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When the Lord Ravager vanishes, when he pulls himself and Welt on to a relatively safe-looking chunk of platform, Dan Heng thinks he'll at least get a moment to catch his breath. In his mind, the fight replays; every attack he failed to land, every movement he planned out wrong. He's not a fool, he knew he couldn't defeat a Lord Ravager alone, he just didn't imagine he'd be so… helpless.
Then the world shatters.
He gasps in pain before he can stop himself. His hands twitch toward an agony he can't place. It's not coming from his body, it's-
"Dan Heng?" It's Welt, worry written clear on his face. Of course- he can't feel it, he can't even see it. Dan Heng shakes his head and tries his best to shut out the screaming earth, to push away a weight that closes in from more directions than his mind is built to keep track of.
It's impossible to put into words. March had understood, back in Amphoreus, had said that time had felt to her like a piece of clothing or fabric that she could slip in and out of. Likewise, the earth is not exactly Dan Heng's body, and he certainly isn't as intertwined with it here on Planarcadia, but whatever force is at play here- the Lord Ravager, almost certainly- is unmaking it so carelessly that it's impossible not to feel.
It's- manageable. It's painful, inherently wrong and backwards. But it can be endured. He forces as much of his mind as he can manage back into his body, takes a deep breath, uncurls his fists and straightens out his arched spine. "I'm alright," he says.
Another tremor wracks him, a new scar carves apart bedrock with cruel timing, grinding his teeth down into his tongue.
"I'll be alright," he amends, his voice straining. Ugly shame sits low in his gut at the pain. "Whatever the Destruction is doing to this world, I can… feel it." The words are woefully inadequate, but they will be sufficient for now.
Welt frowns, his concern controlled. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
He's grateful, at least, for how casually Welt asks, but the shame burrows deeper still when he has to shake his head, no.
Welt looks like he wants to protest, alight with restlessness that he can't find a purpose for. Dan Heng aches to comfort him, searching on compulsion for a way to make things okay, and then another careless slash shakes the world, and he feels his eyes glaze over as he focuses all his will into enduring it. Everything is so- so much, and all in the wrong place, and so broken, and he never even knew this world well to begin with so he doesn't know how to put it back together. All he can do is share in its sorrow.
"Hey, it's okay. I've got you." He shudders back into his body again to find moisture tracing patterns down his face, and a stable, familiar pair of arms around him. "Just do your best to push through it," Welt says softly. "I'll handle the rest. Would it help if you were in your human body?"
It would, in truth, but Dan Heng refuses to surrender to the Destruction just because it hurts. There are more important things to deal with. "No. Like this, I can-" He sucks in another breath through his teeth as the next wave hits- "I can at least tell what's going on. I can get us back to the others."
Except that Stelle is in the Canvas, not here. And- Blade is there too. Dan Heng realizes his error but his thoughts have already drifted to where he'd painstakingly spent the last day dragging them away from- to the understanding that Blade won't be coming back. It's numb for now. It hasn't set in yet. There's no grief yet. Dan Heng doesn't know how long he can keep the numbness up.
He's thankful when then next burst of unravelling crashes over him, demanding his full attention once more.
It continues for some time, in waves and aftershocks and waves, and at some point Dan Heng finds his arms around Welt's shoulders and then his tail around Welt's ankle. Beneath them, an Aeon stirs in its slumber, starving and cavernous, and against such a backdrop they might as well not even exist.
Eventually, the earth tears once again, just as before. Dan Heng has lost count. He waits, as before, and nothing comes. He keeps waiting. The moment he lowers his guard, inevitably, it will come at him again, the moment he's vulnerable.
Still, silence, inviting him to crumble. He mustn't. But it seems, for now, that the unravelling is over.
It doesn't mend. But it goes from 'breaking apart' to 'ruined'. Its pain is no longer a present, writhing weight.
Welt must notice it too, if only through Dan Heng's lack of reaction, because he murmurs, "You did well."
His body is utterly brittle, like it would shatter on impact rather than bleed. Every muscle is stretched to inelasticity. He can feel himself fraying, so he needs to give his all to get everyone to safety before he falls all the way apart.
And yet, it's a fight in itself to not slump into Welt's arms. Dan Heng lets himself stay for longer than he should, unable to find the guilt that used to be instinct.
