Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin had been called many things in his twenty-odd years of glorious failure, but “homeless thief with excellent taste” wasn’t exactly on his résumé. Not that he had one.

Unless you counted the mental list of all the places in the city he could crash without being yelled at, stabbed, or arrested.

Tonight, that list did not include the antique store he was currently breaking into.

“Who the hell leaves a window unlocked?” Sylus muttered as he pulled himself inside, boots crunching on the wooden floor. He froze, waiting for the familiar wail of alarms. Nothing. “Idiots. Amateur hour. I should be charging consulting fees.”

He grinned to himself, brushing his messy hair out of his face as he looked around. The store smelled like mothballs and old regrets, shelves lined with dusty trinkets, faded scrolls, and porcelain teacups that looked one passive-aggressive sneeze away from shattering.

Treasure? Maybe. Pawnable? Hopefully.

He crept between the aisles, eyes darting like a raccoon in a trash buffet. “Okay, Sylus, let’s pick something small. Portable. Easy to hide. Something shiny enough to scream ‘I’m worth money’ but not so big it screams ‘come arrest me.’”

That was when he saw it: a jade pendant necklace.

Not even in a locked case, just dangling from a hook near the register like some cheap tourist souvenir.

Sylus squinted. “Really? That’s it? That’s your big prize?” He picked it up anyway, letting it swing in the dim light.

The jade was smooth, carved into a simple teardrop shape with strange etchings running across the surface. The cord was frayed, like it hadn’t been touched in years.

“Looks fake. Probably is. But whatever. Free is free.”

He stuffed it in his pocket and moved toward the back door—just in time to hear the jingle of keys and the unmistakable sound of the front lock turning.

“Shit.”

Sylus bolted, knocking over a display of ceramic cats. They clattered to the floor in a chorus of porcelain death rattles, and the lights flicked on.

“Hey!” a voice shouted.

Sylus didn’t stick around to chat. He dove through the back door, shoulder-checking it open, and burst into the alley. Unfortunately, the flashing red and blue lights of a patrol car greeted him like an unwelcome ex.

“Oh, come on,” he hissed, clutching his stolen prize closer. He took off running, sneakers slapping against the pavement.

The cops shouted behind him, but Sylus was fast. He always had been. When you lived on the street, speed wasn’t optional—it was survival.

Dodging trash cans, vaulting over a pile of soggy cardboard, he shot down a side street.

Then came the pain.

A jagged piece of chain-link fencing snagged his arm as he vaulted it, ripping a gash down to the elbow. Blood spattered onto the ground. Sylus hissed, teeth gritted.

“Fantastic. Love that for me. Just add blood loss to the résumé. Right under ‘professional bad decision maker.’”

He didn’t stop.

Not until the sirens faded behind him and his lungs burned like cheap whiskey.

Finally, he stumbled down the slope of the riverbank and collapsed under a familiar bridge. His bridge. His temporary palace of damp concrete and questionable smells.

Sylus slumped against the wall, clutching his arm. The cut burned, hot and sticky. He tore a strip off his already-ruined hoodie and tied it around the wound, muttering, “There. Perfect. Who needs hospitals? Not this guy. This guy has tetanus shots built in.”

Once the bleeding slowed, he dug the pendant out of his pocket.

For a moment, he just stared at it. In the dull light of the city, the jade seemed to glow faintly, like it was holding onto its own secret. Sylus tilted his head.

“Seriously? I risked my life for this?” He dangled it by the cord, unimpressed. “It doesn’t even look real. Bet the pawn shop gives me, what, ten bucks? Maybe a coupon for bubble tea? Hell, I’d take bubble tea.”

He scowled at it.

“You’re a piece of junk, you know that? Why couldn’t you at least be a gold watch or a diamond ring? Something cool. Something badass. Nooo, you had to be some dollar-store cosplay prop.”

The pendant, obviously, did not respond.

Sylus snorted and tucked it into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Fine. You’re coming with me until I figure out how to turn you into instant noodles. Congratulations, you’re officially my cheapest roommate.”

With that, he leaned back against the cold wall, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. His arm throbbed, his stomach growled, and his head buzzed from the adrenaline crash.

“Great job, Sylus,” he muttered as he drifted. “World-class heist. World-class haul. You’re gonna die broke, stabbed, and wearing a necklace that looks like it belongs on a grandma’s cat.”

Sleep pulled him under, and the city kept moving above his bridge.

---

He didn’t notice the way the jade pendant pulsed faintly in the dark.

He didn’t hear the whisper that stirred just at the edge of his dreams.

And he certainly didn’t see the faint outline of something—someone—watching him from the shadows of the riverbank.

Because Sylus Qin, professional thief, amateur human disaster, and full-time idiot, had just stolen something that wanted him back.

And it was only just getting started.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin woke up to the sound of dripping water and the faint smell of piss. Which, in his world, counted as a normal morning alarm.

What was not normal was the neat strip of cloth wrapped tightly around his arm.

He blinked blearily at it, brain still booting up. “Huh.” He tugged at the bandage.

It held. Clean, snug, like someone had done more than just wrap a rag around him and call it a day.

That was the weird part.

“I definitely didn’t do this,” he muttered. His medical expertise extended about as far as “wrap hoodie sleeve around the bleeding and hope for the best.” The wrap on his arm was almost professional.

Too professional.

Sylus sat up and scanned the underside of the bridge. Trash bags, graffiti, a moldy mattress, a shopping cart full of mystery rust. No one.

“...Cool. Either the Bandage Fairy exists, or I blacked out and developed nursing skills in my sleep. Both equally terrifying.”

He flexed his fingers. No pain, no stiffness.

The wound itself had stopped throbbing. For the first time in weeks, his body didn’t feel like it was actively suing him for neglect.

“Guess I should be grateful. Thanks, mystery nurse,” he said to the dripping ceiling.

