#◟༺✦༻◞ Rubescent impermanence. ┊Aria of the Swords.┊

[reginrokkr]

Footprints are left in their wake one by one on the blanket of snow, step by step as Dáinsleif treads the grounds of unknown lands. No sight of humankind nor of any shape or form of any civilization left behind or human activity whatsoever. Only monsters he hasn't seen before, while they are reminiscent of Abyss-affiliated fiends judging by the powers they draw and sometimes the anthropomorphic form they have. As star beasts in Teyvat, these are no laughing matter nor deserve to let one's guard down no matter how skilled one may be.

The sheer cold and snow that never seems to melt begets curiosity within the seraph's mind, ever wondering about the ecosystem of this world and if that is the reason why there is no human life here— or perhaps there may be none at all to be had if humans don't exist in this place. Dáinsleif is cognizant of the fact that inhospitable lands can be incompatible with other forms of life, too.

Not long before he decides to rest does he see from afar metallic fences and machinery that he opts for walking some more and have a look, albeit never intruding into territory he doesn't know. Whoever or whatever created this, he cannot be sure whether they will act kindly within his presence. Where creations lay so must loom nearby their creators and ere long does Dáinsleif find out that said creators are humans. Good, so long as mankind exists in this star, so his possibilities to learn about this vast universe will increase.

Rubescent lips part to heave a content sigh for such pleasant discovery and so Dáinsleif turns on his heels to leave. His aching muscles beg for rest, so does his mind after an undetermined amount of time walking and seeing little more than a vast albor ocean of snow. Somewhere discreet where he cannot be found yet not too far from the settlement is the chosen location to rest until a fox's cry causes his guard to be up once more, trained eyes in search of any presence that must've caused the tundra animal to be in distress.

Against his aching muscle's will, he rouses on his feet and searches for any living being activity within his vicinities. The source of the cry is found with immediacy as soon as a man's figure —judging by his muscular-looking back and broad shoulders— crouching catches his attention. With one hand he holds the poor fox in place while it struggles to thrash about in order to break free from his grasp and with the other snow is grabbed and brought to his lips. Despite the oddity of eating or drinking snow, stellar pupils take notice of a patch of blood making itself evident through the fabric of his top-wear on his arm.

❝You are hurt.❞ Only after these words abandon his lips does the seraph berate himself mentally at the prospect that the man may not understand the language. Even so, his voice stands low and gentle, tone does wonders to communicate feelings when language cannot establish a bridge of understanding. Dáinsleif ignores if what little fauna that lives in these snowy plains may be drawn to blood and thus put the man in danger, or if his life is endangered depending on the amount of blood that was spilled. His index finger points towards his own arm, pointing to the location of the other's injury to make himself clearer through signals. ❝Blood loss is detrimental in a place like this and I happen to have some medical knowledge.❞ One step brings him closer to the man, slow and measured to not generate hostility. His hand stretches towards him, an invitation. ❝Do you need help?❞

@longzhua ✦

[reginrokkr]

Tag dump #?:

◟༺✦༻◞ immortality won't last forever to gods nor humans┊yìng xīng → seraphicus.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ tears of life; chasers of withering death┊dáinsleif × yìng xīng.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ lunarescent lyratum. ┊aria of the swords┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ rubescent impermanence. ┊aria of the swords┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ solarescent lycoris. ┊aria of the swords┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ lapis tranquility. ┊aria of the swords┊

◟༺✦༻◞ may one day the oceans know the joy of your return; o' léviathan ┊neuvillette → seraphicus.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ o σεραφείμ συναντά αρχέγονες ηχώ.┊aria of the primordial┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ ηχώ της αναγέννησης.┊aria of the primordial┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ το φως λάμπει πάνω στον ευγενή.┊aria of the primordial┊

[reginrokkr]

It is nothing short of a miracle to hear Rèn ask for help, allow himself to be vulnerable with nary a fear for consequences made in one's mind when naught but negativity and self-destruction is festered from bearing a curse. Of course, he didn't have to ask. Seraph's mind was made long before they reunited in this Aurum hotel, hard as it may be to him to turn down requests of help— furthermore, he is fully cognizant of how important this is to him. For the sake of ensuring the safety of a homeworld that took him in when unfortunate circumstances led him to abandon his own for survival's sake.

Before that, Dáinsleif allows himself to indulge in amorous' moment even if deep down, he knows Rèn no longer loves him. Neither does he, at least not the same way he used to. As if that mattered. What's most important to him is to reach a mutual agreement where sincerity is prevalent regardless of how hard it may be to swallow. Vulnerability is a state lunarescent luminary seldom allows himself to be in without forcing himself to stay strong. But with Rèn— with him, he knows it's the best communication for him to understand and to feel like he can be understood.

No matter how unfamiliar it is to him to be this vocal, being mostly accustomed to rely on nonverbal communication via body language, hints and gazes —and actually, that seemed to be their communication of choice—, learning experience taught him that sometimes verbalizing things helps him better. So for him, he will.

As he vowed to do, Dáinsleif kept an eye on Rèn's endeavours and made sure that he doesn't overdo it more than it's necessary, for it would be harder for him to come to a stop by himself when the rush of strong emotions coupled with adrenaline and whatever the curse impulses him to do makes it nigh impossible even if he were willing to have self-control.

Their deeds bore their fruits, and so they came to the last of it in Scalegourge Waterscape. ◜That is enough, Rèn.◞ His voice reverberates the nigh empty scape before giving him the opportunity to let his attention linger too much on the Elder, being warned beforehand about what makes Mara flare the most. Concurrently does his co-worker, Kafka, enter the scene and commands the rest to stop the fight against that blond boy while Dáinsleif approaches Rèn, hand surrounded in sapphire might to land on his shoulder and bathe him with it to drive the Mara away.

Ere long does Jing Yuan make his apparition as well, to the boy and the dragon's surprise who seemed to have been uninformed of his involvement in all this plan. To add to the list of things that cause surprise, there is another Dáinsleif has not anticipated would be possible nor he intended to make it happen until he turns to look at Rèn, whose hair has reverted to its beautiful snow white color. Is it possible that Mara truly made its way to affect him physically, too? Hopefully it did not more and more important regions of his body or organs save for his hair and eyes. To this happenstance, icy sapphires narrow in pensive stance.

Rèn...

Listening to Dáinsleif talk about him is akin to facing a mirror and force himself to see a truth he wouldn't admit for himself. The more he does, the more Blade is convinced that by some form of magic he was in his mind, dived into the depths of his soul in search of the truth of his heart and emerged to the surface once again just to let him know. To this, there is no protest he can make. What could he refute when everything he says is true, no matter how shocking it is to hear it be vocalised by another?

The blond wipes away his tears when he turns and this time, all self-restraint he exercised is washed away the moment he learns into his hand, clouded aureate-crimson eyes boring into the pacific sapphires that brings him so much peace. Weren't for the fact that not too long after that he hugs him, he would've held his hand in place just some more. But this is good too. Dáinsleif's invitation is taken immediately as his own arms coil around his strong form once again, his face burying on the crook of his neck.

For a moment, he wonders if it isn't the fact that he read his mind as much as it is the fact that he went through the same as he currently does. To think that despite everything he retold, that which matches with him at least which is everything, his heart remains so kind and warm. He's right in more ways than one: while in the battlefield he hurts himself to enhance his attacks, being held like this and touched gently as Dáinsleif is by far a more desirable outcome. While he did his best to keep distances with him at first until they've grown closer, deep down he wished he could walk side by side with him instead. To even think that one day he may find someone who could understand him wholly was delirious thinking, yet to find out that he's right here, with him... Rèn couldn't even describe the feeling that surges within him.

He has so much to thank him for, yet he knows that Dáinsleif wouldn't want that. So instead...

"Stand by me. Please." As reluctant as he was before at the prospect that his involvement would equate to the best possible scenario to help the Xianzhou face this crisis, he pleads him to help him. To lend him his strength, his curative warmth and curse-dispelling light to bathe him when it'll be needed to be driven away. Blade feels tears coming from Dáinsleif, thus he turns to press a gentle kiss on the corner of his eye where he can feel their salt. Although he left him once, that night he swears himself to never leave him again unless he wants him to. That would mark the calm before the storm where chaos spreads by his blade to make all those rats come out of their hiding spot.

[reginrokkr]

Sentimentality is seldom a state lunarescent seraph found himself in for the past centuries, byproduct of years of growing apathy as a defense mechanism to move forward in the face of adversity and emotional-triggering moments fruit from evil minds meant to attack where it hurts the most. However, he has noticed a change in himself that makes him more susceptible to be emotional ever since he found Rèn in this vast universe once again, ever since he learned about what happened to him and what they went through together before his parting.

Dáinsleif shudders lightly when he feels Rèn embracing him for the first time since he left the first time centuries ago, prompting him to close his eyes and heave a quivering sigh to calm his heart. ◜In sustaining your sword with your flesh and blood, you are closer to feel something and one step closer to the death you so yearn for, I know that.◞ His voice is low and gentle, masking his own sadness for seeing what he turned into like this— albeit not without understanding him, for he does. ◜Nevertheless... you aren't as empty as you think yourself to be.◞ That's right. In more instances than one, Rèn showed signs that don't match with something that is completely apathetic to everything.

