Chapter Text
His dreams are quiet, these days.
Quiet in the form of a repetitive calm, a soothing serenity about the waves that seeps into his mind and quells the buzzing of mara within his being. The scent of salt replaces that of the metallic scent of crimson, the harsh reflection of tarnished, bloodstained waves dampened with the gentle shimmer of the surface of water.
It is a peace that has not been granted so easily, with Kafka's Spirit Whisper the next closest reprieve, yet it was one that stole his autonomy and dulled the senses and his own idea of self.
As Blade, as the one who was once Yingxing stands by the shore of the beach, he can feel the grains of sand between his bare feet, and the playful splash of seafoam against his skin. Wading deeper into its embrace grants him a soothing relief, one that laps at his skin, as he stares up at the devoured star in the sky, hollowed out by a force that existed beyond his knowledge, yet the light of what once stood still lingered.
Here, there is no burning, simmering heat of mara, trying to dig its way into his psyche and press in on what remains of his sanity, only a calm, soothing peace.
Something is poking his leg when he rouses from the sweet dream he was in.
"Hey, it's time to wake up!"
Opening his eyes, he stares at Silverwolf, who had used the end of a broomstick to prod at his leg, and now looked at him with one hand playing on her phone.
"You've been sleeping like the dead for the past fifteen hours. Kafka told me to wake you up for the mission briefing."
Blade pulls himself up, peeling the blanket away from his being as he nods. "...I'm up. I'll be there soon."
His head is light, his mind clear, and the mara within him is…still.
Silverwolf sets the broom back by the edge of his bedroom door. "You sure you're alright? I've never seen you sleep this long ever since we first met. I don't want to have to deal with some delayed poison in your system like last time again," She spares him a glance from her game, as he nods.
"I'm certain I'm fine. If any poison like that strikes me again, it's best to simply kill me and get my body to purge it upon death." That was the fastest way.
His response causes his fellow Stellaron Hunter to roll her eyes. "Look, as much as you want to die, dealing with it is pretty unpleasant on our end. The meeting starts in ten minutes."
He merely nods, as he gets off his bed and gets ready for the day.
The meeting is rather dull, going over the plan for Penacony, and he was glad to not be part of it since it was a place where he would not do well with his condition.
He merely listens to how Firefly would have to be the main Hunter to take the stage, supported by Silverwolf, while he and Kafka were free to roam about and do whatever they wished. If only he had that free time then, he could have spent it sparring against the ginger, the one and only known pathstrider of Voracity.
Perhaps they could have had more time to talk, despite how much Kafka was wary of his presence and his existence as a whole.
"Hm, I was wondering if Elio's script would reflect the changes brought about by that individual named Childe, but it appears not. How intriguing," Kafka's comment catches his attention, as she continues scrolling through her phone and glancing at the script.
Silverwolf pours herself another glass of soda. "Speaking of, what was with him anyways? Our prior script never said anything about his appearance, and neither does Penacony's script, or…well the one with the universe ending disaster coming right after."
"He is one of the few…anomalies that lie outside of the script." Kafka concludes, as Blade's gaze flickers over to hers. "Effectively, we should not make contact with such anomalies, lest the script spiral out of control and out of our hands. A new script has to be written in its place, but only retroactively. Elio has warned us to avoid beings such as those, for those who tread the path of Voracity may distort even fate itself."
Kafka hums, as she gazes back at Blade.
"Having encountered him on the Luofu, you'll inform us if there's any changes to you, right Bladie?"
The sand is warm, but nothing like the poisonous heat of the mara within him.
Laying down on the beach, he reaches out for those countless stars in the sky. Long had they been devoured, worlds and planets consumed and lost to the world beyond. Yet a fragment of their existence hangs here now, its light scattered across the waves, as the sound of waves lulls him into a meditative calm.
Sometimes he thinks of Dan Feng, of those painful memories and a past that pieces itself together in his mind far more smoothly than it should. The mara would not disturb him here, for it could not. To recollect and reminisce was an option here, as much as he disliked doing so in the first place.
Here, Yingxing could exist, made whole by the will of someone who so readily offered to devour him whole, and in his entirety existed his past self, and what he was now.
Reaching out with a hand marred by scars, he picks up a fistful of sand, feeling it seep into the cracks between his fingers, its smooth gentle texture running across his skin.
A shadow gently casts itself on him, as he looks up at vibrant abyssal eyes that gaze back at him.
"...Enjoying yourself?" Childe hums, as he steps over to his side, and settles down on the shore next to him. Blade sits up, turning to face the companion who had newly joined by his side.
"This place exists beyond my limited imagination." Is the answer he gives, surprised at the appearance of the one who had granted him this peace.
Childe chuckles, "I'm pretty sure that you have seen more than I have in my lifetime. I doubt your imagination is that limited either." The ginger had begun to gather sand into a pile with his bare hands, as crimson eyes watched his actions with a quiet curiosity. "...You didn't have to die this time to access this place, did you?"