His stomach chose that moment to let out a sound that could only be described as “prehistoric dinosaur mating call.”

“Ah, yes. Priorities. Feed the idiot before he starves. Classic Sylus morning.”

He hauled himself to his feet, patting the front pocket of his jeans. The jade pendant was still there, warm against his thigh. He rolled his eyes.

“You again. You’d better fetch at least a sandwich when I pawn you off, or I swear…” He trailed off into incoherent muttering, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he trudged up into the waking city.

---

By 9 a.m., Sylus had learned two important things.

One: hunger made him irrationally angry at pigeons.

Two: the universe had apparently issued a Sylus-specific vendetta notice overnight.

It started small. He crossed the street and nearly got flattened by a taxi that came out of nowhere.

“HEY, WATCH IT!” the driver bellowed.

“I’m walking here!” Sylus yelled back, smacking the hood on instinct. The taxi honked aggressively, nearly making him trip over his own feet.

He scowled, flipping the bird. “Screw you too!”

The city, of course, wasn’t done.

Not five minutes later, he ducked into an alley hoping to shortcut toward a bakery dumpster (don’t judge—free food was free food). A dog appeared. A big dog. A dog with murder in its eyes.

“Oh no.” Sylus froze. “Good doggy. Sweet doggy. Look, I’m basically a chew toy already, no need to test it—”

The dog barked once and lunged.

Sylus shrieked, bolting out of the alley with the dog hot on his heels. “THIS IS POLICE BRUTALITY!” he yelled, sprinting past bewildered pedestrians.

He juked left, juked right, vaulted over a trash can, and the dog stayed right with him like it was auditioning for the canine Olympics.

After three blocks, Sylus managed to dive over a fence, landing in a heap of bruises. The dog barked a few more times, then trotted off, leaving him gasping on the pavement.

He lay there for a full minute. “Yeah. Sure. Why not. Add ‘dog chew toy’ to my skillset.”

When he finally staggered upright, he immediately walked straight into a lamp post.

CRACK.

“OW—WHAT THE—!” He clutched his forehead, groaning. People nearby snickered. One woman actually pointed. Sylus gave her his best glare through watery eyes.

“Yeah, laugh it up, lady. Haven’t you ever seen a guy get concussed by city infrastructure before?”

---

By noon, Sylus had tripped over a delivery man’s dolly, almost been clipped by a cyclist, and gotten splashed by a passing car through a pothole puddle.

Drenched, broke, and still starving, he sat on the curb, dripping like a depressed sewer rat.

“This is fine,” he said flatly. “Totally fine. Everything’s normal. Just a regular day in the glamorous life of Sylus Qin. Bleeding? Already handled. Starving? Check. Homeless? Still. And now the city itself wants me dead. Awesome.”

He pulled the jade pendant out of his pocket and dangled it in front of him.

“You seeing this crap?” he asked it. “Because I swear, it’s like the universe rolled all its dice at once and every single one landed on ‘screw Sylus.’”

The pendant, of course, remained serenely mute. Its green surface gleamed faintly in the sunlight, mocking him with its shiny uselessness.

Sylus shoved it back into his pocket with a scowl. “Figures. Can’t even afford bad luck insurance.”

---

By late afternoon, Sylus was limping back toward his bridge, stomach clawing at his ribs, shirt still damp, forehead aching.

The worst part? This was starting to feel normal.

He laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Maybe this is it. Maybe this is just my life now. A cosmic punchline. Homeless loser Sylus, running gag in the world’s longest unfunny comedy routine.”

A pigeon promptly crapped on his shoulder.

Sylus stared at the mess. Then at the sky.

“...Okay. You know what? I get it. I hear you. I officially surrender.”

He flopped down under the bridge again, too tired to move. The pendant was warm in his pocket, strangely comforting. He pressed his hand against it without thinking.

“Fine,” he muttered, eyes closing. “Laugh it up, universe. You win. Just… wake me when it’s over.”

And for the briefest moment, right before sleep dragged him down, Sylus thought he heard a low chuckle that wasn’t his own.

Chapter Text

By the time night fell, Sylus Qin was a man defeated.

Defeated, starved, soaked, bruised, and carrying the faint smell of pigeon crap on his shoulder. He limped into a quiet park, dragging his dignity behind him like roadkill, and dropped onto the nearest bench.

His stomach made a noise so violent that even the nearby pigeons scattered.

“Shut up,” Sylus groaned, clutching his midsection. “Yes, I know you’re empty. I know. But unless you’ve got a secret DoorDash subscription, you can sit there and suffer like the rest of me.”

The park was quiet. A few street lamps buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. Across the path, a jogger ran past with headphones blasting some kind of motivational playlist. Sylus flipped him off weakly.

“Yeah, keep running, treadmill Barbie. Some of us are dying of starvation and poor life choices.”

With a long sigh, Sylus slouched back against the bench and shoved a hand into his pocket. His fingers brushed the smooth surface of the jade pendant.

He yanked it out and glared at it.

“You. Yeah, you,” he snapped, holding it up to eye level. “I don’t know what kind of cosmic parasite you are, but ever since you showed up, my life has gone from dumpster fire to nuclear dumpster fire. You hear me? Bad. Luck. Magnet.”

He shook it in the air like it was personally responsible for global warming.

“Almost got hit by a taxi. Chased by a dog with murder issues. Head-butted a lamp post. Splashed by sewage water. And pigeons! Freaking pigeons! Do you have any idea how degrading it is to get aerially bombed by a bird while you’re already at rock bottom?!”

Sylus jabbed the pendant with his finger. “This is your fault. I knew you were too cheap-looking to be harmless. I knew it. I should’ve stolen literally anything else. A spoon. A sock. A bag of chips. Hell, a pack of gum. But nooo, I had to pick you, and now I’m cursed. CURSED!”

His voice echoed through the empty park. Somewhere, a raccoon shuffled in a trash can, unimpressed.