◜Since the first moment you denied my healing and started to follow me... I noticed that you wished to linger in my presence due to my aura's comforting properties. If you didn't seek some source to assuage you, perhaps you wouldn't have followed me.◞ Just like Dáinsleif did before him when he was venturing still Teyvat in pursuit to save that dying world, that sense of relief was a constant to linger in however short time to reinvigorate himself before resuming his path. ◜If you hadn't experienced any kind of yearning to be treated softly when you wouldn't, perhaps you would've never allowed me to treat your wounds even if you can deal them on your own.◞

Sapphires meet clouded golden-rubies with tears when the luminary turns, softening at his flushed face from the crying. This time, he doesn't stop himself from reaching out to cup the side of his face or from rubbing his under eye area with his thumb to wipe his tears away. ◜Were you possess the stone cold stillness of a sword, you would've chosen different clothes than those that reminisce you of a bygone past, nor continued to take care of your hair, which you like.◞ Far be it from him to lessen the importance he holds for becoming a weapon himself, for it would be the height of folly to deny that he achieved as much. It is his sentiments he intends to highlight. ◜Weren't for the fact that you have no desire to cause more harm than what's necessary to what became your homeland... you wouldn't hesitate so to do it, isn't that right? A sword cares not what it slays, yet you do.◞

It is Dáinsleif's time to envelop his arms around Rèn, one hand resting on the back of his head —where he can feel the hairpin he purchased for him in Jarilo-VI, yet another reason to think that he still clings to an emotional side, that he is broken but not soulless— to coax him to bury his face on the crook of his shoulder again if he so wishes. ◜Undesired self-imposed perpetual solitude begets heartache. But you... you have found that which can shine a ray of light in your dark world, haven't you?◞ Starlight tears stream down his face as Twilight presses his cheek against the other's temple, tragically unbeknownst of the fact that that same light may be him. ◜Even whom sees in death a respite can find ways to relieve his sorrow in life, for as long as the curse lasts. It is no sin to pursue it.◞

Without need to spare a glance does Blade know that Dáinsleif is right there, sensing him by aura alone that calls for serenity and invites tranquility even to the most restless of hearts. Even if he were blind, he would recognise him anywhere— that eternal calmness surrounding him like a holy halo, night's ataraxia. Twilight's presence envelops him with its wings to beckon him to relaxation of the mind, so he does, even if he's still anxious. For he knows the reason why he's here.

Blade looks at him and his breath remains sequestered in his lungs at the sight of him facing the moon and stars above, of the lunarescent aura he emanates and makes him nearly glow in gentlest sapphire if he were to squint, long blond hair almost shimmering under the selenic light. Silence is welcomed as it always is with him, so he waits for him to talk first— before long the reason why he could make his way here will be revealed.

When Dáinsleif begins to talk at long last, it is about something Rèn hasn't anticipated, but that clearly resonates with his heart. Even from his silence, only letting his actions speak, he knows. The understanding he sensed from him is not just a dream, but reality incarnate.

Blade's breath catches on his throat for the second time as aureate-sanguine eyes widen. Never once before he explained the reason why he's in this state, highly likely a far cry home from what Dáinsleif must remember. Never once he hinted anything that could lead him to gauge the state of his broken mind and shattered soul. So by logic, he shouldn't know any of this— any less describe with so much precision his life for the past millennia. Then, why?

Agape and quivering lips press in a still trembling line, his heart shudders in the confines of his chest when a single thought crosses his mind: Is Dáinsleif talking about him— or about himself? Moved by a possibility yet unconfirmed, Blade stands up and walks towards the blond. His bandaged hand rises to touch his upper arm, but stop midair and descends back to his side anew. Someone like you shouldn't suffer like that. He of all people who is currently going through that knows the pain more than anyone else. From what little he was able to gauge about him before he left, he could tell how noble of heart he is, and kind. Exceptionally kind, to a fault, even.

Self-imposed solitude is a concept Blade knows well, too. It's something that he's positive Dáinsleif must've noticed in his early attempts when they crossed paths for the first time, growing into poorer ones just to linger further under the beautiful and comforting aura of is. So he knows about physical pain— even if self-inflicted in his case, about the fear that one day Mara would claim him and he no longer can be himself ever again. But his last words...

You... understand.

That which Rèn didn't expect him to understand if he were only so brave to tell him, that there is nothing more that would fulfil him more than death, that the hell he's living could cease most effectively if only he was allowed to find solace in death— His most fervent wish voiced by him. Strong arms wrap around Dáinsleif's shoulders gently, holding back a sniff that comes right after the first tears drop. He understands... he understands and he didn't give him a chance to tell him about it— everything but abandon him like that after everything he did for him. His embrace tightens a tad as he buries his face betwixt the conjunction of his neck and shoulder.

Don't tell me that... you have faced the same grief too, Dáinsleif...

[reginrokkr]

Traversing worlds is an experience like none other he had, an enlightenment moment that traces back to a pair of twins who used to do the same until they arrived to Teyvat and thereafter, when they continued their way together in the vast ocean of stars. There is a sense of freedom Dáinsleif hasn't felt in centuries of life he had he enjoys from it, from being himself and the being he always was but was denied and ultimately sealed until he rose upon the gnostic attainment he was destined to have.

As if his arrival has been prophesized earlier, his coming to the Xianzhou was suspiciously anticipated judging by the way a man he hasn't seen in several centuries was expecting him: Jing Yuan. Far from perceiving it as a threat or some ill intent, Dáinsleif sees it as an opportunity to catch up with the events that befell in the fleet— and hopefully investigate about what happened to Yìng Xīng. So he thought as they walked their way to the now General's private chambers for some required solitude, bereft from prying eyes and ears that could catch on in the mystery that blankets the snow-haired man.

The Alliance needs his help. Let it be no doubt that Dáinsleif didn't conceal the surprise in his eyes when Jing Yuan claimed such before proceeding to explain their current situation: an incoming crisis is bound to occur sooner or later, related to an organization by the name of Sanctus Medicus. Nevertheless, they cannot press charges without stirring the pot and let them surface from wherever their hiding spot may be so they can uproot the current issue from its very origin.

For that to happen, a short-living alliance was made with another group he didn't know about until then, the Stellaron Hunters, to sow some chaos he permits to happen in order to fix a grander problem. What he didn't expect is that among them is Rèn— known as Blade by him at the current moment, and that it is with him who he must partner in order to make this work: to ensure that his Mara won't get out of hand, to return him to sanity at will without any difficulties.

My deep apologies for how unwelcoming this situation may be. But you are the only one he trusts to control him, even if he can count with someone of the Stellaron Hunters present in Luofu that can do that too by other means. I supplicate you to give it some thought. Here. A simple small paper is slid across the table, where a direction is written. This is where you can find him, should you wish to discuss matters with him.

Dáinsleif watches him stand from his sitting position to take an ornamented box and a sheathed sword, both of them to be put on the table before him. These are for you, left behind by Yìng Xīng several centuries ago. He had hoped that one day you would return to receive these.

Nervousness and a moved heart by what has transpired by the end of his meeting with Jing Yuan makes Twilight somehow giddy to encounter him again, albeit now with a colder mind after he was able to study what occurred in their little journey and the information he has received of him by his own mouth, but also by Jing Yuan. Dáinsleif enters the luxurious hotel room to find Rèn —Blade— sitting on the bed, gaze glued to his intertwined hands atop his thighs, one of them restless.

Silence greets him as he closes the door behind him and he puts down the ornamented box and sword on a table, that same silence that helps him relax and be at ease even in moments of unrest. Dáinsleif isn't bothered by this, perhaps it is for the best so he may still his furiously beating heart. So he looks at him briefly before heading to the window, thus take comfort in the starry sky in the celestial dome above, artificial as it is.

◜Those whose heart bleeds for another are bound to shoulder immense burdens hard to bear.◞ He knows now. No amount of reassurance sufficed for Blade's heart to find rest after that incident when he lost control over himself due to the Mara flare, regrettably. Albescent lashes flutter close as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts and stream of words he has always wanted to share with him clear as pure Irminsul.

◜Not all sinners are voluntary ones, unjustly branded with a curse to bear for the rest of their lives no matter if they are innocent of charged guilt or not. When everything is lost and nothing remains, when even the world around one is crumbling... to be denied death is the most unfair of punishments one can receive.◞ Such was the beginning of the hell he had to endure for five hundred years. And from what Jing Yuan told him, so it matches to near perfection with Rèn, too. ◜Self-xiled to unwilling solitary confinement for life in firm belief that it will be safer for those around one, forced to bear a pain like none other physically and mentally... resigned to the thought that one day a major force whose grasp is firm and strong as iron on one's psyche may overtake them— one would be driven to believe that death is a far more clement outcome, if only it was not prohibited.◞

I know all that too well, even if you may find it hard to believe.

Through sheer determination to not let others face the same injustice, to do the damnedest so humanity and everyone else that dwells Teyvat don't have to concern themselves with facing its end due to the all-devouring Star... by some miracle it is that he was spared from such unfairness. But Yìng Xīng's— Rèn's continues. And before he allowed himself to have his own safe haven in life if he cannot take refuge in worshipped Death as the only remedy to his malady... he gave up on himself— and it hurts. For Dáinsleif wouldn't have on him, not after expecting all this time to reunite with him again if fate were to smile upon him for once.

Every one of the Stellaron Hunters' deeds, notwithstanding how big or small they may be, have a meaning and are directed towards a goal. Like scattered motes shaken by the flowing wind to a single direction, so are their crimes. One of the reasons Rèn didn't mind this particular detail before deciding to join them is that nothing of what he'll do will worsen his current state. Actually, if what Elio claims to say is indeed true and there is a sliver of hope for him to have a funeral, that's all it matters to him, truly.

What makes him not so indifferent to the cause is the moment they set sights on the Xianzhou. Once again, initially he didn't mind his role there, for chances are that he would encounter him— and make him pay the price. For what he did to Xianzhou, for what he did to him. But what must be done for that to happen, he can't accept.

"Don't you dare involve him in this. This is none of his business." Behind a growl-like demand there is shame he bore since the moment Mara flared and he attacked him. Reaching out to him for this sole reason, to make him accomplice of the events bound to befall in this Alliance both for the good of the Xianzhou but also of the Stellaron Hunters would make it even worse. What right does he have to ask him any favour after abandoning him, after everything he did for him?

But that's the only choice we have, Bladie. It's either that or you must succumb to my Spirit Whisper. And we both know that you won't allow it to happen.

Right. Kafka has the power to manipulate the psyche of everyone if she so desired, but never once he let her do that to him. If there is anyone he would let himself be vulnerable and give his whole agency to for a limited amount of time— that would be him. Because he knows he has no ulterior motives, unlike her, who understandingly wants to rush towards the future she desires for herself. As the rest of the Stellaron Hunters do.

I will talk to him personally once he arrives to the Luofu, if what the Destiny Slave claims is correct. For the time being, you stay on standby. All of you. If he refuses, then we might need to re-negotiate our small alliance terms.

