him. “Such a lovely experiment this was. Given the strength and the motivation to rise above all others, even the weakest of spirits can claim a seat amongst the gods. It’s quite moving, is it not?”
Ignoring the question entirely, Xiao instead asks, “Then what business do you have with me? Surely Celestia would not spare one of its own just to inform an Archon’s weapon that his duty has been fulfilled.” He stares the messenger down, distrust and dread turning over in his stomach.
The woman laughs and at last unfolds her arms to reveal a closed fist, some kind of object held in her loose hold. “Naturally, I come bearing a gift. You are also a victor in this war, after all. The doors of Celestia open for you.”
Xiao’s heart falls straight into his stomach. His eyes snap to the messenger’s hand as she uncurls her fist and reveals the thing that he dreads most; resting unassumingly in the palm of her hand is a Gnosis.
It’s an innocuous little thing, hardly three and a half inches long and shimmering faintly with blue-green light. If Xiao had not known about it already, he might have mistaken it for some kind of artifact salvaged from a long-forgotten domain, but he has stood at Morax’s side long enough to recognize it.
“No,” he snaps, body tensing up instinctively at just the sight of the Gnosis. “You misunderstand my reason for participating in this war. I have no interest in godhood.”
For the first time since her arrival, the messenger’s smile fades, the corners of her lips turning down into a thoughtful frown. “Is that so? How bold of you to reject a gift from Celestia,” she muses aloud, though the hand that offers up the Gnosis to him does not move. “Still, the fact remains that you did fight, even if it was under another’s banner. The number of felled gods under your name is lengthy. That alone is reason to vie for your ascension.”
Xiao has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat at the reminder of his body count. He doesn’t need anyone else to remind him of just how many people he’s killed, both during the war and before it, and he certainly does not need a trophy broadcasting this fact to any who would look upon him. “That is inconsequential. The fact remains that I am under contract to serve another Lord. Not even an offer from Celestia can break that promise.”
“You may rest assured that our agreement will not infringe upon your contract with Morax,” the woman replies immediately, not missing a single beat. “You are free to do whatever you wish with your newfound power, even if that wish is to continue doing what you have been doing until now.” Her smile returns, sharp and knowing. “All that I ask in return is that you answer the call of Celestia when your aid is needed. Morax will honor that same obligation, so when the time comes, there should not be any conflict of interest.”
Xiao suppresses the urge to snort. How vague. It is a different kind of promise from the one he’d made to Morax to protect his people—with Morax’s contract, Xiao can at least know that every action he takes in the name of honoring it is also in the name of defending the lives of innocents. With this promise, however, there is no telling what kinds of deeds he may be required to enact.
“Give it to someone who desires it,” he says firmly, tightening his grip on his spear.
Blood-red eyes bore into Xiao, a gaze so sharp it almost feels like it could strip the flesh from his bones. “There is no one else.”
Xiao feels his resistance flagging. Is this truly the will of Celestia? More and more, he is starting to see that he has no choice in the matter; the feeling is eerily similar to the weight of helplessness he’d once felt while living under the foot of his previous god, her will far too strong for him to battle against. He clenches his jaw so tightly that it begins to ache, frustration welling up within him with no outlet, until, at last, he has no choice but to relent.
His spear vanishes from his hand in a shower of green sparks. Wordlessly, he steps forward, crossing the few feet of distance between himself and the impassive messenger, and reaches out his hand.
“Do not fear, little Yaksha. Your master will not be angry with you.” The woman’s bittersweet words ring hollow as she drops the Gnosis into Xiao’s hand.
Immediately, sparks dance up Xiao’s arm like a miniature shock of lightning. His next breath hitches in his throat as the unfamiliar sensation travels into the center of his chest and down each of his limbs until his skin is tingling. He can’t imagine what it will feel like to become one with such an object when simply touching the surface of it is enough to set every hair on his body on end. He curls his fingers over it slowly and realizes belatedly that his hand is trembling—with fear or anticipation, he can’t tell.