Afterwards, he manages to pull away. "We should get moving," He says. It's strange to take the lead when Welt is present. "I should be able to sense a safe way back now."
If there's a way back. If the others didn't disappear somewhere out of reach.
There's no point in wasting energy speculating. He just has to trust in them, and operate on the assumption that they're out there somewhere. They are out there. And Dan Heng will always find a way to return to them.
He plants his feet firmly on the ground, shaping his consciousness into roots, and plunges back into the shattered earth. It's immediately dizzying, chaotic. Planarcadia hasn't just fallen apart, it's been systematically unmade. There's a lingering hatred in the savagery of each wound that erases all doubt; this has to be the work of the Destruction.
Like this, the wounds feel fresh again. Dan Heng doesn't care, and that kind of luxury is no longer an option, anyway. What he can't fight, he'll endure. He's survived so much worse. He delves further through the chaos, in every direction at once until he's stretched dangerously thin, and then settles. Beneath his feet there are still stone tiles, the droning roar of the Voracity still filling his ears. But his body, now, is just the anchor point of something much vaster than it. He goes still, forcing himself to take deep, full breaths around this new, overwhelming ache until it becomes normal,
And finally permits himself to listen.
Panic is the first tangible thing he can make out through the flood. The weight of crowds of people running, some crawling, with no definite destination. That much is inevitable. But the people he's looking for will stand their ground, so he searches instead for stability, or for something moving against the chaos- he catches… something, something he knows, hope striking a bright, feeble matchstick against the tense muscled walls of his heart, but it's too vast to be a person. The familiar-yet-different signature of Planarcadia's Ambrosial Arbor. Its roots are still and strong, like his own, and they cradle the world with a love that calls it home.
Reassuring, yes, but not what he's looking for. The failure begs him to slow down, take even a second to breathe, but every second is a commodity so he strains his senses further, filtering out the panicked noise, and once more-
There. Something in between silence and madness, neither dead nor driven to despair. Dan Heng focuses around it and feels out the artificial structure of something human-built, and within it, something neither natural nor human. It has to be the Express; he'd recognise it even in delirium. Within the station, people stand still, some even sitting or lying down. There's a safe house of some kind here, and it only takes a moment longer of searching to find Sunday and Yao Guang amidst the crowd.
The success is a drug, quieting the taut static of exhaustion in his brain and body. He found the Express, he found Sunday, he has no excuse to leave the others unaccounted for. Again, he forces his way into the madness, opening himself up to the onslaught of sensation, combing obsessively through splintered sound and movement and weight and refusing to become unanchored by it though it crashes ever louder into his fraying mind-
- A flash of cold and something heavy hitting the ground, March's arrows, and an unusual weight nearby that could be Ashveil's cane-
- More people, panicking, crawling fruitlessly across Planarcadia's skin-
- He catches the feeling of March's arrows again, but her movements have changed, her fighting more supportive, so- yes, that's Stelle beside her-
- Lightning like fire on his skin- but it isn't, he's fine, his body is fine- without thinking, he stabs Cloud-Piercer into the ground so it can help bear his weight-
- A presence, a person but not, heading away from the chaos- towards him? Dan Heng loses track of it quickly but he swears it felt like- but it can't be, the grief that he doesn't have time for right now is just making him imagine things-
- and the pain isn't his own, it really isn't but the animal part of him doesn't know that, so when he strains after the presence without meaning to his connection to the world just-
Snaps. Gravity finally wins him over and he falls, reaching, stretching, failing, back into his useless hurting body.
Not useless, he reminds himself. He found the way back. He knows March and Stelle are together, and Sunday is safe. But he should have been able to do more. He can't think what more he could have done, but he should have been able to do it anyway.
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't want Welt to be able to read the failure off his face, so he just says, "This way," and steps into the rubble. It shifts beneath his steps, arranging itself almost skittishly into a path. His control wavers on such a short fuse, which angers him further: he cannot afford to let immaturity get the better of him now.
They make an efficient team, communicating for the most part without words. Between Welt's ability to lessen gravity and Dan Heng's own power over the earth, traversing the ruined streets is easy.
So, naturally, they're ambushed.
"There aren't many of them, nor do they look particularly strong," Welt analyses as a gaggle of vaguely insectoid creatures charge towards them. His brow furrows, eyes calculating. "Let me handle this. You're exhausted, and we need you in good shape to navigate this place."