Though he no longer speaks, a scowl makes itself present in Rèn's features at the notion that Jing Yuan is going to try to persuade him, fearing in anticipation the outcome that will take place if he does, and thinking about Dáinsleif's kind heart. He's about to leave to the assigned base when he senses Jing Yuan's gaze of him once Kafka left. A brief silence fell like a veil until the General spoke. Since this whole mission was put on the table, this is the first time that Rèn's heart feels at ease for once.

I know how important he is to you... Blade. Know that I won't persuade him to do anything he wants, merely lay the facts on the table for him. But I would lie if I denied that his help would be greatly appreciated.

[reginrokkr]

Complete stillness is made manifest when tender lips press on his forehead, glacial astrals expand and shudder within sapphire depths in quiescent shock that lasts even after Rèn parts and moves to leave. Dáinsleif isn't stranger to the grief of parting, having experienced it several times in the past be it by others or by himself in moments of judgement which he decided that it is for the best if he left earlier than he should. Most of the partings were as a result of death, but this one... though death it may not be, it's particularly sorrowful.

Long after Rèn has forsaken this hotel room is when the lunarescent seraph reacts and looks towards the window, an attempt to imagine what way the raven is taking given life into his mind. Even now, he still can feel the phantom feeling of warm and soft lips on his forehead even if shielded by a veil of platinum blond. If he were to concentrate enough, he could even feel his steady breath and the warmth that emanated from his body this up close. But he doesn't— for there is no point in doing that, anymore.

Ultimately does Dáinsleif stand up and walk towards the window in time to see Rèn's shape growing smaller the farther he walked with a magenta-haired woman. In this moment, roseate lips purse when there is no more resistance against allowing one's sentiments flow naturally. The realization that this is indeed a new life that doesn't have to be the way they daydreamed in halcyon times, were they meet again in the distant future dawns on him. And where it dawns, pain pierces his heart with a thousand thorns.

You let me go once. Now, it's my turn to let you go.

Such is the truth and repentance of his heart, now that he's no longer in sight. There was a time in which he was the one who left, even if it was crystal clear to him that Yìng Xīng didn't want that to happen. Even so, he begged him to live for him— so he did up to this moment, although not by his own will, necessarily, until he steeled his resolve to life. What's best for him Dáinsleif desires, yet he daren't be so selfish as to ask him to live for him, too. For now, of all moments, in retrospection... it is when he realizes that Rèn long ago gave up on living. And in forsaking a chance to live, he abandoned himself— and a chance to find happiness in this forced life if he cannot find said joy in a death that rejects him so.

Despite the poor understanding Rèn has of his own emotions, what he thinks and feels about Dáinsleif is somehow clear (opposed to not knowing how to describe anything, it's good enough). He's a man who is keenly observant of his surroundings and those around him, emotionally intelligent to the point of reading him without uttering a word. He's kind enough to know about a man's pride and not voice out moments of weakness, but rather, leave him be to his own musings when it's needed most. He respects the silence when there is desire to let that predominate.

Behind that kindness, masked by perpetual indifference lies a sensitive man for himself and others. Sharp eyes conceal an ocean of emotions he hardly ever lets surface. Just like now. Full of empathy he is when he finishes the sentence that is too hard for him to finish— maybe because deep down, he doesn't want this to be the end, Rèn can notice a lingering sadness that makes his heart twist in his chest painfully. He nods his head affirmatively to let him know that he's correct. Now, it's too late to lament a decision that has already been made.

"It is." Dáinsleif deserves to find someone who can cherish him back like he does, that isn't so weak to protect him that could potentially harm him instead. Kafka was right when she guessed that he would want to protect him by leaving him— but that's not it. Death is that which he cannot attain by himself, the only respite left he has. Even if he once believed that Dáinsleif is like a safe haven to him in life, the only peace he has known since he was infested with Mara... he can't be so selfish as to stay with him like that, specially when he can't give him back everything he had already given him.

Somewhere deep down, his soul weeps in lament. It grieves the fact that he's giving up on himself before Dáinsleif has the chance to do so himself. But the reality is, as much as part of him is happy— that he knows the blond wouldn't. And that hurts him the most.

The hand mirror is put carefully on the rug to free his hand so he can reach out to cup the man's face as he looks back at him, to take in one last time his features and the immensity of the galaxy trapped in the ocean of sapphire in his eyes. Then, he leans in to press a soft kiss on his forehead. "Thank you. For everything."

For letting me go even if it's so hard to leave. For giving me a moment of respite from this hell that life is by lingering under your light.

Rèn's hands drop and so he stands up to head towards the exit door. The door opens, and he looks back at Dáinsleif for the last time before steeling his resolve to leave and meet with Kafka's at the encounter point she told him, should he decide to join the Stellaron Hunters.

Please, forgive me.

[reginrokkr]

All efforts are bound to bear its fruits sooner or later, it's a matter of nurturing the tree into health to see the best results. What began with simple human influences in abandoned facility led their journey to a whole city sheltered from the inclement weather of this world. The next step in this journey would be to investigate, to find out the reason why this world is afflicted the way it is and see how far humanity has advanced in pursuit to make out of this star a more hospitable place.

But truth be said, all of that was blurred and eventually diffused when he encountered Rèn, when he found out that he's Yìng Xīng.

From having a clear objective in mind albeit not as restricted to obligations as he once was in Teyvat when that dying world had yet to be protected, there was none at all other than spending time with him. To know the man again in this new-like life even at the risk that he won't be the same he used to know— just like he isn't. Yet even if he's different in a few things, Dáinsleif is able to see glimpses of what he used to be, of what made him Yìng Xīng.

Learning about this world's history stopped being as important as it was to get him new clothes. He was given the chance to choose anything he wanted, only to stick to his old clothes. In a way, he was clinging to a past he hardly remembers, he noticed.

Seeing him with the new clothes the tailor remade for him awakened old feelings he had long thought to be buried and would never resurface. However long has passed since he left the Xianzhou shaped him in the man he is today— but he's still the Yìng Xīng he knows, even if Rèn no longer knows what defines him so.

Unbeknownst to him, roseate lips curl in a smile when he offers to dry his hair for him as he sits before the mirror and just lets him to do as he pleases. Color him surprised when the initial statement lingers in the air, causing icy sapphires to widen ever so slightly for a fraction before fair features return to the usual calm waters. His heart trembles within the confines of his chest at the new sliver of hope that he remembers something, but he exercises caution instead. For all he knows, it may be just one scattered memory he doesn't know the context of.

Comforting warmth spreads to the entirety of his body from his heart when a simple question is made, one that he knows since the moment he decided to let his hair grow— although one that makes him feel somehow timid to admit aloud. ◜That is correct.◞ Albescent lashes flutter close to enjoy the gentle touch for some moments. ◜There was a person... someone important to me, who wondered what I would look like with longer hair. For that reason, I let it grow in hopes that one day I would meet him again and he would have that little curiosity satiated.◞

◜I have something for you.◞ Dáinsleif stands up after a few more moments in serene quiescence to fetch something he has purchased in Rèn's absence when the tailor was taking his measures in a drawer, then he comes back to him with a hand mirror. ◜Take this.◞ He positions himself behind Rèn as the raven did before to dry his hair and opens his hand to reveal a small hairpin, simple in its rhombus-like design bathed completely in precious gold. Long fingers brush raven strands before putting the hairpin in the middle where his hair would part naturally in two. ◜You can turn around now to look.◞ Sapphire irises soften, frozen stars quivering gently in anticipation to see his reaction to the small gift he got for him— being fully cognizant of the fact that he likes his long hair, otherwise he might've not kept it all this time.

You speak of this as if there is nary a problem, as everything is fine the way it is. But it is not. That pains Rèn's heart, even if he knows that Dáinsleif's intentions are well-placed. He knows he's aware of the dangers after witnessing them firsthand, yet his guilt won't let him think of this as something to turn one's back to. He knows that if it were to happen again, Twilight would jump to his help in a heartbeat and calm him back to serenity once more. But this— this is not alright.

There is no denial that their relationship has grown even stronger since that incident. Maybe it's the Mara incident what solidified them as a pair of traveling companions to be stronger next time when one hits hardship, maybe it's his own predisposition to be more acceptant of Dáinsleif now that he knows that they have known each other since his past life and— the fact that Mara never flared until that moment is indicator enough that he didn't do anything worth magnifying negative emotions for. Rèn is more hesitant to remind the blond that they should better keep distances as they did in the beginning in case it happens again, or of muttering that he needn't treat his wounds as he did every time Dáinsleif asked him to remove his coat to check them. He puts trust in him that he himself wouldn't.

It would be a matter of time before they reached to human civilisation in this world, albeit sheltered and not without reason. When Rèn didn't know what they would be doing from then on, when Dáinsleif booked a hotel room at a luxurious hotel, he was surprised with a gift that he didn't see coming nor particularly needed— but touched his heartstrings, nonetheless. A new change of clothes to his taste (which ended up being the same but new, they were worn and ragged as they were) like Dáinsleif requested. Although unlike him, he opted for a new outfit that ironically... reminded him of the Inteyvat.

Rèn insisted that he gets the clothes himself when they received a message from the tailor to stretch his legs. There is naught here that would make him lose control of himself unlike in the wilds where it was more probably in a moment of danger. Right when he was about to return to the hotel, a mysterious woman stands in his way with a smile that augurs something that he can't describe.

Watching himself in the mirror with these brand new clothes doesn't stir anything in particular to Rèn, the fact that it was Dáinsleif's insistence that he at least wears fixed clothes is what makes him cherish them, regardless. He watches the blond emerge from the bathroom after a shower judging by his wet hair and sit in front of the mirror to towel-dry his hair. "Let me." Given the dangers it may entail, Rèn isn't one to engage physical contact, but it's been a few days since he started doing so— perhaps as a result of the dream he had and a hidden truth in his heart he wouldn't dare to sit and consider: he likes that intimacy.