“Excellent,” the messenger praises with a satisfied smile, stepping back and folding her arms back into her sleeves. “I trust you to watch over that treasure for me. Until next time, godling.”
With those last, haunting parting words, the woman vanishes, dissipating into the air like the remnant of a heavy fog and leaving Xiao standing alone in the mist left behind.
For what feels like hours, Xiao stands still, his shaking hand clutching the Gnosis like the hilt of a dagger, white-knuckled. Then, with a trembling breath, he cups it in both hands and peers down at it. The sight of it nearly makes him laugh; it’s shaped exactly like the pawns from the strategy games Morax had often played with Guizhong. A fitting piece for someone like him, a being who is no longer able to grasp his own will.
Without another thought, he brings the Gnosis to his lips and tips it down his throat, swallowing it down like vile medicine.
—
Upon returning to Morax’s palace, it is clear to everyone present that something has changed within the Vigilant Yaksha. When he enters the throne room, the lively chatter ceases almost immediately, celebratory voices quieting as all eyes turn to focus on him.
Morax is the first to greet him, rising from his throne and standing at the very edge of the steps leading up to it. “Welcome back, Xiao. It is good to see that you have safely returned.”
When he had first joined Morax’s army, it had felt right for Xiao to stand below Morax, like that was where he had belonged, but now it feels like even this is not enough. Not when he has been told that he is to stand on the same level as his Lord, not when he has taken power that was never meant for him. Overwhelmed, he drops to one knee and bows his head deeply.
From this angle, Xiao cannot see Morax’s physical response, but he hears his Lord’s footsteps descending the stairs. He feels it when Morax approaches him, a spark igniting in his chest like a beacon and alerting him that he is in the presence of a fellow Archon.
He hears Morax’s sharp breath, the sound a dagger thrust into the center of his chest. A moment later, Morax’s voice booms out, commanding, “Leave Xiao and me to speak alone.”
The room is empty within the minute, each and every visitor scrambling to obey the order of their new Archon. Only once he’s certain that they’re truly alone does Xiao raise his head again. “My Lord, I—” he starts, but Morax cuts him off before he can continue.
“You have also been offered one of Celestia’s seven seats.” The words are spoken like a fact, without any joy or ridicule to reveal how Morax must feel about this development.
“I tried to deny it,” Xiao says quickly, desperate to explain himself, “but they would not accept my refusal. This will not affect the terms of our contract, you have my word, my Lord.” Hastily, Xiao bows his head again, hiding his face from his master’s perceptive gaze.
A few seconds of agonizing silence passes between them, and Xiao endures it as best as he can, trying not to squirm beneath Morax’s gaze. Then, Morax exhales a tired sigh. “I am sorry that you were made to become involved in such a petty power struggle.” He speaks quietly, his tone tinged with sympathy. “I never meant for you to become so entwined with this mess. Please, stand up.”
Swallowing thickly, Xiao does as he’s asked, slowly rising to his feet and tentatively lifting his head to look at Morax once more. “I beg your forgiveness,” he croaks.
Morax shakes his head. “There is nothing to forgive,” he reassures. “I am simply grateful to see that you have still returned to honor our contract despite your newfound godhood. You and I both know that whatever demands they make of us are far above the terms of our own agreement.”
Guilt festers in Xiao’s chest and he obstinately lowers his gaze, staring intently at the ground between the two of them. Slowly, he replies, “Perhaps that is the truth of the matter, but still, I will do everything within my power to honor our contract.” Taking a breath, he musters up his courage and finally meets Morax’s gaze head-on. “My promise cannot be broken so easily.”
Morax smiles, a soft smile tinged with pride. “It heartens me to hear you say that,” he murmurs, quiet words meant only for Xiao. He holds his hand out between them, an offering. “If that is what you desire, then I am happy to honor your wishes. Whatever should come of this new and unpredictable era, we shall face it together, as we always have.”
A flood of relief crashes over Xiao, bringing with it new confidence. “As we always have,” he echoes, and it feels like a vow, like the start of something new and exciting despite the apprehension that still coils insistently in his gut.
Without any further hesitation, he reaches out and takes Morax’s hand.