He's right. Dan Heng's body is dried-out clay, cracked and and a touch away from crumbling. Even only in the background, the wounded world gnaws at him, splitting his nerves one by one. He should be careful for both of their sakes. But it's precisely because he's at the breaking point, his pride bruised, that he can't bear to stand back and let Welt look after him.
"I'll manage," He says in a voice that does not waver but is neither free of pain. "It'll be quicker if we work together."
He calls Cloud-Piercer to his hand and is striding towards the front line of spider-creatures swift enough that he can pretend not to hear Welt calling out "Wait-" and then the crack of the spear's point against their strange bodies drowns the world out for real. They go down fast, faster as Dan Heng brings the rubble down on them, faster still as Welt joins the fray somewhere further back.
They're like water; it's like fighting an ocean. To move it is easy, to get the upper hand is all but impossible. Dan Heng in his current state just cannot do it. The kind of power that would usually be effortless now threatens his ragged consciousness, and so he can only kill them as fast as they come at him.
He was wrong, he underestimated his strength- no, who is he kidding? He knew exactly his strength and threw himself against an enemy he couldn't handle in the stupid hope that he could somehow outpace his weakness.
And then he sees it. Well- in truth, all he sees is a blur of red amidst the chaos of battle, a strange sight that tells him nothing useful at all. His body is too frazzled to process anything more than sensations at their most surface level, and his mind ripped raw like scar tissue, and so although he knows logically that the heart is just an organ, he can only recognise the recognition as something from within his heart. It's his heart, then, that races ahead of his thoughts and casts a tremor through the asphalt under him, the coreflame's power torn from his body as if by a careless fist, all for the instinctive need to chase after this new presence. The hope coursing through his veins is a dangerous drug his body can't keep up with- he's drawing on reserves that don't exist to cut down the hordes still swarming him but slowly, slowly, their numbers start to reduce. Which means the adrenaline fuelling Dan Heng will very soon abandon him to the consequences of his pride.
That same pride tells him it doesn't matter, because if he felt what he thinks he saw then it's going to be a good long while before he finds it in himself to give a damn about anything else. His very soul is cracking under the pain of this crumbling world and he might just be able to ignore it if it turns out his hunch isn't just a grief-fuelled delusion.
Where is he?
Again, the Destruction's minions swarm his vision. Again, he cuts them down. Cloud-Piercer feels heavier in his hands than it did earlier, even though its weight is designed to be perfectly balanced to him. Instinctively aware of how his back has been open for too long- aware of exactly who would take advantage of that, he turns,
And then Dan Heng sees him, well and truly. Eyes softened in colour, that sword he had called broken held gently in his left hand, draped in brilliant red against the murky purple miasma, fragments of dice laying at his feet. Alive.
Too many feelings brew at once, tugging Dan Heng in all directions. Relief, most of all. Curiosity. Anger- betrayal.
Because how dare he?
"You don't get to-" Dan Heng trembles around the words. "You don't get to say goodbye like that and then- and then come back!"
Blade stands amidst the ruins, impassive in his surprise. Somewhere behind him, beyond the scope of his tunnelled vision, Dan Heng hears Welt call out to him. It's a fruitless effort; Dan Heng refuses to let Blade off the hook, to escape even a moment of attention. He strides forward in spite, yanking the space between them shut. "You're alive." He doesn't mean to say it like an accusation, he really doesn't, but- "Explain yourself."
Blade smiles then, very subtly. He's beautiful. Dan Heng wants to punch him. "I realised," he says softly, and yet with arrogance, "That there are better things to die for than a creature as pathetic as a mere emanator of Abundance."
Dan Heng stands, paralysed, still trembling. A straightforward answer is useless to him; he wants something he can crumple up and throw back in Blade's face, he wants to be angry that Blade lied to him even though it clearly wasn't meant at the time to be a lie. "You said you were going to die," He says lamely. "I thought I was never going to see you again. You were going to die."
"You made peace with my death," Blade recognises, reading Dan Heng with infuriating grace and genuine guilt. "And now I have taken that away from you."
Dan Heng nods. He knows he's making a fool of himself. If he could throw away his pride he'd have taken Blade into his arms the moment their eyes met. He tries to pull up more walls instead, pitifully flimsy as they are. "You changed your mind about the sword, then."
