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Caelus would know that look on Dan Heng's face anywhere, he thinks. Except, right now, it isn't Dan Heng he's talking to.
The dragon that calls himself Terravox may have Dan Heng's appearance and voice, but that's where the similarities end. He's distinctly less human, for a start, even less than Dan Heng's full Vidyadhara form, with extra horns and a real, solid tail that sweeps behind him and clawed gauntlets that might actually just be real claws and scales, because Caelus hasn't worked up the courage to ask him yet.
His eyes are wrong, slitted pupils that shine gold in any amount of light, but the look in them is the same.
There was a reason Dan Heng chose to make his home in the Archives. It was his own personal space by choice, not necessity. Books had been his companions for all of childhood, and the excitement remained long after he emerged into the real world. If Caelus had to compare him to a fantasy dragon, the ones made up for those stories, he'd say the Archives was Dan Heng's hoard.
(Not to his face, though. Absolutely not to his face.)
When the door slides open, when Terravox steps into the Archives, that wonder is still there in his eyes, and Caelus would know it anywhere.
"This is it," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets as he watches Terravox look around. "This is what I wanted to show you."
The dragon's eyes sweep the shelves, the desk, the screens, and land on the star chart on the far wall, with its diagram of the rails connecting the planets. "So this is the universe, then?"
"Part of it," Caelus corrects. "It's pretty big. Huge, honestly. More than any of us could ever visit in a single lifetime."
"Yours, maybe," says Terravox casually, stepping forwards to look closer at one of the Data Bank's terminals, and Caelus pauses in place, because… Well.
(When Amphoreus had been reset, when everything had rewound to the beginning of the final Eternal Recurrence, when Dan Heng and March had been caught up in the loops and overwritten, Caelus had begged and pleaded to whatever was out there that he'd still find something of them. That he wouldn't just be left with nothing of them at all, that they'd still exist somewhere out there in Amphoreus safe and sound. Instead, he finds a dragon from the beginning of time, the demigod of Georios, Terravox.)
(He'd barely known March was missing at all before she found him first, but the less said about that, the better.)
Maybe the claws are real, because Caelus swears he watches them recede enough for the dragon to tap the Data Bank screens without issue, navigating them like he'd known them for decades. It's like a strike of deja vu, watching Dan Heng working in the Archives like usual, and then he blinks and the moment is gone.
"There is quite a lot in here," says Terravox. "This archivist of yours must be quite dedicated."
"He… was. Yeah," Caelus says quietly. "He was the best."
"Maybe he would have had some of the answers I wish to find," continues the dragon. "It's… unfortunate, that he could not be here."
He is here, Caelus wants to say. He's standing right here.
But… it's unfair, to Terravox, to force him into that box. He'd already seen the toll it took on Dan Heng. If this is real, if this isn't reversible, he's not going to be the reason for that identity crisis a second time.
(And fuck Lygus, seriously, for forcing him into this position, for trapping his friends in that Scepter, for all of this. Amphoreus has probably been the worst year of his life, not that he can remember much outside of it. It's had its good moments, sometimes whole stretches of good time, but… )
"Yeah," Caelus says instead. "This place feels a bit empty without him."
His feet lead him over to Dan Heng's bed, the futon on the floor in the corner, and the dragon's eyes trail along his footsteps. It's still rumpled and messy, books piled on the floor at its head, but his journal is missing from its usual spot. He knows exactly where it is: perched on the edge of one of the tables in their room in Okhema, pen neatly slotted inside to mark his current page for a few minutes, just long enough to get dragged away to his death on a mission. That Okhema doesn't even exist anymore, wiped away with the new cycle, and it hurts to think the journal, Dan Heng's journal, might be just as missing as the man himself.
If he thinks about it too hard, he'll have to start mourning all over again.
Sitting down with his back against the shelves like he usually did, Caelus absentmindedly straightens up the piles behind Dan Heng's pillow. They're just as organized as he usually is- was, he corrects- but Caelus just needs something to do with his hands while Terravox stares at him.
The dragon cocks his head to the side, staring, and Caelus is eerily reminded of a bird of prey; an owl, maybe. "Was this where he slept? Was his dedication that strong? He even slept in his precious Archives?"