Gentle hands take the towel from Dáinsleif's hands and he begins to pat his hair dry carefully. From this close, it's hard to ignore the floral scent that comes from his hair: subtle and elegant. "You let your hair grow." He mumbles as a matter-of-fact, bolder in his statement now that he recognises him in full. It suits you. For some reason he can't describe, his heart stirs with a comfortable warmth. "Did you do it for someone?"

[reginrokkr]

Relief washes over lunarescent luminary in tidal waves when Rèn wakes up, his ruby irises calm— unlike the waging storms vibrating within them before when he was Mara-stricken, teller that he's out of danger. Weary heart rests at ease now that Dáinsleif allows himself to calm down under the raven's calm and silent gaze, expecting him to say something or perhaps nothing at all if he's unprepared to address what happened earlier in some shape or form, whichever choice would be good so long as he feels better than before.

With a heartbreaking question comes tenderness from a hand that rises to caress his cheek. ◜No.◞ Twilight is quick to dispel any doubts he had of the possibility that he hurt him in their confrontation from before, and there is another factor just as fast in making his body react before his actions could match that of his mind, by holding Rèn's bandaged hand and leaning into his touch. Such is the yearning of his heart that it's nigh impossible to resist a chance to feel touches he reminisces no more. Such is the vulnerability that threatens to crush him that he daren't stop himself from indulging even for a second in his gentle and warm touch his heart seems to long for like lungs do for oxygen. ◜So please, perish the thought.◞

Serene quiescence ensues briefly until a new realization is made manifest verbally, one that against his heart's desire prompts him to let go of his hand in reminiscence that Rèn explicitly told him not to heal him. However, he couldn't not do it— not this time. Leaving him to fight his own demons and quench the Mara by himself was sufficiently risky, he had to make sure that he's stable and out of harm. ◜Forgive me. After the Mara flare, I had to make sure that you're out of danger.◞ A pause. ◜But you made it.◞ For all the sorrow he had felt until relief washed over him upon his awakening, a smile that cannot move his lips glows in sapphire depths. ◜You were successful in fighting Mara back.◞

It was hard and his struggles were not unseen, but he's happy and proud for him. That indicates that if it happens again and he's alone, he has chances to fight it back on his own. Dáinsleif wanted nothing but that for him, even if it would've been so easy for him to intervene at once and spare him the pain. He doesn't discard doing it, should it happen in the future. If there is a next time, that is.

Keen eyes study Rèn's movements as he sits up, searching for any hint that he may be in pain, thus a checkup might be required to find none. Good. Out of habit, Dáinsleif would expect that there is nothing more to talk about and thus that silence falls like a curtain. But it doesn't happen. Instead, Rèn apologizes and he can't help but pause and stare at him with crystal clear confusion quivering in glacial sapphires. Could it be... that he's apologizing for what happened before? Or perhaps for something else that he is not yet made aware of? Whichever the case may be, he shakes his head no. ◜Do not.◞ Honest is his gaze as he looks intently in his eyes with unwavering sincerity. ◜You— We are safe. There is nothing to be sorry about.◞

Rain pours outside, every raindrop music to Yìng Xīng's ears in this serene day that augurs nothing but relaxation. He's kneeling by a sofa, strong arms crossing over muscular yet soft and warm thighs where to rest his head on atop the nest he has created for himself. Even though he has promised to himself to spend time with him, the mellow atmosphere of the rain he adores combined with the blond's presence and the comfort he draws from resting his head on his thighs like this makes him drowsy, albeit he hasn't any intentions to stop him from studying medicine for the incoming test. Just spending time with him like this suffices.

Before he knows it he's fast asleep. Breathing silent and even in this light sleep of his that makes him feel the initial tingles when the other buries one of his hands in his hair and caresses it gently. "Yìng Xīng." Though he hears his name, he doesn't react, believing it to be a dream and not him calling his name. The caressing continues, and he can't help but heave a sigh in delight as he hears a low chuckle. "Yìng Xīng." He hears again, and this time he opens his eyes and looks drowsily up to meet eyes that in his past dreams eluded him— two sapphire gems with stars engraved in them as their pupils. Never before he has seen such beautiful and unique eyes.

The man's hand lowers to cup his cheek, so warm and tender that Yìng Xīng can't help but lean into his touch and rub his cheek slightly he would, if he didn't feel ginger still to do so. "Come sit with me." Right, he has refused to sit next to him on the sofa despite his reassurance that it was fine if he sat with him, call it stubbornness if you will. "Let us get some sleep, shall we?" Like a siren's call does Yìng Xīng heed his call as the blond closes the book and puts it on the armrest before lying on the sofa. Always so considerate he is, never once pointing out facts typically treated as weaknesses. Yìng Xīng follows suit to lie down however he could next to him, but inevitably lying part of him on top of the man that chuckles through his breath and envelops him in his warm embrace.

Aureate ruby eyes open to meet that same gaze of a starry night shining upon him in what, to his surprise, seems to be a not so distant scenario than what he dreamed. His head resting on soft thighs, long fingers buried in his hair and sometimes pressing on the skin of his scalp for a gentle massage. Only when he wakes further he notices the tiredness in Dáinsleif's eyes, the redness of the sclera that makes the blue of his eyes only stand out more. His own eyes narrow at the reminder of what happened earlier: a strange occurrence in itself, as moments when Mara flares up so violently he hardly ever remembers a single thing. Not what he did nor the fear he must've felt.

"I... I didn't hurt you, did I?" Please tell me I did not. Rèn reaches out his hand to caress the side of Dáinsleif's face, realizing only now the dampness of his skin. ...Were you crying until now? He wants to ask, but refrains from doing so. Immense guilt he would feel if he were the reason why he wept, to the point of wanting to put distance between them if only to make sure that he won't try to hurt him again— weren't for the peace and serenity he feels. "You... healed me." He knows by now the aura Dáinsleif emanates in the distance to confirm what it feels like when it's more intense, as if he didn't just linger under its light but was imbued with it.

Gingerly he sits up and lets his gaze wander to his hands. He notices that the bandage of his hand is new and neatly dressed around it as it always does ever since Dáinsleif took in himself to treat his wounds. Minutes later aureate ruby eyes rise to look at the man that has been taking care of him until then— opposite to what he remembers asking of him just to keep him safe. You could've killed me, but you didn't. The image of the blond with shorter hair forms in his mind and overlaps perfectly with the current aspect of Twilight Sword.

We... really knew each other in my past life and had some sort of intimate relationship, didn't we? How much must've hurt to hear my desperate plea to kill me, Dáinsleif?

If guilt didn't settle on him yet, it now does at that thought. "...I'm sorry." They know each other, yet Dáinsleif never once said anything about it. Does he have memory issues of back then, too? Or is it that he's scared of who he is now, so different than he must've been in the past? Though Rèn would like to ask, he remains silent.

Perhaps... this is for the best, for both of us.

[reginrokkr]

Seraphic heart weeps under self-imposed pressure to remain still instead of seeking to intervene at once just to not see a past lover hurt further. Patience, his mind reminds it, hard as it might be even to stay composed. This is a fight that must be conquered by Rèn and Rèn alone, lest one day he finds himself alone again and he wills to fight of the Mara in order to stay under control. The despair reflected in the raven's eyes in a moment of lucidity twists his heart, but Dáinsleif forces himself to complete stillness until he notices the glow on his eyes fade, his body going limp.

Sapphire flames fade at once when Dáinsleif notices Rèn's consciousness slip away with a few words he can't grasp and his body is immediately caught before it can precipitate on the cold, snowy ground. Twilight takes a moment to see his face, so vulnerable and out of himself as he pushes raven bangs away to observe his visage longer. A tear falls down his face after holding it in longer than he would've allowed his emotions to be so paralyzed, then he picks Rèn's sword up and the raven altogether to find a new shelter.

Underground rivers wound up converging in a geothermic lake the next time Dáinsleif arrived at a cave long after the sun has set. Even without getting closer to the water, its warmth suffices to cut through the frigid temperatures of the exterior, making it an ideal place to use as the new safe haven for as long as Rèn needs to rest. Thus he leans carefully his sword against the wall and then lies his body gently on the ground. Sapphire flames spring anew to create a small fireplace nearby to provide with warmth and luminous source.

Ere long Twilight works on removing the raven's coat in order to inspect his previously dressed wounds to see if any of them was opened during earlier's confrontation. Thankfully not all of them were, alas those who did need to be treated anew. So he does with utmost care one by one, removing the old bandage first and bringing some pneuma-infused water to clean them before proceeding to dress them once again.

Once that is done, Dáinsleif dares to do that which he wasn't allowed until then. Albescent lashes flutter close in concentration so sapphire aura concentrates on his right hand, then he puts it in the middle of his chest. There is a variety of reasons why the luminary wished to do this earlier, but ultimately respected Rèn's wish that he did not. Not only he would be able to heal him from a more spiritual perspective, but he would also be able to determine what is in his being that makes him act that way.

Now that he knows Mara is what is causing all of this, he has a clear objective to search and he so easily finds. A dark aura masked with healing goodness, an alien thing seeking to grow from inside out and eventually change the man's body into that of a monster. Dáinsleif focuses on nullifying that completely— unlike what he would've preferred which is to remove it entirely. Something he cannot do, for try as he might, he cannot remove curses. But in his present state, he can stall them at least, paralyze them so Rèn's life quality can improve. This is good enough, too.

Roseate lips part to heave a sigh when he finishes, then he lifts carefully his head so it may rest on the plush of his thighs, opposite to the hardness of the soil. Gloves removed ever since he dedicated himself to treat his wounds, long fingers bury in raven strands as he remains idle, sapphire irises trembling as they're glued to Rèn's resting visage.

From what he vaguely remembers, Mara is a curse cast on Xianzhou humans as punishment of greed to seek immortality, which ended up being short and what was achieved was a considerably larger life span. But Yìng Xīng wasn't a long-living being nor he originated from the Xianzhou— so why? What could've possibly happened for him to become long-living, let alone be Mara-struck?