Sylus groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Ugh. Screw this. I’m yelling at jewelry. This is where my life is at. Twenty-something years old, no job, no home, no food, and my best conversation partner is a necklace.”

A voice interrupted.

“What a great companion you have there, young man.”

Sylus froze. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.

An old man sat at the other end of the bench.

Where the hell had he come from?

Sylus was sure the bench had been empty thirty seconds ago. He squinted. The guy was ancient—wrinkled face, long silver beard, hunched posture, wearing a plain dark coat and leaning on a cane. And he was smiling. Smiling directly at Sylus.

Sylus’ immediate thought: The fuck, this weirdo?

“Uh,” Sylus said intelligently. “What?”

The old man nodded toward the pendant dangling from Sylus’ hand. “That necklace. A fine companion, wouldn’t you say? Loyal. Patient. Always watching.”

Sylus blinked. “Always… what now?” He laughed, sharp and incredulous. “Dude, it’s a rock on a string. If that’s your definition of a companion, you need better friends. Or therapy. Or both.”

The old man chuckled, like Sylus had just said something adorably stupid. “You’ll see. In time, you’ll understand.”

Sylus stared at him. “Okay, Gandalf, dial it back a notch. I didn’t ask for the TED Talk on friendship bracelets.”

The old man tilted his head, eyes twinkling. “Strange, isn’t it? How something so small can change the course of a life?”

“Yeah, so can food poisoning. Doesn’t mean I’m about to adopt a gas station burrito and call it my soul mate.”

The old man laughed again, low and knowing. “Keep it close, young man. That pendant will test you, but it will also guide you.”

Sylus threw his hands up. “Great. Awesome. Love that. My cursed fashion accessory is actually my spirit guide. What’s next, the sneakers that give unsolicited life advice? ‘Run faster, Sylus! Also, your self-esteem is trash!’”

He slouched back on the bench, glaring. “Look, old dude, no offense, but I’ve had the worst day of my life. And considering my life, that’s saying something. I’m broke, I’m starving, and I just got called out by city infrastructure. The last thing I need is cryptic old-man wisdom about my necklace. So unless you’ve got a sandwich hidden in that coat, please—shut. Up.”

The old man just smiled. “You’ll understand. When the time is right.”

Sylus rolled his eyes so hard he nearly sprained them. “Yeah, sure. Let me pencil that into my calendar right between ‘starve to death’ and ‘get trampled by geese.’”

He slumped back, staring at the pendant. The jade glimmered faintly under the street lamp, and for a moment, Sylus almost felt… something. Heavy. Watchful.

He shook his head. “Nope. Not doing this. Not having feelings about rocks.”

When he finally looked up again, the old man was gone.

Just—gone.

Sylus froze. He glanced left. Right. Behind the bench. Nothing. No footsteps. No cane tapping away.

The path was empty, silent, like the guy had been erased from existence.

“...Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Sylus whispered. “Did I hallucinate Gandalf? Am I actually starving to death right now? Is this what it feels like? First you get hungry, then the cosmic grandpa NPC spawns, and next thing you know you’re seeing Jesus?”

He groaned, dropping his head back against the bench.

“Fantastic. Just fantastic. Cursed by jewelry, haunted by geriatrics. This day just keeps winning.”

The pendant sat heavy in his palm, pulsing faintly with heat.

Sylus muttered, “You and me, huh? Worst. Buddy. Cop. Movie. Ever.”

And despite himself, he shoved it back in his pocket, clutching it tightly as though it really were the only companion he had.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin was not what you’d call “responsible.” Or “stable.” Or “remotely in possession of good decision-making skills.”

At 2 a.m., wandering the empty streets with a stolen beer in his hand, he felt that truth deep in his bones.

“Finally,” he said, cracking the can open with a hiss. “Victory. Sweet, foamy, possibly expired victory.” He took a long swig, foam dripping down his chin. His stomach growled in betrayal, but Sylus shushed it.

“Don’t start. It’s liquid bread. Food of the gods. You should be grateful.”

It hadn’t been easy. The convenience store clerk had eyeballed him from the moment he shuffled in, clothes ragged, hair a mess, looking like the human embodiment of “shoplifter.”

But Sylus had skills. He’d timed it perfectly, sliding the beer can into his sleeve while pretending to debate over instant noodles.

Smooth. Professional. Practically art.

Until he tripped on his way out the door.

The can clattered onto the tile, and the clerk’s eyes lit up with righteous fury.

“HEY!”

Sylus bolted.

Now, several blocks later, he was still laughing breathlessly at his own escape. “Screw you, minimum wage wizard! You’ll never catch me alive!”

He chugged more beer, weaving down the sidewalk like a drunk raccoon.

Unfortunately, his raccoon impression drew the attention of a group of men lounging near an alley. Thugs, the kind who looked like they mugged people for sport. Leather jackets, cheap cologne, way too much confidence for 2 a.m.

“Oi,” one of them called, stepping forward. “What’s this? Little rat out past curfew?”

Sylus groaned. “Oh, come on. Can’t a guy drink his stolen beer in peace?”

The thug smirked. “Stolen, huh? Guess you won’t mind sharing.” He reached for the can.

Sylus jerked it away. “Over my dead body. This beer is my child now. Touch it and I’ll report you to Child Protective Services.”

That earned him a punch to the gut.

“OOF—okay, that was uncalled for.” He wheezed, stumbling back. “Violence is never the answer. Unless it’s against fascists. Or pigeons.”

Another fist cracked across his jaw. Sylus saw stars. The beer went flying.

“NOOOO!” He lunged after it, only to get kicked in the ribs. He crumpled to the pavement with a strangled groan.

“Pathetic,” one of the thugs sneered.

They didn’t stop. A flurry of fists and boots rained down on him, every impact driving the air from his lungs. Sylus curled up, trying to shield his head, but it didn’t help much.