"No," Blade smiles. "I cannot repair it, that much is true. But throw the scraps into the fire, and they can be reforged into something newly whole, and wholly new. Such as-" He raises his hand to Dan Heng's face. Dan Heng flinches at the touch, but it's all he does. His instinct is to run, his choice to stay. With that permission, Blade's hand wanders upwards to rub against the base of one of his horns. "These suit you well."
"You lied to me," Dan Heng hisses, weaker than before. The fight is draining of out him already, steady like rainwater. He's afraid to be without it.
"Then I'll make it up to you."
It's not fair. Blade may not have died in the Voracity's maw, but he's changed. To say something like that… suddenly so much of him is unknown. There's so much uncertainty within him and Dan Heng craves the knowledge that's hidden from him.
"Don't look so bewildered," Blade says, almost shy, almost affectionate. It's subtle. To Dan Heng, trained and warped around Blade's madness and rage, it's staggering. "To want to mend that which was broken is merely a craftsman's nature."
Anger- not anger, something softer, something pretending to be hate so it can pretend to be invulnerable- blinds Dan Heng and the next thing he knows he's holding Blade by one hand fisted around his collar. He grasps for words and they slip away like the ghosts swarming around them both. He thirsts for answers but can't even find the questions. Their surroundings sway a little, just enough to turn his guardedness to uncertainty for long enough that Blade notices the crack in the armour. His hands come to the sides of Dan Heng's shoulders, steadying. "You're injured," He notes. "Can you keep going?"
The phrasing doesn't necessarily imply personal concern. All it could mean is that Blade recognises that, given the situation, it would be beneficial to maintain Dan Heng's physical integrity.
"I have no choice," Dan Heng growls, doing his utmost to ignore the grounding weight of Blade's grip. He cannot afford to have his body think now is a good time to start relying on someone else. "And I'm not injured," He adds, "It's just… this world, I-" It's no use. Words still fail him, so he gives up on them, returning to his accusations. "What happened, why are you here?"
"The Lord Ravager-"
"We know about the Lord Ravager," Dan Heng says shortly. "He ambushed us, I mean-" The ground feels like it's shifting under his feet again. "I mean, why did you come looking for us." And why, how, are you alive?
Blade quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. With the gentleness gone from his face Dan Heng can almost breathe normally again. "Why did I come looking for the people who helped bring down Irontomb in the midst of such a crisis?" He pauses long enough to let Dan Heng retort. He doesn't. "That and the fact that Stelle couldn't go five minutes without insisting we find you and the other passengers of the Express. I suspect she is very anxious about your absence. And as for why I came to find you, well."
His mouth curls around a smile, a very small one. His words are proud, taunting, quietly pained, but he offers them like a respite, not a threat. "I suppose it's just something I've got a talent for."
It irks Dan Heng that someone had come to find him, to rescue him. Worse that it had to be Blade, worse still that even the way in which Blade used to haunt him is now something he's meant to be grateful for. He has half a mind to wrap the hand at Blade's collar all the way around his throat, but the roar of adrenaline has lessened enough for him to be able to see how that would not help at all.
Nearby, Welt clears his throat. Dan Heng is entirely aware of how he and Blade look in this moment, grasping each other so tightly while the city around them crumbles, and still, Dan Heng holds on. There is no world in which he lets Blade get away with any of this, or in which he lets Blade get away.
Welt lets him hold on for now. "If I'm hearing correctly, you came to find us?" From where Dan Heng is standing, he can feel the air move as Blade nods. Welt continues, businesslike, and the words make Dan Heng's stomach lurch. "Then I presume you have a way of leading us somewhere safer."
Another small nod. "My own… skills, let's say, were sufficient to find Dan Heng. Silver Wolf has provided me with navigation software to lead us back, though I may… require assistance to operate it."
It's such an innocuous request, would be one, if not for what Dan Heng knows is coming next.
"In that case," Welt says. "Dan Heng, I think it would be best if you returned to your human form now."
Without even trying, Blade puts Dan Heng in his debt yet again, though he cannot know it, for he looks to Dan Heng in surprise, buying a little more time. "This body is a burden to you?" There's that gentleness from before, colouring his voice.