Dáinsleif's chest wells with sadness the more he thinks about it, the more he self-chastizes for being unable to find a way sooner to come back to him. What must Yìng Xīng have felt when all of this happened to him? When he was Mara-struck for the first time and left alone to figure it all out? What hardship must he have faced in order to become the broken man he is now, unlike the lively man he knew? A shaky exhale preludes the cascading of tears that fall on the raven's face when the pain is too much to keep repressing it.

Yìng Xīng... what happened to you?

Acknowledgement begets understanding, from understanding rouses despair in bloodshot eyes as Mara flares even more violently. Rèn struggles to break free from sapphire shackles, mouth opens to bare fangs to hurt the source of his restraining without success by a couple of centimeters. Like a beast drunk in realisation when its true nature's been exposed, the curse strikes harder and harder to the point of harming himself with what shouldn't hurt him to begin with.

You don't understand— that's precisely why you must put an end to me and run before it's too late!

Amidst chaotic disorder, whichever demon took possession of him to act so animalistic pauses at Dáinsleif's order (no, he knows it's encouragement, not demand). Like a beast in wait he halts and studies in disbelief the blond's next movements. Whatever warmth and comfort he should feel from the gentle hand that rests over his chest burns to the Mara that haunts him, so contrary to reality yet so real.

It hurts. He wants to get away from it. It will be a matter of time until this hand will pierce his chest to remove his heart with merciless cruelty.

Tempest-seas rage within his mind until the first rays of gentle moonlight break through an ocean of clouds. Sanguine eyes shoot open when Dáinsleif claims that he isn't going anywhere— he doesn't understand what that means nor why he feels so suddenly overwhelmed by those words, but something in him does. A new tear drops, his heart warms to a notion that means the world to an old self so distant from retracing and reclaiming memories back.

"Dáinsleif..." His voice is ragged when he calls his name and, as if that in itself were a spell, his body relaxes. Teeth bite on his lower lip while a painful grunt emanates from him. Mara's grasp is too tight, too hard to fight back. Millions of shadowy arms intend to chain him and make him drown in darkest sea to never return were he give up. Ah, how tempting would be to give up, to not follow anything else. No pain, nor fear until the edge of eternity if there is any end at all where he can find his rest.

The Twilight Sword's voice reverberates within his mind, causing ripples of light in the obscure ocean. Howls in pain and threatening hisses fill Rèn's mind, those same shackle-like arms lose strength but they won't relent. I will not let anything happen to you. Even if he begged the opposite, he would still reach such lengths. Even if he could've killed him if he wasn't as capable as a fighter, he would still stand by him when he wouldn't for himself.

Is this... what it feels like to be cared for by another?

Against every ounce of pain does Blade fight off Mara's pull, breaking himself free from every arm that leaves scratches on his shattered soul as he goes. Pain makes him feel alive, but it also means a closer chance to death. For the first time, he silently prays for pain to go away. He yearns to accept Dáinsleif so he'll make it fade away completely. But for that, he must free himself. So he does, he does— and so light grows stronger and the howls get louder.

His eyes open and within golden ruby eyes, a blond's reflection remains. His back faces him until he turns. As in his dreams, he can't see his face, but he sees his smile. He sees his short hair grow so long, and that voice— that same voice calling his old name is there. Among what little he sought in this forced life, he pursued to find the man that so gently and lovingly called for his name, whose voice has been with him for several centuries. Alive or dead, it wouldn't matter— so long as he'd have peace in finding out who he is if he wouldn't in his fractured mind.

At long last, Rèn's tense body goes limp albeit he doesn't fall due to the sapphire shackles that still seize him. New light in his eyes trembles as the image of the man calling him Yìng Xīng overlaps to perfection with Dáinsleif's. "So it was you..." Are his last words before exhaustion settles on him, thus he passes out.

[reginrokkr]

Dáinsleif is a firm believer that questions apt to be answered will be revealed in due time, while there are others that should not for the better. Not everything should be known at all time, let alone by everyone either. In times now bygone that he can only look back at, he was a clear witness of this. People falling into madness all in pursuit of knowledge. Others, interpreting it however they willed and thus spiralling into everlasting darkness and chaos. When Rèn had told him that it's for his sake that he better stays away from him for as long as he can —which he did less and less when they arrived to a new place to call safe haven even for a while, not that he minded, for he never saw any sign that could alert him of danger—, he thought he would one day find out the true reason why. Or perhaps he never would and that would be still a good sign, for that would mean that nothing would ever happen.

But this... this, he never had anticipated to happen.

It happened in a blink, one moment Rèn was his usual calm self keeping the determined distance where he can still feel his aura and the next, he nearly cut him in half with his blade. Such was his speed that Dáinsleif, trusting that nothing bad would ever happen lowered his back and nearly costed his life. Demonic speed coupled with superhuman strength and an aura of a beast that's crystal clear in his now glowing, sanguine eyes. He's a force to be reckoned, there is no single doubt about that. Twilight could surmise as much just by seeing him in battle as an ally alone, but having him as an enemy is even worse.

Dáinsleif's job was no easy now, mind split in betwixt sparring him back without letting himself be overpowered in the process while wondering what could possibly have happened to Rèn. That's where he tries his best to retrace his memories of when he resided in the Luofu, to what he learned that could be of use. There must be something— anything. What stands the clearest is that he studied medicine and there was a special insistence in knowing well the symptoms of a unique malady to the Xianzhou. An illness that only affects them because great part of the population was of humans that could outlive what is considered the normal of around a century. A curse for a forbearer's obsession with immortality... the Mara.

In a heartbeat, he recalls everything related to that illness now. How could he forget when it fitted so unbelievingly with crazed Khaenri'ahn people and more that were not, yet were even if vaguely acquainted with the true reality of Teyvat at the time? It is a curse that lengthens one's lifespan at the cost of numbing one's feelings —something even he experienced even if byproduct of a different curse—, which would eventually culminate in forgetting everything to the point of not recognizing their loved ones. A curse so cruel that would heighten only negative feelings by twisting and bringing about the worse memories that can feed said sentiments, making it so to the point that one would doubt if they had good memories at all.

Is this... is this why you don't remember me, Yìng Xīng?

Weren't for the fact that he's guarding himself from Rèn's brutal attacks while his mind was split elsewhere and trying not to hurt him at the same time, great sorrow would fill his heart. But now it's not the time. He must know better— for him, and for Yìng Xīng. ◜You're stricken with Mara...◞ He mumbles in plain disbelief under his own breath before steadying his feet and his racing heart, jumping immediately into focus with renewed vigor to fight back, find an opening... and ultimately, seize Rèn with his sapphire flames into complete stillness.

The shard sword falls and so Twilight approaches Rèn, one step after another, abandoning his own sword too in the process. He sees him cry, so does his soul that is so clear to him that must be the perpetrator of these feelings of wanting to be in control if his soul hasn't forgotten yet. His next words would've sufficed to break Dáinsleif's heart completely, if it wasn't yet by realization alone of what he must've endured. A cruel curse that won't permit him to die even if he wanted so— death would be a kinder respite than being like this in life. Two identical waterdrops.

◜You must fight it back, Rèn.◞ It's closest to mercy he would have for him. Surely he could make use of his purifying gift to remove him entirely from this situation, but in essence, it would be a momentary solution. What if by some ill fate, they are separated again? What would he do to recompose himself if he gets used to his purifying, but eventually he remains powerless by himself to do anything at all? ◜But you are not alone. See?◞ Dáinsleif removes one of his gloves before touching tentatively his cheek, then he allows himself to cup the side of his face entirely. ◜I am right here.◞ Please listen to me, Yìng Xīng. ◜And I am not going anywhere.◞ Not this time. This time it is me. I am in complete control of myself, and there is no other place that I would rather be than right here, with you. Still as his resolve may be, cold stone as he might've forced his heart to become just for this moment, his voice wavers slightly, so does his hand tremble. ◜I will not let anything happen to you.◞

Rèn isn't a man to believe in fate, at least he doesn't think he ever was. Everything goes eventually to a direction that very few, if at all, are able to foresee only by one's actions. But with this man... with Dáinsleif, it feels so different. Like someone out there with sufficient power to control others' paths decided to stop mocking him and, for once, give him something he never wanted but would've never thought he'd need.

That's right. For all the hesitance and reluctance he showed every time Dáinsleif offered to heal him or treat his wounds, he found that which he would never bother to give to himself: care. Gentle and selfless care, never once asking for anything in return. Perhaps it's because every time the blond treats his injuries, he does receive something that is still hard to conceive to Rèn, but entirely fitting to the other's character: gratification from seeing him in good shape.

Though he doesn't think he will ever understand why the man is like this (which is not a surprise, for even he knows that long ago he stopped understanding so many things, down to his own feelings), he strangely feels some phantom sentimentality that he's unable to discern where it comes from. The first time he allowed Dáinsleif to see his upper half bare and to let him treat his wounds, he didn't ignore the strange yet soothing warmth blooming in his chest or the sting in the outer corners of his eyes. His soul may have wept— he did not.

Naught but pain and sorrow is what Rèn remembers ever feeling, both in mind and body. So imagine the strangeness of feeling something entirely different. To be treated so gently as if he were shattered glass about to break completely with just a weak blow of air when he treats himself with such brutality. Before he knew it, he grew attached to this little moment of theirs every time they reached a new cave where to take shelter. Sitting there in silence, letting Dáinsleif inspect with careful fingers his wounds and old scars before he proceeded to treat them. Sometimes, he wished he wasn't so meticulous in his touch and dared to touch him with more than just the tips of his fingers for precision.

Rèn doesn't know where he got all those sudden yearnings from. Maybe it's his dreams where he imagines himself being touched without nary a worry, slow and gentle and careful as Dáinsleif always was. Maybe it's that he let his guard down around the blond man, started to like this more because they no longer need to stay at a distance which allows them an intimacy that, once again, he didn't think he'd long for so much.

Just as all these moments made him feel at peace and safe under Dáinsleif's stellar gaze, made him want for more but always chastised himself for even thinking about it because never once he did something to deserve it... it scares him to the very core. The lack of understanding what he feels and why makes him feel fear.