Blade shakes his head. "I merely fell asleep this time around. I presume you still have yet to figure out how this space works?" It is a connection between the two of them, one that transcends the stars and the universe itself.
"Nope. My phone doesn't work at communications still, and I doubt that the Abacus Jade piece that Jing Yuan gave me would work either. But I am glad to have your company here, especially when you don't need to be dead to access this place." The ginger reaches a hand out to the sea, as strands of water return to his palm.
This connection, as fragile as it was, was still better than nothing.
"Has anything interesting gone on in your end? Last I heard, the Express was off on some Luminary Wardance event, but for the Stellaron Hunters…"
"A few simple missions here and there. Gathering information, lining up pieces, the usual. As long as Kafka instructs me on what I have to do, then it shall be done." His gaze rests on the ginger, whose hair glints in the starlight, violet blue eyes focussed on his miniature project before him.
"Well, they must have been going well if you haven't died the past few times. That's a relief, and something to be happy with." Childe builds forth the foundations of a sandcastle.
"How about you?" Blade finds himself asking, even though he would never ask for the well-being of another, apart from perhaps the Stellaron Hunters if they had been hurt. Childe had earned that much, for always asking him how he was doing.
"I recently killed some sea monster on my way to Natlan. Turns out that I had to be brought to a nation I got banned from to address that matter," Childe says with a huff. "It wasn't like I wanted to head there, but man, that place gives me an incredible amount of mixed feelings when I think about it. Almost like a place with many regrets that I left behind, and don't want to confront."
The seawater slips from his fingers and onto the sand, solidifying it into a more pliant and workable material. Blade watches as deft fingers press against sand, shaping it into the walls of a house. He looks at Childe, at the way ginger hair grazes against skin, as he finds himself leaning in closer.
"And did you confront those regrets?" He wonders what kind of regrets someone like Childe would have. Was he more human than him? Certainly so. The ginger retained his humanity, to even feel that regret so much that it ached within his chest when he thought of a place.
Whilst he could feel nothing but a cold, hollow desire to deliver punishment to those who had driven him to this state.
Childe graces him with a grin. "Of course I did. It would have nagged at me for the rest of my life if I didn't." At least one of them had been able to find some peace in their past. He looks away from the younger man, and turns his gaze out to sea.
"Good."
While he would never be able to return to the Xianzhou, the one place which could possibly offer him a solution to his current state, at least he knows that it is possible for someone like him to make their own peace.
A calloused hand taps against his own.
It is warm, filled with life, something that desired to live, unlike him.
Blade turns his head, meeting the warm gaze of the other, the one who had invited him into this domain.
"Have you tried building a sandcastle before?"
A strange way to change and deflect from the topic, but he has nothing else to do apart from relax within this space.
He shakes his head, as he shifts his position and faces the project that Childe had been working on. They had plenty of time here anyways, and if he was always present in this space each time he slept, he could easily return whenever he wanted to.
"...no. But if you should invite me to participate, then I shall not refuse."
Many things begin to remind him of Childe.
The sea, water, the stars in its endless reflective infinity, even the scent of sulfur.
Besides the dreams of that shore of stars, he finds himself calmer and more patient as of late. Even Kafka and Silverwolf had taken to pointing it out, and Elio had confirmed that it was a side effect of his encounter with the pathstrider of Voracity all those months back.
To think that being consumed by him would grant him such a significant relief from his mara struck fate…perhaps it had been a good thing they had clashed then.
He wonders how well the ginger is doing, and how long it would take for the promise to be fulfilled. After all, he had long since arrived at the conclusion that to be consumed by him, was to be given a peace unlike any other.
The fragment of him that Childe had consumed had dwelled within that domain, granted a slumbering peace, even if the stillness of the waves beyond beckoned an abyssal fate past the point of existence.
Besides even that, he finds that conversing with Childe is something that brings him…comfort. He does not know how, but to speak with someone who understands him, who has been in a similar position, even with how different their pasts were, it is soothing in its own way.
As he lays in his bed, waiting for the realm of sleep to come to him once more, he finds himself content and satiated.
"....Yingxing used to be a craftsman."
He finds himself sharing with Childe one day, as the two of them had strode over to a tidepool which had captured a pool of Starless Ether in its body.
"A craftsman? Woah! Did you make those robot things on the Luofu?"
"...He was more of a weaponsmith, but I do recall that aurumatons were something he could construct." With the hands he had now, those were all but the feats of a bygone self, whilst now he was condemned to drawing forth his shattered blade and cleaving through his enemies.
"That's awesome, I wish I had that talent and skill! I would totally use them to make toys for my siblings," The ginger hums in response, his eyes catching onto Blade's movements.
Childe watches him stare at his hands, at how his thoughts and memories pull him away from the conversation temporarily.
"All of that now lies firmly in the past," He hears Blade elaborate. "With my hands as they are now, I can never come close to forging weapons, tools or anything."