Dan Heng shakes his head. He feels a genuine need to assuage Blade's worry, he realises. "No. It's not. I can just… sense things, that I otherwise wouldn't be able too. That's how we knew the way back. It's a little taxing, but-"
"You're clearly exhausted," Blade says bluntly. Dan Heng does his best to glare back, but the aforementioned exhaustion curbs the sharpness in his eyes.
Welt is charitable enough to stifle his laugh, at least.
"We'll protect you. But you have to let us," He says, stern in his worry.
Dan Heng weighs his options. Disappoint them, or fail them.
But looking at it another way: trust them- trust Blade, if he's being honest, because the Express Crew have already seen him vulnerable too many times for it to still sting- or curl up in his shell and endure alone.
"Alright, just- one moment." He wraps the words in exasperation, for his own benefit, too. It's okay to let them fight for him. They're willing to. It annoys him, but it's not the end of the world. Or- well. Bad phrasing.
With a slow breath, he folds his body in on itself. Not to hide, not anymore, just to rest. To live as a human being who has to rely on other people sometimes because he simply isn't capable of everything.
His stung pride recedes, not gone, but willing to wait.
There's a momentary wrongness that inevitably comes with suddenly being simultaneously shorter and down a limb, but the quiet is outright blissful. All Dan Heng can feel is the cracked asphalt beneath his feet and cool metal in his palm and Blade's hands on his upper arms, all he hears is the wailing noise of a city falling apart. It's disorienting to lose so much sensation but all the feedback had been hurts and to have that gone is a begrudging relief.
"Better?"
He hates the way Blade looks at him- the look that expects weakness. It's just concern, Dan Heng knows that, but concern is just as much a struggle to come to terms with as condescension, let alone both at once. All he trusts himself to give is a perfunctory nod. "Fine."
It's an optimistic response. Everything still aches, and yet the broken record in his brain that says he can endure keeps spinning.
Blade must deem it an acceptable response, though, for he says, "Then we should get moving."
He moves to turn around, and Dan Heng's thoughts race ahead of him- he's exhausted, nursing leftover pain, still unbalanced in this body that was never meant for weight like this in the first place, that was created specifically to evade it- "Don't."
Blade quirks an eyebrow. "Don't?"
Staring off to the side, Dan Heng clarifies, "Don't let go yet. I need a moment."
Both Blade and Welt are mercifully quiet as Dan Heng reorients himself. He can't rush through the process, frustrating as it is.
"Alright," He says only once he's certain he won't topple over left to carry his own weight. "Lead the way, please."
Blade removes his hands, which is fine, because Dan Heng can walk on his own. There's just this sense of something missing left in their wake. That's also fine. Right now is the time for pragmatism, not misplaced sentiment. It might be a different kind of pain to that of the shattered earth, but Dan Heng is still perfectly capable of enduring it.
Blade walks ahead, following Silver Wolf's guidance. It strikes Dan Heng suddenly what a novelty it is to be looking at Blade's back; even during their collaboration the past week Blade had never left it open to him, and before that- well, before that they couldn't even hold a conversation. And- no, this is not the time to let his thoughts drift any further back, but Dan Heng can't not stare at the ends of Blade's hair and their new-but-not pale colour. It's not the same, running free down his back instead of being neatly pinned out of the way, but it is… something. Something Dan Heng can neither ignore nor currently define.
To want to mend that which was broken is merely a craftsman's nature. Blade had said that. Blade would never say that. And yet.
The journey is… uneventful. On more than one occasion they're attacked by imagenae or the Antimatter Legion or both, and every single time Dan Heng is told to stay back, to rest. The only upside of such a restriction is the fact that he gets more time to observe this new incarnation of Blade.
Incarnation. A strangely specific word for his brain to spit out. Dan Heng sometimes wonders if the true meaning behind the concept of rebirth is beyond his reach; maybe, for him, it will stay forever constrained by the biological definition. But watching Blade fight, he tentatively decides that 'rebirth' is a good word to describe what he sees. Blade is still Blade, but he carries a new resolve, perhaps chasing a new goal. Dan Heng still wants to pin him to a wall and interrogate him until he gives up every last detail of his failed suicide mission. He has enough dignity, now that his nerves are no longer being scraped raw through loose gravel, to admit that this is not the time or place.