Fear that weeks later caused Mara to burst, hence him to lose control of himself— the last thing he wanted to happen. The exact same reason why he always wanted to put distance between them, only to fail miserably. This time, it wasn't bad memories surfacing in his slumber and the consequent outburst of negative feelings tied to them, but the culmination of everything his numb mind is incapable to process interwoven with fear.

Even so, amidst his broken mind, he's glad that Dáinsleif's swift judgement led him to immobilise him with his sapphire flames telekinetically. These flames don't hurt— they never once did, but they do their job at keeping his arms and legs restrained so he can't do anything as the shard sword falls on the snow. Even more so miraculously, he weeps for the first time in a very long time, which never happens when he's stricken by Mara. He feels bloodthirst and a rush for adrenaline, a strong desire to destroy and destroy himself in the process to feel something— anything until this bloody curse's rush diminishes.

But this time... this time, all he feels is fear. Not to be harmed, he knows it will only bring him to the desired paradise he yearns for— but fear to harm Dáinsleif. "Kill me..." Rèn knows it won't happen, it never does. Neither he wants this to become a distorted memory by Mara in which the curse twists the reality of this situation to make him believe that one more name is added to the list of those who must be annihilated. "Before I kill you... please." He feels his consciousness slowly slip away from his grasp. In due time, Dáinsleif might grow exerted from using his power for so long, he may find a way out of the flames' grasp or both— or if he's lucky, he may run away but it won't be long until he finds him and his desire to kill him blinds him to everything else. That's why—

"Just do it."

[reginrokkr]

Amidst a sea of blurred reminiscences connected to time spent in the Luofu as a wandering soul and the reasonable similarities in language he has discovered afterwards upon treading Liyuen lands, the name's meaning is recognized without necessity to explain it himself. Blade. Somehow damped as the atmosphere was before, the mood lightens when Dáinsleif explains the meaning behind his own name, points out the fateful resemblance of bygone times when he used to shoulder proudly the title of Twilight Sword. But truth be told, he knows fully well it is for vastly different reasons despite their shared root.

Keen observations in short timespan allowed him to discover that Rèn's way to fight is all based to sustain the shard sword he carries on his person, to enhance brutal attacks that could be described as colossal in strength, even. At the detriment of pain, blood and scars' wake in his body. The beauty in Yìng Xīng's meaning as a star, a light in the night sky he undoubtedly believes him to be —albeit more and more vaguely with the merciless passage of time, the memory of him always managed to brighten his dark world, the desire to one day reunite with him properly again gave him strength when he hadn't where to draw more from in order to move forward— is warped in the cruel truth of what he is in the present: a sword.

But what about what you taught me in the past of upholding my heart desire first and foremost? Have you forgotten about that, too? Or perhaps... your current situation impedes you to think of yourself as no more than an object with self-destructive tendencies while destroying the rest.

Nevertheless... Dáinsleif knows he isn't entirely that way, knowingly or otherwise. Indeed, where he behaves most destructive in combat even if there is no need to exert as much strength and hurt himself more, there is a kind heart that cares for him. Even going far back to their first meeting when he wished to linger in his comforting aura while not allowing himself to stay nearby out of a fear Twilight has yet to comprehend. Even unasked, he bothers to prepare some food for him too when they have traveled long enough that they both agree from their silence that it is time to rest.

Even now, after he has refused any help he could get to treat his wounds, he remains so still as he studies the scars of his abdomen with careful touches. This has become their little ritual every time they reach a place they can call their safe haven until they decide to continue. Not a single day is free from finding stellar foes, some more formidable than others. As well as there isn't a single day that Rèn didn't need to treat his wounds when they found somewhere to rest for the remainder of the day.

Gaps belonging to lost memories in seraphic mind fill slowly with overwritten ones, albeit not without a sentiment of strangeness— that it used to be different. Like Rèn's upper half. Some phantom memory that won't deign to make itself manifest in full so he may remember with precision tells him that his body didn't use to have scars, not like this— at least not as many, if any. All byproduct of the knowledge that luminary's roseate lips committed to memory every inch of his body once, not by some lustful or carnal desire, but to not leave anything unknown about him.

Even when his mind strays elsewhere as he disinfects Blade's open wounds to later dress them properly, his hands never do. Dáinsleif thanks that this is the only difference he spots in his body, at least. Without bothering to touch, glacial sapphires can sense the plush of Rèn's muscular chest under the palm of his hands if he were to deign give himself as much, the way his fingers would feel the rise and fall of his equally strong torso.

Though Dáinsleif believes himself to no longer hold feelings of love due to the wear and tear of his mind and soul for centuries —not because Yìng Xīng ever did something to earn that, he never did anything bad—... this, is something he resigns himself too every time he hammers in his mind to come to terms with the fact that the beautiful and glowing star in his dark firmament will never come back.

Whispers of the soul rise at the sound of a name that should harbour recognition when it has none, stirring this blade's dormant heart into motion anew by providing warmth that blooms in his chest and spreads to the rest of his body. Though his soul may remember, he does not. That name that should evoke happiness and joy born from a long awaited reunion only lunatics would believe to happen after several centuries doesn't inspire anything other than a sense of bond strengthened betwixt two lost souls.

"Dáinsleif." He repeats with a brief nod, letting that name roll his tongue into familiarity he hopes it won't turn into nightmare as others do. Unnamed's gaze follows the blond's panicked one to his bandaged hand, where a small spot of blood grows larger the more blood seeps through. Because he's long acquainted with this, his hand stopped shaking at the sight of blood pooling there. Actually, he would argue that he's grown numb to this pain, significantly light in comparison to other instances that befall in battle.

The raven opens his mouth to mutter a worry not but closes it again at the notion that Dáinsleif has already returned with the medical supplies to treat his wound. He stiffens at the physical contact, albeit soft and gentle, nothing like he's used to. Not even from himself who more often than not damags his body than treats it kindly.

He's paralyzed with shock, not that it's a bad thing, however. Carmine eyes follow every concise movement, all of them aimed to what they are and nothing more. Boldly, nameless wonders if Dáinsleif would look at him the same if he were to see his abdomen and torso littered with scars old and new, solidified and mended with gold and others who have yet to experience time in order to reach that state. He lets himself wonder if the blond would still keep his cool as he tends his wounds and dresses them, if his hands would quiver like the stars in his eyes do or if his mind is made of steel and would go through it all with expertise ease.

Against his best judgement that chastises him for letting the other treat his injury and to his own surprise, it's not too bad to let someone else take care of him.

Nameless snaps out of his reverie the next time Dáinsleif talks, pointing out that he hasn't told him his name either. True. When he called him Yìng Xīng the previous day, he had told him that he's not who he thinks he is. And he wasn't lying nor he intended to sound confusing in his statement. Because he actually is named like that, the voice in his mind attests as much in times of intimacy when he holds the Inteyvat close to his heart in pursuit to find comfort.

But it feels wrong. Even if by some stroke of luck this man does know him, that's only a carcass of his past self in a former life. Not what he is now, even if he doesn't know what he used to be like, either. So he makes an effort to think about a new name he never bothered to consider before. He hardly considers himself human to begin with, more like a sword in mind and body. "...Call me Rèn." He decides after a long deliberation. A name that means blade in his mother tongue sounds fitting for the weapon he made himself be.

Rèn watches the blond finish dressing his hand, thus he nods in silent gratitude for it. He checks the palm of his hand and turns it to see the back, then he turns it again to face the palm and see how his hand closes with the bandages. It's tight and firm to do its job, but not so much that it impedes his usual movements as if he wasn't wearing any. All the dressing up to his fingers and letting out the distant phalanges is wrapped with care unlike him who pays nary attention to those details.

He really pays attention.

[reginrokkr]

Oft times silence is the most valuable companion one can ever have. It is rare to find someone who agrees with this philosophy, being originator of quite the opposite most of the times. Dáinsleif appreciates immensely how keen Yìng Xīng— no, the man is (he will have a hard time ahead to come to terms with the fact that he's no longer the man he's known, independently of the fact that in their soul they are one and the same) in reading the atmosphere, of calculating the adequacy of times when to speak and when to leave others be just as he demands from his quiescent stance.

As if fate hasn't mocked him enough in the face for 500 years, it saw fit to do once again by letting them reunite albeit as different persons with no recollection of their bond —one more than the other—. The sight of Yìng Xīng looking at him so broken and shattered, bare body littered with scars of gold burns in the seraph's mind. He wants to know what had occurred to him, what led him to be so savage and animalistic in the present and what made him lack memories. But the truth is... he may never know. Or at least, not the way he would like. For that reason, he fills himself with resignation as he had in Teyvat every time he forced himself to know better in order to pursue the Star's salvation.

What would he have done when the resignation point is acknowledged? Find a way to move forward with what he has, however little it is. He had worse, having nothing in moments where it mattered most to at least have something— anything that could help him in this solitary path.

A small thank you is muttered as sapphire eyes still glaze over the sapphire flames before them absentmindedly, having noticed that the man prepared the meat for them to eat something this night. When silence is broken Twilight looks at him and his somehow kind gaze in the dullness of his eyes. For just a moment, he sees his raven hair turn pure white —ah, how much he adored his hair, it made him look so angelic and ethereal in his eyes— and his eyes kindle with untold emotions impossible to be conceived by his current self. It takes a few seconds of nearly gawking at him until he blinks again and sees the man he met first in this frozen world. ◜Dáinsleif.◞

Even if it won't be the way he would've liked —nor it ever would, for he, too, is a defectuous being with numbed emotions and cherished memoried that have eroded with the joke of that those Heavenly Principles were—, in this vast universe they reunited again. He has a new chance to get to know him again, to be with him. And frankly? That is exceedingly better than having none of it at all, of never once meeting him again and be left in wonder if he passed away or if he's in some godforsaken world he might never find.

Glacial sapphires descend from the raven's ruby irises to the bandaged hand in time to spot growing patch of blood. ◜Your hand.◞ It would be the easiest to reach out and cure him, but he forces himself not to after being rejected twice. Instead, Dáinsleif crawls towards the supplies he has found in the abandoned military facility and rumages in the bag to retrieve the necessary supplies to disinfect his wound and dress it back again. He's swift to return by the raven haired's side and so careful hands reach out to the other's injured hand, mindful to not hurt him more. ◜Allow me. It will be quick.◞ It's the least he can do for him, specially after he injured himself by preparing the meat even though he has already tended his wounds before that.