His fingers are scarred, flesh marred by too many injuries that had accumulated over time. Even since the first instant he had returned in this state, after that fateful day gone wrong, he had already known that he would never be able to craft a tool or a weapon again.
As the other moves to return his hands to his side, it is Childe who reaches forth and gently cradles his hands.
Blade blinks.
"Even if your hands can no longer craft such things, they are still capable of accomplishing feats just as worthy, if not even more so."
He is unused to such kind words.
"You've been dreaming about him, haven't you?" Kafka's question reaches him, as the two of them lean against the railing overlooking the neon lights of the city below.
Perhaps he should deny it. After all, she did not seem to approve of any contact with Childe.
Then again, there never was a point in trying to lie to her.
"I have."
How she found out of such a thing is irrelevant. Perhaps it had been written into her script, or this was Elio's way of advising him against such encounters.
Her coat rustles. "And you didn't think to inform any of us, hm?" She slips him a smile, something that does not bear the disappointment he expected, only a mirthful curiosity.
"Were you planning on keeping him all to yourself?" Kafka drums her fingers on the railing.
Blade is silent. Kafka takes it as a genuine contemplation of her query.
"-I"
"It was a joke, Bladie. Besides, I know about the promise the two of you have for each other. It paints the visage of a pair of star-crossed lovers, separated by the universe, only to be reunited at the end of finality."
They would meet again, of that he was certain.
"If it takes until the end of the world for us to meet again, then I can only wait until that moment arrives."
The waves are turbulent, the next time he dreams.
Something groans in the distance, as Blade finds himself watching a figure stand at a cliff's edge. The skies overhead are dark, its light swallowed by the abyssal sea just beneath. Beneath his feet, the sand and stone glow with what remained of the brilliance that had been captured a long time ago, as he traces the path up to the edge.
"Childe."
He calls out to the only other being who could exist in this space.
They turn their head back, and for a moment, even just an instant that he could only wish to chalk up to his imagination, he sees something else.
Still, it is Childe who responds to him.
"...It's you." He sounds different from how he usually was.
Blade studies him, the way a level of weariness had seeped into the other's being, mingling with something else less that was noticeably less like Childe, and more akin to something else that mirrored this space.
The eyes which gaze back at him are utterly devoid of light, as he approaches Childe still, even in the face of what would be danger.
"...You seem different, today." He tries to put it politely, as Childe merely lets out a laugh. It is dry, one that melds into a huff as the ginger takes a step forward. Blade can clearly tell that the other is in a different state compared to his usual, and yet he cannot help but be drawn into those eyes which seem to reflect nothing in them.
"You could say that I'm in a bad mood today." A bad mood? It was rare to see Childe so agitated. Whenever his own anger intertwined itself with the comings of an episode brought about by mara, his need for violence, something to satiate and burn through that mania, rose to the surface.
Perhaps it reflected itself here in the same way, as he withdraws his blade in this space.
"Will sparring take the edge off?" He proposes, and the way Childe's plastered facade crumbles away into a terse grin tells him that he has made the right offer.
After all, the two of them were still alike in this aspect.
"I like the way you think, comrade!"
Childe lunges at him, something caught between feral and voracious, as Blade defends.
At some point in their spar, Blade ends up being stabbed through the chest, At the same time, he too speared the Shard sword through Childe's own abdomen, as the immortal forces an arm between himself and the ginger pinning him down.
He had always expected the fight to become more violent, more brutal than it would have just been as a simple spar. At the very least, he'd been able to retain his limbs this time around, and even scored a few good hits on his opponent.
Behind the shattered mask of Childe's Foul Legacy form, Blade inhales the scent of salt, sweat and blood that had mingled together into a rich scent. The pain of his wounds is but a dull pleasure, in contrast to the desire that hid now behind Childe's gaze.
No longer was it hollow with a mindless starvation, but now Childe looked at him as if he were prey, something to be consumed, and to be enjoyed slowly. It is a tantalising sight, for Childe to look at him as if possessing, devouring him whole would be the only thing he needed to satiate himself and that accursed hunger for the rest of eternity.
It sends a rush though Blade, leaving his throat dry and his heart, whatever cursed organ that had granted him with that burden of life, to beat and throb with a furious, aching desire, as sweat pools from Childe's neck and onto his skin.
He wonders what it would be like to be desired and consumed whole.
He has always wondered what it would be like to be rendered into nothingness, yet to be equally worshipped by the one who promised to end his immortality.
So, as close as Childe's lips were pressed against his neck, he closes his eyes and lets him indulge.
However, Childe did not sink his teeth into the tender, pale flesh between his neck and collarbone.
Rather, the ginger had kissed him instead, something sweet and hungry, yet restrained enough to know that if he were to devour him then and there, there would be nothing left of him.
That is the realisation that Blade comes to when he wakes from the dream, his skin flushed, his body aching and yearning, and a mutual desire shared for a man he would never meet until the end of finality.