So, instead, he does all that he can: He observes. Blade’s form in battle isn't exceptionally different to before, not while he's still himself, at least. A faint warning echoes in Dan Heng's mind: Blade seems in control now, but 'seems' is not enough to risk lowering his guard. The only major difference- to say nothing about the sway of his longer hair, or the new clacking and rattling of new jewellery, the oh-so-familiar shade of red he wears it how it makes him stand out like a stubborn flower amidst the devestation- is how he seems equally proficient with both hands. The previous Blade had favoured his right.
None of it matters. None of it should matter, nothing should outweigh the fact that Blade is alive. Even so, Dan Heng finds himself fixating on these trivialities. Now that the option is there, now that Blade is within reach, it's swiftly becoming impossible to not notice, for Dan Heng to not subconsciously catalogue what could be his and keep it under his assiduous watch. Before, he'd kept a polite distance. Somewhere in his subconscious, he'd already let Blade go, released his grasp and watched, resigned, as the tide carried them apart. Now he's scrabbling for the weakest of purchases, desperate to hold on because it finally feels as though he has permission to.
All from a distance, though. It is easy to want, and difficult to accept wanting.
Having finally laid eyes on March and Stelle, Dan Heng permits himself to take stock of… well, everything else. Perdido Station appears to be the safe house he'd felt through the earth earlier- the layout seems familiar. The Express is buried somewhere beneath it all, but he's been instructed- politely ordered, more like- to save his strength for the inevitable battle with Asat Pramad.
Restless, he finds himself wandering what he can access of the Station while Sunday prepares to contact Pom-Pom. A makeshift hospital has been established in one corner, a quick scan of which reveals nothing requiring urgent help. The guards at the singular unblocked entrance, too, assure Dan Heng they have things under control. Some refugees recognise him; he offers words of comfort but Stelle has always been better at inspiring speeches than he is. He's an archivist, not an author- comforting half-truths don't come so easily to him. He feels here more than ever like an alien; what can he say with any sincerity to these small, frail humans who have never had to learn much endurance? How can he be sure his sympathy is anything more than a performance when he'll never truly understand the fear that must underline every instant of such a fleeting existence?
Eventually, inevitably, he finds himself before the person who has always understood his very worst.
Just watching, to begin with. At least a few of the refugees must recognise Blade, but none make any move against him. Maybe they realise that the Stellaron Hunters are the least of their worries for now. Maybe they're just terrified out of their minds.
Eventually, though, Blade either notices his observing or grows tired of it. Considering today's events, who's to say Blade doesn't know Dan Heng's exact location at all times? The thought isn't as offputting as Dan Heng would imagine is should be for a sane man. But either way, Blade meets his eyes and tilts his head in question, quietly teasing Dan Heng's staring and consequently beckoning him over.
Dan Heng gets as close as he dares and murmurs under his breath, making sure the words reach Blade's ears only: "Tell me everything."
"Sure?" Blade's question is genuine where, if given the words alone, Dan Heng would read them as a taunt. "There is much to say between us, and you have little time before the Express sets off again in pursuit of the Ravager." He raises an eyebrow, leaning down just slightly to angle his words towards Dan Heng. "Besides, don't you need to rest?"
"Yes," Dan Heng concedes sullenly, "But sitting doing nothing will just make me restless."
Blade smiles. It is, again, unexpectedly genuine. "So you've come to interrogate me."
"Someone has to."
"Hm. And you can't stand it being anyone else?"
"I can't."
There's this newfound… ease, to Blade's every word, every movement. It feels wrong; Dan Heng aches to admit it but he's never seen Blade this comfortable. He was always so guarded against himself, but now- oh. Oh, Dan Heng wants to punch himself now, it's so obvious but so impossible he hadn't even considered it.
The words tumble from his lips, accusatory once more. "You're not Mara-struck anymore."
Blade's smile curves from something quiet to something arrogant, something that speaks to triumph. "Took you long enough."
Dan Heng bristles on impulse. "I-"
"Want answers, yes, I know. How much do you remember about Ashveil?"
The seemingly off-topic question is enough to halt Dan Heng's indignation. "Very little," He admits. "I don't think I ever knew him all that well."
He expects to look up to disdain, or at least disappointment in his inability to remember. Blade merely shrugs. "My memory is somewhat fuzzy," Blade says loosely, "But that beast sealed inside his arm- do you understand it?"
Dan Heng nods, tentative. "The same beast that lurks beneath our feet now."