Precise and concise are Dáinsleif's movements in taking off the damp bandage and then to get to work into disinfecting his wound, his touches never once lingering more than they should or touching where it's unnecessary. Despite that, he can feel the callouses of his hands, more prominent and harder than his foggy memory begins to reminiscence. ◜You didn't tell me yours, either.◞ He points out gently, recalling clear as day him saying that he's not who he thinks he is. Perhaps his name has undergone a change he wishes to respect.

Yìng Xīng and Inteyvats, Inteyvats and Yìng Xīng. It was like destiny deigned to shine upon him for once that the raven found something worth considering beautiful in that which is no longer himself, but once was. Dark eyelids shut close as the blond details his description of these flowers' origins. He imagines dark soil that entrapped a galaxy whole inside where stars move in waves like water's surface, from which pale blue stems bloom into pure white and sky blue petals. It's hard to gauge exactly the beauty of witnessing a scenario like that, underrated in his mind where details and personal experience lacks, but for the first time in a very long while the flame of a wish burns: he wants to see a field like that.

Where an indescribable sentiment sparks to life, so does bittersweetness upon finding out that it's not like this flower will never wither as he thought it wouldn't after several centuries of life, merely that it's far away from its home where only then it will soften again and return to the soil it came from. His long-lasting companion had its destiny sealed long before unnamed did his own, and the beginning of envy was born.

At least one of us will fine their end's respite... good for you.

Heartbreak would be understandable to feel after learning about the flower's origins, perhaps betrayal too now that he knows that his travel companion isn't one and the same as he is. On the contrary. It made the one-sided bond he felt with the flower— the Inteyvat grow stronger and he wants it to stay with him and him protect it back as he always did even more than he did before.

Silence encompassed the atmosphere when the blond finished his story about Inteyvats, further solidified as a closed conversation when he would speak no more, sapphire gaze refusing to meet his own. Nameless took that as a hint to leave him alone as he went to prepare and clean the meat for their consumption. He dressed first, left the flower where the coat was then so its pure petals aren't tainted with blood and he heads to the river after that with the deer.

The raven's wary mind was occupied with the blond's clear facial expressions before he ducked his head to conceal them. For how worn his soul is and his mind shattered, he recognises those expressions as sadness. But for what? If he happens to be from the same homeland as this flower is, wouldn't it be a reason of joy to reunite with something familiar in a distant world? Perhaps it's his lack of understanding of emotions when he hardly can feel his own anymore, numbed as a result of his long life with nothing but negative and intense emotions that do naught but feed his thirst for adrenaline and destruction. That line of thought is soon replaced with another in answer to what he just realised. Nameless turns his head over his shoulder to see the blond sitting there wordlessly by the fireplace, as in a haze. Is it possible... that they have met before? And that's why he has this Inteyvat with him?

Ere long he's done preparing the meat and so he returns to the fireplace, where he aligns two great legs to roast slowly by the fire, leaving the rest at a considerable distance so its pungent smell of blood won't disrupt the otherwise tranquil atmosphere. Sanguine eyes gaze upon the blond, who still remains silent and whose gaze is lost in the flames of sapphire before them. Though he would like to ask if something of their previous conversations arose unpleasant memories or sentiments, he decides to not pry. The blond was kind enough to not do so even when he was so keen to cure him or even treat his wounds himself only to be rejected twice. For the mutual respect both of them have for one another, he will not either.

"I didn't catch your name." Unnamed isn't a small talker himself, prefering always silence over useless and annoying noise. Name it gratitude for enlightening him about the Inteyvat or sheer curiosity to know more about this mysterious man that every time he learns more about it compells to know more about him, he goes against his own rule of asking his name. He always says that it is a good thing if he doesn't remember someone's name, as that is a clear indicator that either he never met them or if he did meet them in the past, their moments together didn't arise the flames of negativity. And if by any sliver of luck this man is someone he met in the past and he doesn't remember anything about him... the more interest he has in reacquainting him.

[reginrokkr]

It doesn't go past the luminary how gentle this berserk warrior holds the flower in hardened hands byproduct of countless fights he must've had. Paradoxical in itself, considering how harsh he is with himself, as if he disregards his own life yet he wouldn't dare to do the same with something as delicate and pure-looking as a flower. Thinking about all the bloodshed he must've witnessed by his sword alone, it is nigh a miracle that none of the Inteyvat's pure petals were stained with its crimson ichor.

Dáinsleif listens carefully everything the man —Yìng Xīng, he confirms to himself— has to say, taking mental notes such as the fact that he does not recall how he got the flower in the first place and ruling out many possibilities that could explain how that little Inteyvat made its way to him. His theory is thus: so many years must've passed and so much is what he went through that he lacks several memories, and yet... this Inteyvat seems to be nigh everything he has. A flower he connects to a voice calling his name. Seraphic heart constricts within the confines of his chest at the notion that the most unfeasible of possibilities becomes predominant and perhaps the one and only explanation to this.

The Inteyvat he now holds was left behind by his consciousness and though he doesn't remember him, he still clings to it due to the connection he makes between the flower and someone's voice he seems to hold dear. The only thing he remembers about him.

But... why doesn't he remember him? In sooth, Dáinsleif could never blame him for that— for it has been 500 years in Teyvatan calendar and who knows how many in his world or the rest of the universe. Dáinsleif himself lacks memories as a result of the erosion he experienced for centuries. When he looks at the man now, he sees his ethereal self —his soul— looking at him back, so sorrowful and hurt, his body littered with scars of gold and eyes that used to be aureate now glow with red. Roseate lips tremble at the painful sight, his heart weeps at the thought of how much pain he must've experienced all these years if his soul is shattered so what his own eyes daren't yet.

My love...

Difficult as it is to push through, so he does despite endless lament and regret and powerlessness for being unable to do naught to not leave him. ◜Its name is Inteyvat. Thousands of flowers like this bloomed atop an ocean of stars in the kingdom of Khaenri'ah for two weeks before wilting, a true miracle granted that this soil is completely infertile for flora, the place inhospitable for fauna life. But if you were to pluck one and take it out of Khaenri'ah, the petals would stop growing and turn hard. That is why it never withers.◞

◜Only when it finally returned to its home soil would its petals grow soft and once more and finally turn to dust. So the Inteyvat is a symbol for a wanderer far from home, signifying the tenderness of the homeland.◞ His head drops to his lap, having no more to say about the flower or about anything else for the time being. Such is his heartbreak for finding out the truth about Yìng Xīng —only partly, there are still so many questions but he highly doubts the man would be willing to talk about it... if he remembers to begin with— and the confusion he feels.

What happened to you... Yìng Xīng?

Unnamed's first action upon ensuring that the blonde ceases his attempt to touch the flower is to get closer and kneel beside it, hands reaching out to hold the flower as delicately and gently as he can muster after putting the gauze roll to one side so he may check its condition. His lips release a sigh upon making sure that the flower is unscathed as he remembers it. Good.

Why would a warrior that harms himself be so careful with a flower, one may wonder? Truth be said, not even nameless knows this entirely. Everything he knows is that it never withers, and yet it won't ever stop being a flower. As far back in time as he can remember, he never knew how it came to him, but he treasured it nonetheless. To him, in his most innermost thoughts, he's just like this flower. Just like the flower that won't ever wither even in the harshest of conditions, he can't die. Even so, neither the flowers stops being a flower nor he ceases being human.

To this sentimentalism of his born from the flower, there is an additional layer of importance it has to him: limited to harsh moments at first, he heard a man's voice calling his name. It was so tender and soft that despite being initially a scary experience, it helped him calm in the most despairing of times when mara struck him. At first, he believed it was the flower calling for him. However, with the passing of time unnamed found out that it isn't so, for by sheer determination alone he would hear that man's voice calling his name even if he wasn't holding the flower.

And, unbeknownst to him... this flower has a very special value. Though his immediate consciousness doesn't know, his soul does: this is what he left behind— the same man whose voice he could never forget.

The man that right now stands before him.

For how careful the blonde is with showing any expressions on his features, nameless notices immediately that this flower stirred something in him enough to forget even for a moment about keeping his guard up. "Nothing much. I don't recall how I've gotten it, but it's been with me for a very long time." He's careful in his own answer, but not any less honest. He truly doesn't know almost anything about the flower except for what he could observe and remember thereafter. "Only that it never withers and..." There he hesitates, conflicted between telling the blonde or not. "...if I concentrate enough, I can hear someone's voice calling my name."

Of course, he knows it can only be a memory that belongs to a past he no longer remembers— or perhaps it is the fact that these memories never transcended because... he lacks feelings of anguish or pain. They must've been good ones, he'd like to think. "Your turn." He gestures with his chin to talk now, a nonverbal way to let him know that he noticed a shift in his attitude, highly related to the flower. "What do you know about this flower?"

[reginrokkr]

How is it possible to find an Inteyvat here? Only two plausible reasons come to mind as possible explanations, and a third one not-so-likely to be true albeit not entirely far-fetched. The most viable one is that the man had visited Teyvat and found his way to the Inteyvat field in Khaenri'ah in their moment of bloom or he has found one of these flowers left as memorial by some brave Black Serpent Knight to grieving hilichurls as Halfdan had done when they have reunited in the Nameless Ruins in the depths of the Chasm after 500 years.

The second, that he crossed paths with someone acquainted with these flowers and gave it to him or dropped it for the man to take. Plausible as they may be, they are considerably hard to conceive and highly coincidental.

As for the third... that by some miracle Dáinsleif himself, when his consciousness could not handle any longer to remain separated from his body, left behind a palpable remnant: an Inteyvat. But if the third happens to be the answer, that means that—

Yìng Xīng... so it is you...