By the end of it, he was bleeding, bruised, and barely conscious.

“Trash belongs in the trash,” someone muttered, and they hauled him up by the hoodie only to toss him into a garbage bin like yesterday’s leftovers.

The lid slammed shut. Darkness. The smell of rotting takeout. Sylus coughed, blood in his mouth, every inch of his body screaming.

“...Ow,” he whispered hoarsely. “Ten out of ten experience. Would not recommend. Zero stars on Yelp.”

His eyes fluttered shut. Just before unconsciousness claimed him, he felt it. A warmth in his pocket. The jade pendant, pulsing against his thigh.

Then a voice. Not his own.

“Really? Again?” it said, dripping with annoyance.

Sylus tried to snort but it came out as a pained wheeze. “Yeah, well… sorry for… inconveniencing… jewelry…” His vision blurred.

And then he was gone.

---

The last thing Sylus knew was movement.

Strong arms lifting him, cradling him against a broad chest. He was being carried—bridal style, of all things.

“...Wow,” Sylus mumbled weakly. “Didn’t know garbage pickup was this personal.”

Whoever held him didn’t answer.

His head lolled against a shoulder, warmth seeping into his battered frame. The city lights blurred overhead.

For a fleeting moment, Sylus thought, Huh. Not the worst way to go out.

And then the darkness swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin woke up feeling like he’d lost a fight with a moving truck. And possibly the truck had reversed over him just to make sure.

His ribs ached. His jaw throbbed. His body felt like a patchwork quilt of bruises.

And yet… he was alive.

Blinking, Sylus squinted around. He was under his bridge again. Damp concrete. Spray paint. The familiar stench of river water and despair.

“...How the hell did I get back here?” he rasped, throat dry.

That was when he noticed him.

Sitting a few feet away, back against the wall, was a man. A man with ridiculously long black hair that shimmered in the faint light. His posture was relaxed, head tilted, clearly asleep.

Sylus stared. The guy looked… majestic.

The kind of majestic that made Sylus feel like a raccoon who had crawled into a photoshoot for a shampoo commercial.

For a solid minute, Sylus just gawked. Then, because he was Sylus, he leaned forward and flicked the guy right on the forehead.

“Boop.”

The man’s eyes snapped open instantly. Dark hazel eyes, sharp, and glaring straight into Sylus’.

Sylus flinched, then recovered with his usual charm. “...You’re not a ghost?”

The man scowled. His voice was low, annoyed, and entirely too awake for someone who had just been assaulted via forehead flick.

“The hell? My name is Zayne Li. I’m not a ghost!”

Sylus blinked. “Weird. You look like one. All floaty-hair, mysterious vibes. I was fully ready to call an exorcist.”

Zayne rubbed his forehead like he was reconsidering his life choices. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what? Existing so dramatically?” Sylus coughed, shifting to sit upright. His body protested with every movement. “Because if you mean rescuing me, then… wait.” His brain finally caught up. “Was that you? The whole… bridal carry thing? That wasn’t a fever dream?”

Zayne smirked faintly. “Not a dream. You fainted. I carried you.”

Sylus groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god. You did garbage-collect me. I got dumpstered and then carried home like a trash princess. Fantastic. Add that to the growing list of humiliations.”

“You’re alive,” Zayne pointed out flatly. “You should be grateful.”

“Grateful? For what? That I got rescued by a random shampoo model cosplaying as my bodyguard?” Sylus snorted. “Buddy, you’ve got the wrong homeless guy. I don’t do guardian angels.”

Zayne leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Not angel. Guardian. There’s a difference.”

“...Oh, of course,” Sylus deadpanned. “Because that clears everything right up. You’re my guardian. What, are you like… assigned to me by the cosmic DMV? Do I get a membership card?”

Zayne reached into his pocket and held up the jade pendant.

Sylus froze. “Hey! That’s mine! Give it back!”

“You hold this,” Zayne said firmly, ignoring him. “Therefore, you are my master.”

Sylus stared. “...Excuse me?”

“You heard me. The pendant chose you. You carry it. That makes you my master. I am your guardian.”

Sylus gaped for a solid ten seconds. Then burst out laughing so hard his ribs hurt.

“Oh my god. Ohhh my god. That’s rich. You? My guardian? I’m homeless! I sleep under bridges! My diet consists of bread crusts and stolen beer! And you’re telling me I’m your master?!” He wheezed, clutching his side. “Buddy, you need to set higher standards.”

Zayne crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Laugh all you want. It doesn’t change the truth.”

Sylus wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. “Truth, huh? What are you, some magical contract butler? Do I get three wishes? Do I get a sword? Ooooh, can you summon snacks? Because I would kill for ramen right now.”

Zayne sighed like he was already regretting this arrangement. “You really are insufferable.”

“And you’re really dramatic for a guy who just introduced himself as my mystical guardian-slash-slave or whatever.” Sylus flopped back down, wincing. “Ugh. Great. Just what I needed. A hot imaginary friend with delusions of grandeur.”

“I’m not imaginary.”

“Sure you’re not. That’s exactly what an imaginary guardian would say.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be a long life.”

Sylus smirked, closing his eyes. “Welcome to the trash fire, buddy. Hope you brought marshmallows.”

And with that, he promptly passed out again, pendant warm against his chest, and Zayne sitting beside him, silently fuming at his so-called master.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Sylus Qin knew how to do, it was ignore other people’s meltdowns.

Case in point: the majestic, long-haired, definitely-too-pretty-for-this-world man currently pacing under the bridge like a cat who’d been thrown into a bathtub.

“This is an insult,” Zayne muttered, hair swaying dramatically with every turn. “I was once the sworn guardian of a king. A sovereign! Ruler of vast lands! I commanded respect. Honor. Fear! And now—”

He jabbed a finger in Sylus’ direction. “Now I’m stuck with you.”

