Crimson and Clover

No Paths Are Bound - Part 8

There's no darkness inside the kiln, nor is there silence. Xie Lian realises he's been expecting both.

RuoYe unwound from his wrist the moment he jumped in. It must be with San Lang now, safe and away from whatever awaits here. Without it, Xie Lian feels naked. RuoYe has been with him for so long that he no longer remembers what it was like before it came to be. Maybe it's for the best that he's alone here. For all the blood and misery RuoYe spawned from, it would never be a match for the force running through the ground under Xie Lian's feet.

It was unbearable earlier; now, it weighs down on him with all the might of a world blessed with consciousness. It's under him and above, around and inside him, peeling off layers of his ghostly body with incomparable curiosity. Fingers graze his skin and slip into his hair. There's intent in them, and a goal he's yet to understand but must give in to if he's going to accomplish what he's come here for.

He's being dragged towards a hole in the ground, whence waves of scorching air rises. It's awash in light of all possible and impossible shades of orange and red. He's been resisting its call so far, but his resolve is dwindling, chipped away by fleshless fingers of a mind dwelling within this hell on Earth.

He circles the pit, wary of what it holds.

The ground is littered with old bones and piles of ashes. He steps around them as best as he can, but there's no avoiding the bloody stains that cover every surface. All of them carry whispers of devoured souls and minds perished in fights that took everything from them.

Xie Lian wonders if his husband spilled any of that blood.

The mountain tugs at his mind again, and again he resists it. The ground under his feet becomes smoother than it was, and he veers in that direction. A cavern lies ahead, higher than the eye can see, its edges that of jagged black rock glinting in the kiln's light.

Something stands in that cavern. A sculpture of a sort, clearly man-made with how clean and precise its shape is. He only sees its bottom edge.

"A child of mine did it." They're words without a sound and sounds without a mouth. They bypass his ears and ring from within. "My perfect creation. He who honed misery into a blade and shaped himself anew with it. A god who cast his godhood aside for love."

Xie Lian doesn't turn. He stands frozen in place, committing to memory whatever he can of the statue in front of him. Is it truly San Lang's creation? He never mentioned dabbled in sculpting.

"I've never had a god before him." The mountain's voice is the rumble of rocks falling, and the roar of an avalanche. It's the sound of the heart of the Earth, churning. "Will you give me as much as he did, I wonder."

And didn't San Lang tell him that Mount TongLu devoured its prey? That it took from them until there was nothing left to take? Xie Lian knew what he was getting into, but he still shies away from the presence filling the kiln until there's no space left for anything and anyone else.

He wraps his arms around himself and pretends they're his husband's. "What did he give you?"

An invisible hand grips his ankle and holds it in place. Another brushes over the nape of his neck. Parts of him melt and dissolve under its touch.

"What made him human. But he did keep his heart. It was already yours, even back then."

Aside from those few words they shared on the matter, San Lang doesn't speak about Mount TongLu. Perhaps he will one day, after all the battles have been won and the world has fallen silent. Xie Lian will have his own story to share by then, even if lacking the long years spent on the road of trials.