Chapter Text
Cold, and then warmth.
Those were the first sensations he experienced upon entering the Human Realm—the second one lingering far longer. His entire body was wrapped in the soft warmth of a small nest, making the act of opening his eyes and sitting up a true feat of bravery. Exposing his bare skin to the icy air in the room was anything but comfortable.
When he finally did it, a wave of dizziness washed over him, completely disorienting his senses for a moment. Closing his eyes again, he took the opportunity to scan himself for everything that now felt different.
Calmly, he explored the necessity of vital breath, now entirely essential. The compressed but efficient flexibility of his muscles. The rigidity of bones where there had once been fluidity. And the disorienting confusion of not knowing how to command all of this at once without resulting in disaster. So, at first, the best choice was to move slowly.
He lay back down on his newly reconstituted spine and breathed. Once, twice, three times—inhale and exhale equally—trying to bring some order to the chaos inside him. He started small, focusing on what was closest: the hardness of a wooden bed beneath his outstretched body, the warmth of blankets enveloping him. Then, slowly, he scanned the room with his eyes.
The place where he lay was dark and sad. A simple, small wooden structure. Gloomy—even the air seemed tinged with a kind of grey. A tiny door and an even smaller window; around the room, a series of objects he'd seen before, though he could not name them. He didn't recognize their purpose.
Puzzled, he tried to recall. He remembered descending over... over—
"Ah! You're awake! How do you feel?"
Startled, he turned toward the stranger who had suddenly appeared in his field of vision, seemingly out of nowhere. A young man with simple, yet intriguing features. Hair black as the darkness of a soul, falling gently with the wind. Clothes in deep crimson shades, billowing like blood spilling from a wound. The only splash of color in the entire dreary room.
Without waiting for a response, the man hurried to pull down the blanket covering his chest, which triggered a flash of alarm. He backed away, frightened—but the wall beside the bed and the clumsiness of his still-untrained body quickly brought his movement to a halt. He was trapped. He barely understood how to issue commands to his long, pale limbs, and all he could do was watch in terror as the stranger approached.
Unbothered and unafraid, the man placed his hand at the center of his chest. A soft energy pulsed from his palm, coursing through his nerves from end to end, making his breath hitch.
"You're alright now," the stranger said, seemingly unaware of the whirlwind of emotion overflowing inside his guest. "I just needed to check that you weren't hurt—my apologies for the intrusion."
Of course, there wouldn't be any injuries. Just thinking so felt almost laughable.
He remained silent, eyes following the man as he moved around the room, busying himself with this and that. With swift hands, he revived the dying flames in a stove that had been trying its best to warm the room, shut the window to preserve the heat, and disappeared through the door, returning shortly with something in hand, which he set beside him on the bed.
"Clothes," he explained, noticing the puzzled way he stared at the neatly folded bundle of white silk. "Not much, but it's just enough."
He didn't quite understand what he meant, but nodded once, reaching out to inspect the garments once the man took a few steps back. He couldn't help but feel the man's gaze against his skin like a hundred shards of glass—sharp, curious, piercing.
"You know..." the man started, stopping himself with what looked like a flicker of discomfort. He looked at him then, questioning, waiting for him to finish his thought.
"You seem a bit, uh... lost. Do you, um... do you know how to dress yourself?"
The man must have thought he was simple-minded, as he felt compelled to add another question: did he even understand what he was saying? He did understand. The problem was—
"I'll help you," the man decided upon receiving a hesitant nod in reply. With practiced ease, he coaxed him out of bed, expertly ignoring the rather shocking nudity laid bare before his eyes.
Rarely—if ever—had he probably seen a body like his before, so he couldn't really blame him for acting a bit awkward; perhaps even embarrassed.
With the patient care of a mother dressing her child, the man explained step by step how to wear the garments properly, and he, in turn, made every effort to memorize it all to avoid similar situations in the future.
Once dressed, he stretched out his arms to examine himself.
White silk flowed down his body like cascading frozen foam. Golden threads embroidered simple patterns climbing from the hem to the waist, and from the wrists to the shoulders. The designs, though plain in essence, radiated an elegance reserved only for higher souls.
How could a simple villager possess such refined garments? Even the belt was adorned with intricate stitching that evoked the erratic flicker of flames.
As if answering the unspoken question, his impromptu host explained that the garments had once belonged to his master, who had wished for them to be put to good use after his soul left this world.
A mystery surrounded his benefactor then. For someone trained by a man of such rank, his current lifestyle seemed rather...
"You must be hungry. Allow me to offer you something to eat."
Accepting the invitation—more out of instinct than anything else—he took a seat at the small table in front of the stove. To his surprise, he realized he was gaining better control over his limbs. The cold had nearly vanished thanks to the active pumping of blood through his veins. However, that joy was short-lived, as he quickly discovered that ten articulated fingers were... complicated. By the fifth failed attempt at using chopsticks, the stranger took pity on him and allowed him to eat directly from the bowl. His rumbling stomach had already made its plea.
The man's gaze grew sharper with each passing moment—comparable to the edge of a master's sword during a precise incision. Still, not a word was uttered during the meal. Outside, the soul of the forest breathed calmly, with winter's cool breeze inviting the last scattered autumn leaves to dance to its rhythm. Inside, the heat of the stove warmed them, and the song of nature enchanted their ears. Breaking that tacit pact of silence felt unnecessary.
After dinner, the man tidied the bed and prepared another from blankets laid directly on the floor. Without a word, he lay down on this makeshift one, clearly expecting him to take the more comfortable space. He did—though he didn't stay on it long.
Once the stranger was asleep, enveloped in warmth, he descended quietly and knelt beside him. Without hesitation, he covered the man's eyes with his palm and closed his own, letting a stream of images flow into his mind.
A sharp exhale escaped his lips shortly after.
Crimson garments swirling like a whirlwind over a field of white flowers—that was the first image. A body rested among them. The glow of his skin rivaled the purity of the petals caressing his face, his long tousled hair nearly wrapping around him in an icy embrace. The whiteness of his strands could rival the clearest jade.
Most striking of all was the apparent nakedness of the man, confirmed upon stepping closer. Asleep, he lay in the middle of the flower field as though it were his private chambers and not the middle of nowhere on a late afternoon. Once he was sure the man was alive, he quickly wrapped him in his traveling cloak and carried him back to his temporary shelter in the forest.
He saw himself through the man's eyes. His face was fine. Delicate features, sculpted, red lips, and a graceful neckline. Those were the thoughts of the one who adjusted his limbs, laying him gently among the blankets.
After tucking him in, the man cleaned his own hands of dirt, as his reason for being in the valley had nothing to do with coincidence.
He had just fulfilled his master's final request—to be buried on the mountain—and now, a grave stood in the distance. The setting sun must have been glinting off the sword planted in the mound, and casting soft reflections on the jade offering plate.
He searched further, wanting to know where this benefactor came from—prompting his startled gasp.
A skilled swordsman, trained with discipline by a stern yet kind master. He later joined a respected clan to hone his potential. This last part caused distress. His noble and deadly feats were performed in black robes, bearing a golden star on the belt—the emblems of the Xuanchen Clan. Three elements which, to someone like him, could only mean one thing: run away.
He pulled his hand back quickly and, stealing one last glance at those handsome features—he had been wrong, there was nothing "simple" about the striking beauty of that face—he left the cabin and the forest, slipping away with only the moon as witness.