Sylus, lying flat on his back with his hoodie pulled over his face, cracked one eye open. “Uh-huh. Tragic. Real Shakespearean shit. Hey, while you’re whining, can you grab me a sandwich or something? I’m starving.”

Zayne froze. “A… sandwich?”

“Yeah.” Sylus sat up, patting his stomach. “Bread. Meat. Preferably not moldy. Bonus points if it comes with fries. Chop-chop, guardian angel.”

“I just told you I was the guardian of a king.”

“And now you’re the guardian of a hungry guy. Congrats on the career downgrade.” Sylus grinned. “So? Where’s my sandwich?”

Zayne’s eye twitched. For a long moment, Sylus thought the guy was going to throw him into the river. Instead, Zayne closed his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and—

Whoosh.

A neatly wrapped sandwich appeared in Sylus’ lap.

Sylus blinked. Then tore the wrapper open and took a massive bite. “Holy shit. You actually did it!”

“Of course I did it,” Zayne snapped. “That’s what I do. I grant.”

Sylus chewed thoughtfully, then pointed at Zayne with the sandwich. “Cool. In that case, new clothes. I’m tired of smelling like the dumpster I almost died in.”

Zayne stared at him, long-suffering. “Do you… ever say please?”

“Not in this economy. Clothes, please.”

Another muttered curse, another whoosh. Suddenly, there was a pile of fresh clothes beside him—jeans, a t-shirt, even underwear.

Sylus whooped. “Hell yeah! I’m living the good life now. Keep ‘em coming, sugar daddy.”

Zayne’s face went blank. “...Sugar. Daddy.”

“You literally conjured food and clothes for me. That’s textbook sugar daddy behavior.” Sylus pulled off his hoodie and started changing right there. “Next, I’m thinking sneakers. Nice ones. Ooooh, and maybe a phone. With unlimited data. And, hey—can you summon beer? Because—”

“Stop.”

Sylus froze mid-sleeve. “What do you mean, stop? You can’t just cut me off now.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “One more wish, and I’m going back into that pendant.”

Sylus’s jaw dropped. “Wait, WHAT?!”

“I said: one. More. Wish. And then I return.”

“You—you didn’t tell me there was a limit!” Sylus scrambled up, glaring. “You let me waste one on a sandwich! A sandwich! Do you know how many better things I could’ve asked for?!”

“You didn’t ask. You demanded.”

“Oh, don’t you get philosophical with me! You’re telling me I only get three wishes?!”

“Now you know.” Zayne crossed his arms, smug. “Choose wisely.”

Sylus groaned, pulling at his hair. “Goddammit. Okay, okay. Last wish. It has to be big. It has to be life-changing. It has to—”

“Or,” Zayne interrupted smoothly, “you could waste it on another sandwich.”

Sylus pointed at him. “Don’t tempt me, shampoo commercial. Don’t you dare tempt me.”

“Choose quickly.”

“Don’t rush me!” Sylus paced in frantic circles. “Do I ask for money? A mansion? Endless food? Oh! Wait! A girlfriend!”

Zayne arched an eyebrow. “A girlfriend?”

“Shut up, it’s been a long year!” Sylus snapped. He kept pacing. “No, no. Too risky. What if she dumps me? What if she’s cursed? What if she’s secretly married to, like, Satan?”

“You attract disaster regardless,” Zayne said dryly.

Sylus whirled on him. “Helpful! Thanks! Okay, okay, maybe I ask for… a job? No, that’s stupid. I’ll just get fired. A car? I can’t even drive. A yacht? I’ll drown.”

Zayne sat down, clearly entertained despite himself. “This is delightful.”

“Delightful?! I’m in crisis here! This is my last wish! My one shot at happiness! I can’t blow it on something dumb!”

“You already did,” Zayne said. “Sandwich.”

Sylus groaned so loud it echoed under the bridge. He collapsed back on the ground, arms flung wide. “I hate you. I hate you.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Zayne said calmly.

“Oh yeah? Well, guess what, Shampoo Model—my final wish is…” Sylus sat up dramatically, pointing at him. “…that you’re stuck here with me forever!”

Zayne’s eyes widened. “You can’t—”

“Too late! I said it! Final wish, baby!” Sylus cackled, clutching his stomach. “Suck it, Pendant Boy! You’re my free personal butler forever now!”

For a moment, Zayne just stared at him, completely speechless. Then, very quietly, he muttered:

“…I should’ve let the thugs kill you.”

Sylus grinned, victorious, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “And miss out on this? Nah. You’re welcome, buddy. Welcome to hell.”

Zayne groaned, tilting his head back like he was praying to be struck by lightning.

But he didn’t vanish.

And that, Sylus decided, was proof enough.

He had officially cheated the system.

Chapter Text

If Sylus Qin had a bucket list, “making an ancient magical being carry his shopping bags” would’ve just been checked off.

They strolled through the city mall, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the air thick with overpriced perfume samples and bad pop music.

Sylus strutted confidently, new sneakers squeaking, arms loaded with bags of snacks, shirts, and—yes—three different knock-off watches he absolutely didn’t need.

Beside him, Zayne Li followed like a kicked puppy. Except the puppy was six feet one of ethereal, long-haired misery radiating “I don’t belong here” energy.

“This is humiliating,” Zayne muttered darkly, his arms also stacked with shopping bags because Sylus had offloaded half of them onto him.

“No, this is luxury,” Sylus corrected, shoving a bag of chips into one of his own bags without looking. “You should be thanking me. You get to experience the joys of capitalism. Pretty soon, you’ll be clipping coupons like the rest of us.”

Zayne gave him a flat look. “This is… way too different from back then.”

“Back then” meaning his whole “I was once a guardian of a king” sob story that Sylus had already heard ten times.