"Correct. His cane-sword was a collaborative effort between-" He blinks, once, twice, quick but not too quick for Dan Heng to notice- "Between my master and I. We used a particular forging technique to seal the Voracity within."
Somewhere in Dan Heng's subconscious, the pieces begin to move. Shuhu, the Mara, the beast capable of balancing out the Abundance's ceaseless growth. He has never heard Blade speak so proudly of his past self, nor consider himself worthy of the legacy he bears. Dan Heng is afraid, he realises, of inadvertently snapping him out of it. Of breaking the spell. He doesn't quite dare to totally believe in the reality of all this, not yet.
"I still carried out the general's plan, in essence," Blade remarks. "But on the brink of death- or nonexistence, I suppose- I fell into a sort of… dream. I realised that I hoped my death could mean more." He laughs, sombre, as if to himself. "I'm a petty man. Even after everything, I couldn't stand having to sacrifice myself to end a being that deserves to die weak and humiliated."
"Petty," Dan Heng echoes. "Is that why you had to go alone, too?"
"It didn't deserve my death," Blade repeats. "How could it deserve yours? And-" He raises a hand as if to hold Dan Heng still, though they don't make actual contact, smirking- "If you keep interrupting me, how can I believe your desire for answers is sincere?"
The self-indulgent false concern dripping from the words frankly makes Dan Heng want to interrupt more, but he manages to hold his tongue less out of politeness and more in understanding of the fact that speaking out of line is exactly what Blade hopes to goad him into.
In a small mercy, all Blade does with his victory is throw Dan Heng a self-satisfied grin. He continues on in that misty tone of voice.
"With the Voracity, I was able to reforge this body into both a sharper blade, and a cage. Shuhu is still sealed within, but it has no power over me."
A Blade, still, not a man. But a living one. Dan Heng can't find it in himself to ask for more, not yet.
An unobtrusive quiet settles. Dan Heng takes it as permission to speak: "But it's only sealed for as long as you live." His question, though not put to words, is obvious. The death Blade had pursued for centuries, the human end Yingxing was denied- what could hold sway enough to entice him to subject himself to another eternity? He is not noble. He would not give his body to imprison Shuhu merely for the greater good.
"Indeed," Blade says, impassive. A quiet pride stirs in the bass of his voice. "Which is why I have set my sights on the root cause of this eternity." He says it so simply, too, as if anyone could kill an Aeon if they put their mind to it.
Dan Heng finds himself echoing his words from not even a week ago, atop that TV tower, back when the lie that their time was running out was eroding away at his heart with each second:
"You're insane."
"I'm aware," Blade says lightly, and then the lightness is eased away, revealing something more raw. "But there's… something else."
"Tell me," Dan Heng says immediately.
Blade exhales in what could maybe pass for a laugh, but the dregs of it are stained with melancholy. "To reforge this body, I had to reach backwards and recall what sparked the desire to create in the first place. It was a flame I had… long forgotten. And yet…" His eyes drag over for Dan Heng, searching for something and unable to find it. "When I tried to recall the man for whom I had forged Cloud-Piercer, the first thing that came to mind was you. As you are, in this lifetime."
Dan Heng fights to keep his expression neutral, to shove down the warmth the works evoke.
"Why are you telling me this?" Just because he thought Dan Heng would want to know? Is he capable of that? Are they?
"I suppose, up until that moment, I hadn't come the realise the totality of the impression you've left on me." He swallows. "I wondered if what I'd left for you in return could even compare, I thought-"
He cuts himself off, abrupt, taking a pause to compose himself. Dan Heng feels without particularly trying to how Blade relishes in the control. In the ability to possess it.
"There are many things in this universe that have not seen the last of me," He says, his words evenly paced once more. "The Xianzhou, the Abundance, The Stellaron Hunters, and… you, Dan Heng."
"And you doubt that I'd want that?" In the warmth of the moment, Dan Heng can't find it in himself to be fully offended. "I made my feelings clear."
"You did," Blade agrees. "And then, today, you didn't. You are… temperamental, especially when it comes to loss."
"Only when I care," Dan Heng argues.
His words are a surprise enough to make Blade fall silent.
"I was content, yes, for that to have been our final farewell," He presses on, suddenly desperate to convey the truth in his words. "But I'm also more than happy for it to not be."