There isn't a hint of scorn in the words, just flat observation, near toneless in the same way Caelus had thought Dan Heng was when they had first met. Maybe, with some time, he'd be able to learn Terravox in the same way he'd known his predecessor.
"We kept trying to get him to move to a bedroom and he'd always refuse." Caelus chuckles, mirthless, at the thought. "He liked the easy access. I'd catch him fallen asleep with a book in his hands at least once a week. I'd find him asleep in his chair just as often." He pauses, lost in thought. "Every so often, I'd try to get him to sleep in a normal bed just for one night, and once he told me he just thought it was too soft. I didn't really try after that. Sometimes I'd just come join him over here instead."
Terravox perches himself at the end of Dan Heng's futon, like he didn't want to encroach on Caelus's space any further. A clawed hand runs through the blankets, careful enough to not scratch, eyes locked on the motion. "You were close, then."
"More near the end than anything." Back on Amphoreus, when he'd said his goodbyes to Dan Heng, he hadn't realized See you on the Express really meant another you will see the Express, because they'd never both be back in this room again. But… they'd had a good few months, on Amphoreus, once they'd relaxed enough to drift closer and closer together. "Yeah, though. We were."
"I… apologize, then." A clawed hand reaches out like Terravox wants to rest it on his shoulder, but aborts it halfway. The gesture is so Dan Heng it hurts. "I fear I may have been a bit unkind."
"You've been fine," says Caelus, not looking his way. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't want to talk about it."
"I said something earlier about your lifespan, though. An absentminded comment." He trails off. "Perhaps you will live long enough to see it all. I'm not quite sure. I can only truly know about myself, and I know I will live a very long time."
Unless.
(Dan Heng had been supposed to live for several more centuries. He'd been young for a Vidyadhara, barely nearing his first century, and yet…)
Caelus shrugs. "I'll live until I can't anymore. No real point in putting a number on it."
"Perhaps if you're lucky enough you'll be able to meet your archivist again," Terravox says quietly. "If you live long enough."
"Perhaps," Caelus echoes. He's still surrounded by Dan Heng everywhere he looks: the selection of books, the blankets on the floor, the suitcase still sitting in its spot next to the steps; even the Data Bank itself bears his distinctive impressions.
And, of course, there's the dragon sitting next to him; sharing the same blankets and yet staying too far to touch, sharing a face and a voice and yet missing all the memories that would have made him Dan Heng.
"It's getting pretty late," says Caelus, glancing down at the time on his phone. "We could probably just stay in here for the night. I wouldn't want to force you to head back or anything."
Terravox looks down at where they're sitting, and Caelus thinks he recognizes the look again. Anxiety. "Would you be sure about that?"
It's close to asking for permission, Caelus realizes. For how little the dragon seems to know about people and how they function, he's picked up on a lot this conversion. "I'm sure he'd be fine with it."
The blankets are just as comfortable as they always were. For a futon on the floor, Dan Heng's bed is rather nice. Caelus scoots aside to leave some extra space for the other, and then notices Terravox hasn't moved. "You're not coming?"
"I don't require sleep," he replies. "I can watch for the night."
Right. Not Dan Heng. Yeah. Terravox is an ancient dragon that has existed since the start of Amphoreus (or the start of this cycle) and he has to remember that, even when he has to do a double take from the familiarity. Terravox has no reason to trust anyone else on the Express, because he doesn't know these people, because he doesn't remember Dan Heng's family in the slightest, and that more than anything else is upsetting.
Caelus is tired, though. Today has been far too long for him, even before all of this. He laughs. "Guarding me like always, huh?"
Terravox gives him a strange look, but doesn't comment. "Rest," he says instead. "I can protect you." His spear is summoned to his hand as if to give a demonstration, the sharp tip of a twisted Cloud-Piercer gleaming in the dim Archives lighting. He nestles it into the crook of his arm like Dan Heng always did, looking towards the closed door.
(The sight is familiar. He's woken up to see something familiar a few times in the past.)
In the familiar warmth of the Archives, with a new version of an old friend sitting at his feet, Caelus manages to drift off, sleeping soundly for the first time in days.