Sylus popped open a soda and slurped loudly. “Yeah, well, welcome to the future, bud. No castles, no thrones, no servants—just me, malls, and food courts. Ain’t it grand?”

Instead of answering, Zayne crouched right there in the middle of the mall corridor. Long black hair fell over his face as he put his head in his hands and let out a long, tragic sigh.

People passing by stared. Some slowed down to gawk at the sight of a very handsome man in medieval-looking posture having an existential crisis outside a bubble tea shop.

Sylus casually sipped his drink, ignoring the spectacle. “You’re drawing attention, drama queen.”

Zayne’s voice came muffled through his hands. “…I miss my old master.”

Sylus nearly spit out his soda. “Excuse me?”

“I served kings,” Zayne said, lifting his head with a look of profound heartbreak. “Mighty men. Respected. Wise. They commanded armies. They built nations. They sat upon golden thrones.” His voice dropped lower, heavy with despair. “And now… my master steals beer from convenience stores.”

Sylus pointed at him with the soda can. “Low blow, buddy. Low. Blow.”

“It’s the truth,” Zayne hissed. “Do you know what kind of power I wielded at my prime? I was a storm given flesh. A shield for empires. And now…” He gestured helplessly at the shopping bags. “Now I am… your valet.”

Sylus grinned. “My hot valet. Don’t forget that part.”

Zayne groaned so loudly the janitor sweeping nearby flinched.

“Listen,” Sylus said, slurping his soda again. “You gotta stop living in the past. Kings are overrated. Castles are drafty. Thrones give you back problems. Look around! This is the good stuff.”

“The… good stuff?” Zayne repeated, tone dripping with disbelief.

“Yeah. Air conditioning. Wi-Fi. Deep-fried everything. And—” Sylus leaned in, waggling his eyebrows— “karaoke night. Bet your king didn’t have that.”

Zayne’s face was a portrait of suffering. “Why me…”

Sylus patted his shoulder. “Because fate loves comedy, that’s why.”

“Fate is cruel,” Zayne muttered.

“Fate is hilarious,” Sylus corrected. “Now c’mon, I need a new hoodie. This one smells like river water and trauma.”

Zayne dragged himself upright with the weight of a condemned man walking to the gallows, following Sylus deeper into the mall. His regal aura was thoroughly wasted in the glowing aisles of fast fashion and neon sale signs.

But Sylus? Sylus was thriving.

He had food, clothes, money, and a brooding magical sugar daddy trailing after him. For once in his life, things were looking up.

Even if Zayne looked like he was two sighs away from throwing himself back into the pendant just to escape.

Chapter Text

The thing about living with an ancient pendant man was that you never really got used to it.

Sylus Qin thought he would. He figured the novelty would wear off after a week.

Sure, at first it was weird having some long-haired, broody shampoo model in his space, but eventually? Background noise. Like the hum of the fridge or the occasional cockroach in the bathroom.

Except Zayne Li was not background noise.

Zayne Li was drama incarnate.

At this very moment, Sylus was sprawled across their new apartment couch—new because Zayne had magicked them into “respectable tenants” with furniture and everything—gaming on his phone with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb.

“Die, you pixel bastard—YES! Headshot! Suck it!” Sylus cackled, jabbing at the screen.

Meanwhile, Zayne sat across the room, cradling the jade pendant in both hands like it was some fragile holy relic. His long lashes lowered, lips pressed tight, chest rising slowly like he was meditating.

Sylus didn’t notice at first. He was too busy unlocking achievements and yelling at ten-year-olds through his headset mic.

“Get rekt, kid! Go do your homework!”

But then he glanced up, mid-gloat, and froze.

Zayne’s face had gone pale. Not the usual “ugh, modern life disgusts me” pale. Not the “Sylus, please stop eating instant noodles with your bare hands” pale.

No. This was “I just saw a ghost crawl out of my childhood closet” pale.

“Uh… hey,” Sylus said, yanking his headphones down. “You okay, Prettyboy? You look like you just remembered your ex.”

Zayne’s eyes flickered open. They were distant, stormy, unfocused. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Sylus shot back immediately, sitting up. “You’ve got that ‘haunted by a thousand years of pain’ look. Very angsty. Very CW drama. Spill.”

Zayne didn’t answer. His hand gripped the pendant tighter, knuckles white. His gaze dropped, as if the jade itself was showing him something Sylus couldn’t see.

Sylus frowned. He wasn’t good with feelings—his emotional intelligence was roughly on par with a potato—but even he knew this wasn’t normal.

“Hey,” Sylus said again, softer this time. “You’re freaking me out, man.”

---

Inside Zayne’s mind, it wasn’t the dingy little apartment anymore.

It was banners and battlements, torches flickering against stone walls. A king’s laughter echoing through vast halls. Soldiers bowing, armor clinking. His chest swelling with pride as he knelt, oath unbroken.

And then—fire. Screams. The smell of blood and smoke.

The king’s crown falling from his head, rolling across the floor slick with red. His master’s last words, choked with betrayal and regret.

“I cursed your entire existence!!…”

The memory cut sharp, jagged.

Zayne’s breath hitched. His grip on the pendant faltered.

And then—

---

“HEY!” Sylus snapped his fingers right in front of Zayne’s face. “Earth to drama llama! You’re looking real ghost-of-Christmas-past over there.”

Zayne blinked. His gaze refocused slowly, landing on Sylus like he was trying to remember who he was.

Sylus sat cross-legged on the couch now, phone abandoned, leaning forward with a crease in his brow. “You good? You look like you just binge-watched a tragedy marathon without snacks.”

For once, Zayne didn’t snap back. Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t deliver some lofty one-liner about honor.

He just… looked tired. Old.

“I…” Zayne hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“Oh, don’t give me that cryptic nonsense,” Sylus said, wagging a finger. “I live with you. If you start pulling creepy pale-face moments and fainting all over the place, who do you think has to deal with it? Me. I do. And spoiler alert: I’m not emotionally equipped for ghost trauma.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, pressing the pendant against his chest like he could hold the memories inside. “It was… a long time ago.”

