Crimson and Clover

No Paths Are Bound - Part 8

He looks down at his feet and sees not a shadow of what's wrapped around his ankle. It's the same ankle he had the shackle on, and now the skin where it was is burning.

"Get off me," he demands through gritted teeth, but the presence around him only grows more potent. The power he holds within rises to the surface, threatening to escape his grasp.

He lets it.

All he can do is direct it towards the heart of the volcano and shield San Lang's statue from its effects. The ground creaks, then shatters and turns to dust that falls around him like ashen rain. Something comes loose in him, a pressure he only noticed now, and its absence makes it easier to breathe.

The mountain lets go. It remains close to him, but he sees nothing when he turns around to face the abyss.

"Give me something," it purrs into his ear from the inside. "Give me something and I'll make you unstoppable. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

He knows better than to believe he's invincible, just like he holds no expectations he'll save everyone. But if his decision allows him to protect a few, if it helps him ensure he'll be able to defend the man he loves if circumstances call for it, then it will be worth it.

Xie Lian takes a step. Then another and the next, each one of them slower. The air grows hot, then scorching and unbearable, and his last steps lead into a fiery haze. His clothes are long gone, and so is his physical form.

It doesn't deter him.

"What do you want from me?"

Another caress grazes his formless cheek, and it's hotter than the inferno around him. "Whatever you wish to give me."

Xie Lian is an old, forgotten god of broken things and one man whose love for him is boundless. Misfortune shadows his steps and entropy clings to his fingers; time has showed him he can't shake off either. But he's more than just the sum of his failures and the memories of the long-forgotten glory, and more he still wants—needs—to be.

Happiness has taught him anew what it means to want, and he wraps that desire around himself like a shield against the spirit of the mountain.

"Take my pain," he tells it and lets himself burn.

He's five when he breaks his hand because of a combination of poor decisions and a momentary lapse in his tutor's attention. He's a prince, a fawned-over golden child who's only ever known luxury, and as such he bawls his eyes out. His cries carry on long after the medic sets the bones and leaves while mother remains by his bedside, running a hand through his hair and babbling comforting nonsense he can't recall a word of.

He never sees that tutor again.

He's fourteen when Guoshi makes him fight three martial brothers a few years older and much more experienced than him. Neither of them uses actual swords during this duel, but the training poles are enough to beat him purple. He doesn't remember what slight made Guoshi put him through this, but he apologises nonetheless.

He utters no cry neither that day nor any day that followed, and only gnaws on a piece of willow bark at nights. He's never defeated in a sword fight again.

He's seventeen when time stops for him. It happens through fire and tribulation, through words spoken from the depths of the heart that hardly knows life. It's the epitome of his life, the goal ultimate finally achieved, and the start of the inevitable downfall he doesn't see coming. And when his world falls to pieces, he does so with it, and loses what's left of him while trying to pick it up again. He learns what failure tastes like and feels its thorny grasp lodge itself in his heart. It shadows his steps and sours his thoughts. Soon, he caves under the weight of words that cut deeper that the sharpest sword.