Trembling hand holds his chin in quiescent consideration, mulling over a thousand more of possibilities all aimed to explain why the man has that flower when deep down, Twilight is cognizant of the low likelihood of any being real at all. In all his interest to find out if the Inteyvat is even real, his hand descends with the goal to touch it gently— he knows that even if it will never wither so long as it doesn't return to Teyvat, it's still a flower. A delicate and fragile thing. Until the man's voice stops him. ◜...◞

Solemn as he always showed himself since the first moment they met, his ruby irises glow with a threatening and dangerous aura, but he doesn't act upon it. Nevertheless, he does as the other demands of him and retreats his hand. Why does it feel like this flower is precious to the man when he doesn't have any other belongings other than his sword?

◜Tell me. What do you know about this flower?◞ Dáinsleif seats back on his legs to put somehow more distance betwixt him and the Inteyvat, glacial sapphires peering at the man with undivided attention. Whatever it is this man will answer, it will help him rule out countless of options he has contemplated with utmost care.

Unlike the first time he followed him, the blonde didn't stop to check that he's behind him nary a moment. This is the result of their earnest talk from the previous night alongside a declaration of intentions made clear. Nameless found this better than wasting time in something entirely different he could do and, just as the blonde's trust in not looking back suggests, neither unnamed stopped following him.

When the fellow swordsman found a facility to explore, he busied himself in its vicinities with scavenging food for themselves. It is not like unnamed needs it to survive, but more of a habit that never ceases to die just as he never will to this lament. Besides, the blonde can use some food too as they haven't eaten anything last night.

By the time he's in sight again and nameless has already caught the prey, sanguine eyes notice the gauze roll in the man's hand. Hmph. Even after telling him that it is unecessary, that his body has regenerative properties beyond that of a normal human being, he still bothered himself to find something that will be useful to him when he won't accept his healing methods. A true loss of time, yet an act of kindness that nameless appreciates all the same.

Unnamed follows the blonde into a cave that happens to have an underground river that was not frozen by the inclement weather of this world, perfect to clean the meat in preparation before they get to roast it by the newly created fireplace, but also for other reasons such as drinking, cleaning his own wounds prior to dress them with the bandages the blonde has found or bathing.

He lets the deer somewhere nearby the fire to take care of later and then he undresses himself in order to clean his wounds and dress them. If the blonde took his time to search for something useful, then might as well make use of it. It's the least he can do in gratitude for his kindness. Nameless discards the coat and puts the flower carefully atop, mindful to not disturb its serenity. By the time he turns to go to the river, he notices a patch of brilliant water glowing with the same colour that characterises the blonde's power and for a moment, he wonders about his powers' properties.

Unlike what the blonde man must've thought of him, nameless is quick and swift on his hands to clean and tend his wounds before joining him by the bonfire, until he felt his heart drop. It was the man kneeling by his coat, close to touching the flower that makes his pace faster. "Don't." He warns immediately to make him stop. "Don't touch it." Were it not for the fact that a certain trust has settled between them, unnamed would've been fast in threatening him with the sword. And even if this would warrant him doing just that, he doesn't.

Don't make me do it.

[reginrokkr]

Lunarescent seraph is first to awaken when morning breaks. Rest was necessary in order to continue the exploration of this world— even if he may not be human, thus his stamina and needs are above one, he can feel mental and physical exhaustion too. Twilight stretches himself as he sits, silent as he is yet content by the sigh he releases thereafter before he stands. Both fireplaces are long extinguished and the obsidian-haired still sleeps.

Truth be said, he could leave right now if he so desired— frankly speaking, there is nothing that unites them both other than the benefit he draws from their nearby proximity. Yet there is something hard to put into words that draws Dáinsleif to him, something that warns him to stay. So he does. Within his quiescent meditation he catches a glimpse of the man's weeping in his slumber, causing icy sapphires to narrow.

Rather than staying there he decides to leave and check the entrance until he wakes. From what little he knows of the man, pride is one of the few things he must have. So even if it would be unbeknownst of him, there is kindness in keeping it intact by feigning ignorance of his tears.

Not long after Dáinsleif sees for himself that the merciless blizzard has long subsided, he notices the man's presence beside him. Sapphire meets ruby, thus does the luminary nod a silent let's go.

Unlike the previous day, his exploration seems to bear its fruits when he finds remnants of a military facility long abandoned, a clear indicator of human activity beyond the silent swordsman's alone. He peeks back to where the man should be and sees him scavenge for food by approaching stealthily a lonesome deer. Meanwhile, in Twilight's search he finds medical supplies he's mindful to save for the obsidian-haired warrior for later and a few tools more they might find useful.

When he is done with the facility's exploration, stellar gaze seeks rubies once more to show him a gauze roll meant for him before introducing it into a bag.

By the end of the day, a new cave is found with a novelty they haven't encountered in the prior one: an underground river. Dáinsleif places the bag of medical supplies near the nearly made fireplace, this time a bit bigger so they can roast the meat once it's prepared for consumption, and heads towards the river. One of the gloves is removed in order to dip the hand in the water. Albescent lashes flutter close in concentration to infuse a part of the water with aetherial aura to purify it and enable it for their utilization without concerns about possible impurities that may affect them negatively.

Once he deems it is sufficient as it is, Dáinsleif returns to the bonfire in time to see that the man took what he needed in order to treat his wounds in voluntary confinement, leaving the coat he wears behind and... a flower. Celestial blues widen at the sight of that flower— an Inteyvat, which prompts him to kneel beside it for a better inspection.

He cannot just be seeing things... right?

Sanguine gaze follows the blonde's movements in silent wonder of what he pretends to do. Outside is still snowing ferociously, which makes it hard to tread safely unless he has a plan. Highly unlikely. Not even nameless with the disregard for life he has would venture under these harsh climate conditions. He has to pause and wonder if the man intends to continue his way within the cave, risking at the same time reaching a dead end from which he can't get away other than coming back from where he came.

Unnamed is about to stand up as soon as darkness encroached the man's graceful figure until he spotted a new fireplace at a safe distance he calculated earlier. He paid attention. The swordsman relaxes against the wall with a sigh that's released through his nose. For how little he knows the man beyond what his presence alone does to him, he's a very noble one— to the point of respecting his wish without questioning. He could leave if he so wished, ignore that the reason why he follows him is for his benefit and out of curiosity of what exactly this man is to exude such interesting yet soothing aura that wrestles the mercilessness of a cruel curse. But he doesn't.

What a kind man he is. Both what he exudes and what he shows to be.

Ere long unnamed falls asleep to the gentle crackling sound of the fireplace before him and its calming effect as if the man were right there by his side. Unlike the horror, fear and remorse he oft times feels in his dreams, this time he dreams of dexterous hands capable to creating an elegant lion out of scrap metal. Of detailed mind enough to craft weapons. In that dream, he hands a shard sword to a man whose face is veiled in light thus he cannot see his features nor eyes. But he can hear his voice as he swings the sword and tries it out, both slicing the air and against a dummy. In that dream, albeit he can hear his voice, he cannot make out what he says— but whatever it is, it causes warmth to spring in his chest and to shed tears out of happiness for receiving his approval.

Come morning nameless wakes, a tear cascading down his face to the sheathed weapon he embraced— the same sword he crafted in his dream. The fireplace has extinguished long enough to not see even a spark of sapphire, he notices as he wipes away the remnants of his tears. His gaze turns to where he last remembers seeing the blonde settling, he's not there. Urgency arises within him to go find him, he must be still nearby if he can feel his aura— so his eyes wander towards the entrance instinctively as he prepares to stand up and... there he is.

Guarding the entrance and facing the light of a new day. Could it be... that he's been waiting for him? Guarding his sleep until he awakened? Solemn eyes soften thus as he stands at long last and walks to him. He pauses next to him and exchanges a gaze with him wordlessly, a silent way to prompt him to continue as gratitude wells in his chest.

[reginrokkr]

Long ago Dáinsleif has learned to question that which is not of his interest or affects him directly. Punished to see history unfold his eyes in the ebb and flow of time so the mistakes of the past aren't repeated in a distant future as a mere bystander, a ghost to a world where he should be no longer. Perhaps that is the reason why he doesn't bother to question the obsidian-haired's claim that it's for his sake that he must keep his distance for him.

Part of him wants to protest, to say that he has endured enough to know how to protect himself without another's intervention. Now more than ever that he became that which has been stripped from him, enlightement achieved when it was denied to him. Still, he doesn't utter a word on the matter. Be it far from him to take away a man's decision. He knows better than that— he was forced to a very long time ago.

One last glance is thrown the man before he, too, acts upon his decision. Twilight isn't beyond the sentiment of doing something one last desires when his life was punctuated with that hardship at every corner of that long road that reached to its end.

May you whose mind is a battlefield betwixt what you desire and yourself as the one and only thing that self-sabotages yourself find courage to give strength to the former.

Albescent lashes flutter close as the lunarescent seraph rouses on his feet to venture farther into the cave at the same distance the black-haired warrior maintained until they arrived to this refuge. A sapphire flame is lit in his position so the other may not lose sight of him, should he wish to check where he is at a glance and so he remains there as the chosen place to fall asleep. He will need as much energy as he can recover for the long road ahead once the blizzard comes to an end.

Unammed doesn't blame the blonde for wondering why he would insist in lingering in his presence while from afar if it does good to him. Before he falls into silent consideration to formulate an answer without giving away more than he needs to know, he can't help but give importance to the kindness the other shows just by wondering that alone. He rejected him once. Twice. He followed him wordlessly and even yet, he would still wonder about his methods to benefit somehow from this when he benefitted from naught.

At least not directly, for that is precisely why nameless opted to keep distance from him. To protect him— from himself.

"For your sake." He mumbles under his breath, sanguine eyes diverting to the sapphire flame that keeps them warm. He still wonders why it is blue and what it exactly does— it seems that providing warmth might not be the only trait it has. "Me being with you puts you in an unsafe situation. You needn't know more." Assertive his last words are, yet in sooth they are something more of a plea and silent prayer that the blonde doesn't ask more. The less he knows, the better.

There is resignation woven with every strained movement he does, careful to act as if he isn't there while being the exact opposite all the same. All so mara won't strike him in the most undesired of moments with naught he can do to hold it back. The man doesn't deserve that— no one truly does, lest they get in his way. To the blonde's luck, it isn't his case.