The damaged starskiff awkwardly jerks its way into the Luofu's harbor.
There is silence among those on board, broken only occasionally by the captain's commands and the hushed whispers of soldiers exchanging information. In reality, no one has ordered them to keep quiet - it comes on its own, born from some kind of mutual agreement after a few glances thrown his way, some awkward, others sympathetic. It's as though no one wants to disturb the ghosts that inevitably travel alongside him.
He does not notice anything. Doesn't notice the silence born of his presence. Doesn't notice when someone covers his shoulders with a blanket. Doesn't notice when one of the soldiers attempts to offer him water.
His extinguished eyes remain fixed on the floor, looking but not seeing; his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond.
Still in that fire, where he lost grasp of Caelus' hand.
Still in that explosion, which was the last he saw of March and Himeko.
Still back there, among the broken Astral Express cars now strewn around that place like any other cosmic trash.
Some would say it's for the better that he doesn't register the whispers around him, as the soldiers confirm to one another that he is the sole survivor.
Unfortunately, he already knows that.
I should have died alongside them.
He doesn't register the world around him properly, his mind remaining in a haze. He says nothing as he's led off the starskiff and onto solid ground by hand. Says nothing when he is taken into a decorative room at the Alchemy Commission, so that he may quietly rest and prepare for his newfound duties that await. Says nothing when an attendant carefully drapes the long, white robes of a High Elder over his shoulders. Says nothing when another servant silently brushes his long hair into a style that Luofu had not seen in over seven hundred years.
The disguise maintained for years now lies abandoned and forgotten, having failed in its purpose; the still bloodied and torn coat that served him faithfully among the stars now hidden in a closet in another room, out of his sight.
He doesn't realize that days pass. He sits still, waiting time away, because it doesn't matter anymore. Were it not for one of the Preceptors sitting with him and patiently ensuring he eats at least some of the food served to him, he may have withered and starved by now.
Updates are brought to him nonetheless. A conflict here, a battle there, intelligence, lost communications, stirring of something big out in the cosmos. His exhausted mind registers them, acknowledges with weak nods, some last part of him aware that he should save that information for later - but it refuses to process anything right now. Whispers emerge behind his back that he does not hear or care to, alongside voices in his defense: Give him some more time, he's grieving. He will come around in our time of need.
He knows nothing of them - until the day comes when he is left with no choice. For, even though time has lost meaning to him, for those around him, it is mercilessly and inevitably running out.
The day comes when an attendant comes in and announces quietly, unsure, as though apologizing for disturbing him:
"Master Dan Heng... Lady Jingliu is here to see you."
He stirs, looking up at the attendant. Lady Jingliu? His reaction is, evidently, seen as satisfactory, and the man leaves to fetch her.
He's left alone for a moment longer, and only then does his mind begin to stir from stasis, slowly and heavily picking up pieces lost among the dust and fire and putting them back together into something that resembles reality.
I've been here for a while now... But at no point did Jing Yuan come to see me. No visit from Bailu, either... Lady Jingliu... had she not been arrested?...
Just what is... going on?...
There may only be one person he can ask, now. As the silhouette comes into view, Dan Heng sluggishly raises his tired eyes to meet someone for the first time since that day.