Still, Blade looks only lightly surprised. But he leans in, closer, until their foreheads are pressed gently together. He moves no further, but the position makes a suggestion that Dan Heng will not write off as unintentional.
His voice is a low murmur that fails to disguise its own hope. "Do you stand by everything you said that day?"
"Everything," Dan Heng whispers. The words are reinforced with simmering conviction. He brings his hand up, slowly, to gently cover Blade's mouth, watching intently as he raises his eyebrows in light confusion. "…We're in the middle of a refugee safehouse. It'd be bad form."
The shift of Blade's expression is small, but it reads as amusement. Dan Heng swiftly drops his hand.
"I didn't know the Nameless were so image-conscious," Blade comments.
"We're not," Dan Heng says briskly, then softens. "Or… we weren't. I meant to join a crew of wanderers, not heroes. But the way things have turned out isn't so bad, either."
"Everyone here is relying on you to save the day." The words are terrifyingly sincere, terrifyingly true, only barely undercut by the hint of irony in Blade's voice. Killing one Lord Ravager was an incredible stroke of luck built on foundations laid by innumerable sacrifices.
Losing a dear friend with whom you've shared so much can never be considered a victory. It's a failure that torments you for the rest of your life. If they can't defeat Asat Pramad, Aeons help him, Dan Heng has no idea what he'll do. He fears his future self so much more than the past he's already faced down.
He bites the thought back with the selfish question burning in the back of his head.
"Can you forge again now?" His voice is almost too quiet to hear. Even despite that, he's not sure if he managed to give the words the softness they deserve. "Or rather… will you?"
A gentle grimace ghosts across Blade's face, and then it's gone. "That is a… complex question," He admits. "I wish to. One day, I will. I remember much, but I have also forgotten much." His voice is wistful; it is the sound of pain turned inwards. "The control I won back from Shuhu was enough to repair my flesh, but even that cannot undo the passage of centuries. My body retains much less than my mind."
"…You'll have to learn again," Dan Heng surmises, voice hushed.
Blade nods. His gaze is thoughtful. Dan Heng cannot read it. "It is… frustrating," Blade says. The emotion lies bare in his voice. It speaks to confinement. It plucks almost doleful at Dan Heng's closely guarded core. "I have the knowledge, but it is trapped. I will, as you said, have to teach this body what it has forgotten."
All Dan Heng can offer the admittance is a gently mourning silence.
"It's alright," Blade says with too much acceptance, as if Dan Heng is the one who deserves comfort. "So what if I've forgotten? If I have to learn it all from scratch? If I can't do it, I'll just find another way."
Dan Heng succeeds in dredging up a quiet chuckle. "I'll… root for you, then."
A scoff. "There's no need."
The next moment, Dan Heng's phone shrills sharply in his pocket, cutting through the soft haze between them. Blade glances down at it, then back to Dan Heng, his intentions clear. It's not just about public image; the world is quite literally ending and there are so few people who can do anything about it. Regardless of what they want, right now, there's too much at stake to waste time delving into personal feelings.
"I should get back to the Express Crew," Dan Heng says, unable to quite meet Blade's eyes.
Blade is similarly listless, dragged unpleasantly back to reality.
"Don't die," He says simply.
"I won't," Dan Heng promises. "You too. We both… have a lot left to do." He tilts his head, he lets himself smile.
"Goodbye, Blade. For now."
Blade smirks, warmer than he's ever been. He agrees; "For now."
Maybe, if Blade had died, Dan Heng would have learned to be content with it. Fate was cruel, time was cruel, and it would have been enough for things to end with the knowledge that they had some control, had the chance not to be enemies, even if only briefly. They kept the distance between them open precisely because they were both convinced it could not last. Instead, again, the balance has shifted, something at their core altered beyond undoing, and Dan Heng will gladly take more where it's offered.
They have a future. The weight of it finally settles over him as he turns his back- temporarily- on Blade, and he has to fight off a grin as he walks back across the station to the Express Crew. Their fleeting second chance has turned itself into a million more. The feeling is not unlike looking at the stars; feeling and understanding the magnitude of it all, the huge empty void filled with possibilities.
With some difficulty, Dan Heng drags his gaze back to the present. Right now, Blade has asked only one thing of him. He has to survive. They all have to survive. So many people are relying on him-
-But one more than he expected is waiting for him.