Sylus tilted his head. “How long?”

Zayne’s eyes flickered, and for a second, Sylus swore he saw all those eons he kept whining about reflected in them. Centuries of battles, betrayals, losses.

“Too long,” Zayne said finally.

Sylus leaned back, arms crossing. “Okay, so what you’re saying is you’ve got ancient baggage.”

“That is one way to phrase it.”

“And now it’s crashing your system mid-apartment life.”

“...Yes.”

Sylus hummed. “Cool, cool, very cool. Totally fine. Totally normal. Love that for us.” He paused. “You want, like… ice cream? I hear it helps with trauma. Or therapy. Or both.”

Zayne gave him a look. “Do you even have money for therapy?”

Sylus grinned. “Nope. But I do have you. And apparently you can conjure Häagen-Dazs. So yeah. Ice cream it is.”

For the first time since the flashback, Zayne’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

Sylus leaned forward, grinning wider. “There we go. That’s better. No more broody haunted guardian face. You’re scaring the neighbors.”

“We don’t have neighbors,” Zayne reminded him.

“Exactly. Because they all died of second-hand angst exposure. Keep it up and I’ll be next.”

Zayne actually huffed a laugh. Quiet. Almost reluctant. But it was there.

Sylus settled back, satisfied. “See? Way better. Next time you start spiraling into flashback land, just look at me. Boom. Problem solved. You can’t stay tragic while looking at this face.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. “Your confidence is astounding.”

“Damn right.” Sylus smirked. “Now conjure me that ice cream. Trauma bonding needs snacks.”

---

Zayne didn’t say it, but as the pendant cooled in his palm, he realized something quietly terrifying.

For the first time in eons, when he’d been drowning in the past—someone had pulled him out.

And that someone was Sylus Qin.

The world’s most chaotic, irritating, ridiculous master.

But maybe, Zayne thought, not the worst one.

Chapter Text

Sylus Qin had once again disappeared into the city with a breezy, “Don’t wait up, Prettyboy, I gotta meet some old friends about a debt.”

Which could mean literally anything: stealing food, losing at cards, accidentally owing money to a local gang boss, or, more likely, all three at once.

Zayne had stopped asking.

The apartment was too quiet without him anyway. So Zayne slipped into his long black coat and boots—modern disguises for his old armor—and stepped out.

The night air was crisp, the moon pale above the buildings. His steps carried him almost unconsciously toward the park near their apartment.

There, on a worn bench beneath a flickering lamppost, sat a familiar figure.

The old man. White hair, hunched shoulders, eyes glimmering like they saw far more than they should.

“Sifu Hua,” Zayne said, warmth threading through his voice before he could stop it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d longed for a familiar presence until now.

The old man smiled, deep lines creasing his face. “Ah. Zayne Li. Still clinging to life outside your prison.”

Zayne inclined his head respectfully before sitting beside him. “It’s… different. This world.” His gaze drifted toward the playground in the distance, where empty swings swayed softly in the wind. “Loud. Bright. Full of things I don’t understand.”

“And yet you follow that boy around,” Sifu Hua said knowingly. “The thief. The troublemaker.”

Zayne’s lips quirked despite himself. “Sylus Qin.” He exhaled slowly. “He is… infuriating.”

Sifu Hua chuckled. “He reminds me of someone else I once knew.” Then his tone softened. “But Zayne… that boy is using you.”

Zayne stiffened. “He does not mean harm. He is careless, yes. Greedy, certainly. But…” He hesitated, searching for words. “He is also alive in a way I am not. He clings to the world even as it throws him down. I… envy that.”

The old man’s smile faded. His eyes sharpened, grave.

“Listen to me, child,” Sifu Hua said, his voice dropping into something heavier. “The more that boy uses you, the more it consumes your energy. Every conjured meal. Every conjured coin. Every comfort you provide him—it drains you.”

Zayne swallowed, fingers brushing the pendant at his chest. “I know.”

“And yet you do nothing.”

“Because it is my duty.”

Sifu Hua shook his head slowly, pity in his gaze. “Zayne… your old master did not save you. He used you. He let you burn with him.”

The memory hit like a blade. The flames, the betrayal, the final, desperate scream of a king he had sworn to protect.

Zayne’s breath caught. His hands curled into fists on his knees.

“Do not,” Sifu Hua said firmly, “make the same mistake twice. Do not give yourself away to this boy until there is nothing left of you. He is not your king. And you are not his servant. You deserve more than to fade into nothing because of another master’s folly.”

For a moment, the night held its breath.

Zayne stared at the pendant, the jade glowing faintly as if it too remembered. His chest ached with something unspoken.

“I…” He faltered. His voice dropped, raw. “I don’t know if I can stop.”

Sifu Hua’s gaze softened, but his words stayed sharp. “Then when you are gone, child, no one will mourn you. Not him. Not this world. Only the wind will remember your name.”

Zayne closed his eyes.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

When he opened them again, the bench beside him was empty.

Sifu Hua was gone.

---

Back at the apartment, Sylus barged in hours later with a bag of cheap takeout and a black eye.

“Babe, I’m home!” he shouted, kicking off his sneakers. “Don’t worry, I only got stabbed once this time—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Zayne was sitting in the dark, coat still on, pendant clutched tight in his hand. His face unreadable.

For the first time, Sylus felt a flicker of unease.

“...Hey,” Sylus said carefully. “You okay?”

Zayne looked up at him, eyes shadowed with something ancient and heavy.

And Sylus Qin, chaos incarnate, didn’t have a single joke in his throat.

Chapter Text

For days, Sylus Qin was convinced that Zayne Li was sulking.

Not the I-hate-you-I’m-leaving kind of sulking, but the I’m-going-to-sit-in-a-dark-room-like-a-goth-statue-until-you-realize-you’ve-hurt-my-feelings kind. Which, in Sylus’s totally unbiased opinion, was way worse.

Because how was he supposed to live with a six-foot brooding wall of silence?

“C’mon, Prettyboy, I only left for a day,” Sylus complained one night, flopping onto the couch beside him. Zayne didn’t look up from the pendant he was polishing. “You’re acting like I ran off to marry someone else.”

Silence.

“Not that anyone would say yes,” Sylus added, grinning. “I mean, look at me. A mess. Disaster. Total financial liability.”

Nothing.

Sylus groaned, throwing his arms dramatically over his head. “Fine, don’t talk to me! I’ll just die of heartbreak on this couch. My spirit will haunt you forever, wailing about unpaid rent and expired instant noodles—”

Zayne finally looked at him. Just one sharp glance. It shut Sylus up instantly.

…But also gave him an idea.

---

Three days later, Sylus declared war.

“Get up, we’re going out,” he announced, shaking Zayne’s shoulder at nine in the morning.

Zayne blinked at him, still half-asleep. “Out? Where?”

“You’ll see,” Sylus said with a grin, already dragging him out of bed.

Thus began what Sylus proudly dubbed: Operation Make The Statue Smile Again.

First stop: skate park.

Zayne stood at the edge of the ramp like someone had just told him dragons were real again. His coat swished in the breeze, boots firmly planted on the concrete, eyes narrowed at the sight of teenagers whizzing past on boards.

Sylus shoved a skateboard into his hands. “Here. Trust me, this’ll fix your attitude problem.”

“I do not have an attitude problem.”

“You sulked for four days straight, Prettyboy. If you had bangs, you’d be emo.”

Zayne gave him the flattest look in human history.

Which only made Sylus cackle.

---

The attempt to skateboard was… a disaster.

Zayne stepped on the board, stiff as stone, rolled approximately two feet, and then—

CRASH.

He landed flat on his back.

Sylus was laughing so hard he had to sit down on the curb to breathe. “Oh my god—you fell like—like a log—straight timberrrr!”

Zayne sat up slowly, expression unchanged, dignity somehow still intact despite being covered in dust. “This contraption is not designed for combat.”

“Nope,” Sylus wheezed, “but it’s designed for fun!”

Zayne brushed himself off, handed the board back, and deadpanned, “I fail to see the difference.”

Sylus nearly died right there.

---

Next stop: arcade.

“Rule number one,” Sylus said, strutting through the flashing lights and beeping machines, “no magic. We play fair here. With my money.”

Zayne’s brow arched slightly. “You… have money?”

“Wow, hurtful,” Sylus said, clutching his chest. “Yes, I have money. Real, non-summoned money. Do you wanna see my receipts? Actually no, they’re embarrassing. But still.”

Zayne didn’t look convinced.

So Sylus dragged him straight to the claw machine aisle.

Rows upon rows of plushies stared out from behind glass walls: cats, bears, frogs, questionable anime characters. And then—

Sylus spotted it.

A floppy-eared, pouty-faced puppy plushie, sitting high in the pile like it knew it was superior.

It looked… suspiciously like Zayne.

Sylus gasped dramatically. “Oh my god.” He grabbed Zayne’s arm, pointing. “It’s you.”

Zayne frowned. “…That is a dog.”

“Exactly. Look at its face! Grumpy. Noble. Judgey. Total you.”

“I do not look like a dog.”

“You do when I wake you up in the morning,” Sylus shot back.

Zayne opened his mouth—then closed it again.

Sylus grinned. Victory.

---

It took seventeen tries.

Seventeen.

Each time, Sylus fed another coin into the machine, maneuvered the claw with the concentration of a surgeon, and each time the plushie slipped right through the metal prongs.

“Damn it!” Sylus banged the glass after his tenth failure. “Rigged. Totally rigged.”

Zayne watched in silence, arms crossed, an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Nope, no magic,” Sylus declared, wagging a finger at him. “I got this. For real. Watch and learn, Prettyboy.”

By the fifteenth attempt, Sylus was sweating. “Okay, okay, I swear it’s slipping on purpose—look at it mocking me—”

Zayne leaned closer, voice low. “You could simply summon it.”

“Nope! No cheating! I am a man of honor!”

“You stole bread yesterday.”

“That was survival!”

Zayne gave him another one of those infuriating calm stares.

Sylus grit his teeth, shoved in two more coins, and tried again.

This time—miraculously—the claw caught the puppy plushie by its ear. It swung precariously, almost dropped twice, and then—

THUNK.

It fell into the prize chute.

Sylus nearly fainted from joy. “YES! SUCK IT, CLAW MACHINE!” He grabbed the plushie and held it aloft like a newborn Simba. “Victory is mine!”

People were staring. Sylus didn’t care.

He turned to Zayne, eyes shining, and shoved the plushie at him. “Here. It’s yours.”

Zayne blinked. “…Mine?”

“Duh. It’s your twin. Now you’ll always have company when I’m out paying debts and being sexy.”

Zayne stared at the plushie.

It was soft, squishy, ears flopping as he turned it over in his hands. Something in his chest twisted—foreign, but not unpleasant.

“…It does not look like me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sylus said, waving a hand. “Just admit you like it.”

Zayne’s lips twitched. The smallest, faintest upward curve.

Sylus’s jaw dropped. “Holy crap. Was that a smile? Did I just make Zayne Li smile?”

Zayne quickly straightened his face again. “…You are hallucinating.”

“HA! Caught in 4K!” Sylus crowed, fist-pumping the air. “Operation Make The Statue Smile: SUCCESS!”

Zayne sighed, tucking the plushie under his arm. But his eyes lingered on it, softer than usual.

For once, he didn’t feel the weight of centuries pressing down on him.

For once, he simply felt… human.