it wasn’t the first time that there had been evidence of ren’s presence at the high elder statue, and it wouldn’t be the last. long, long ago the statue was regalled, and in between the time of yubie’s death and dan feng’s hatching many left candlelit gifts of celebration and anticipation for their beloved high elder’s return. funny, then, that ren’s offerings were not always directed at either of them.
while it was true that he had left yingxing’s most beloved memories here, he had also left behind the brunt of his nightmares, the mara now tamed back into a manageable force, kafka’s spirit whisper becoming a soothing balm instead of the harsh defibrillator bringing him back from the throes of madness.
while his connection to dan heng remained tethered, much to the other’s chagrin, that frayed red string threatened to snap with each tension-filled, awkward encounter. here, he could yearn in peace, before another round of spirit whisper would temporarily erase dan feng, and consequently dan heng from his memory. elio once told him it was better to let go of these familiar things.
the remnants often consisted of a bottle of baiju, or a few well-crafted porcelain cups. but sometimes there were sketches, breathed into existence and left behind lest ren agitate the mara once he woke from a whisper. more often than not they had been the scratched out remnants of dan feng, or yingxing, or jingliu, faces struck out by angry strokes of lead. but lately they had been of baiheng, illustrated and depicted as only someone who truly loved her could. lately, they had been of a much younger jing yuan, mischievous and eyes so full of light. lately, they had been of the luofu sword master, before mara had twisted her into a vengeful ghost too. but this last one was recent, away from the quintet of over eight hundred years : a sketch of dan heng, surrounded by the pink loud one, and the trailblazer, pouring over a text they’d found on their last joint mission. yingxing’s photographic memory was precise, even wielded by ren’s fractured mind, remembering small details from the trailblazer’s injured leg, knee still bandaged, to the way all three had trekked dirt into the parlour, much to the little conductor’s distress. it was there, wedged between more sketches of mechabeasts and yingxing’s old designs, more half finished sketches of the quintet, of huaiyan, and zhuming - all things that ren wanted to forget, knowing they would come back to him eventually. the stack of paper was left behind under a piece of polished seaglass, spider lily petals scattered over the shrine.
The Vidyadhara came to Scalegorge Waterscape to be reborn. The process wasn't like the deaths of other species; where they died and decomposed to rejoin with the earth, the Vidyadhara became one with the sea. Upon reaching the end of their lifecycle, a Pearlkeeper would extract their heart that had crystallized and allow the body to dissolve into seafoam that would rejoin the waters of the Ancient Sea. From there, the newly generated egg would be planted in the Dragon Palace where it would incubate until the day of rebirth came, though it could sometimes take centuries.
The baying of seagulls wheeling in the long rays cast by the sunset created a golden hour that felt truly timeless. The statue of High Elder Yubie stood as a proud, distant silhouette against the backdrop of the endless sea, the waters long since lowered in the wake of Phantylia's defeat. The Ancient Sea scintillated in the golden rays of the sun, Dragonvista Rainhall cloaked in shadow and light but split by the sun. As Dan Heng approached, those thoughts of a distant rebirth in his mind, he halted.
A heavy familiarity bathed the air like incense, a haunting eeriness of a derelict building in the daytime. Dan Heng instinctively trod toward the statue's base where the drawer was located, a shot of chagrin coursing through him at the notion that Ren had been there and somehow broken the Cloudhymn seal to steal the artifacts. As he raced to the base and skidded to a halt, what he saw left him speechless.
Dan Heng genuflected before the makeshift shrine and inspected the bundle of sketches, at first reaching for them impulsively. Barely inches away, but he hesitated. The Nameless' fingers twitched as the intention to take them lingered, arm retreating to his side. Even without leafing through the bundle of hidden sketches, he could tell by the discoloration which ones were older. A morbid curiosity compelled him to take it, to sort through and drink in the contents, but the compulsion to stop was just a little stronger. He hadn't stopped when Ren had been modifying Yingxing's designs weeks ago, and maybe that's why he didn't. Because it was no longer a dream. Before, he'd been able to separate and savor the memory because Yingxing was supposed to be dead, a first love that was safe to love. But now... he wasn't dead. These sketches over seven hundred years apart were made by the same man, the same hand...
He supposed self-control could only take one so far.
Succumbing to the impulse, Dan Heng finally took the bundle of worn parchment and unfurled it, carding through the drawings with a growing tightness in his chest. It was undeniable who the artist was, for though the style differed across the years due to the disability in his hands, they were the same. It was like leafing through a film reel of the man's memories, of almost a millennium that spanned across time and space. A strange ineffable intimacy was present between viewer and artist that was undeniable, though Dan Heng's lips pursed at the realization. Part of him knew he should leave them behind, to let Ren have something to return to, and yet...
There was a selfish side to him that barely had much to call his own.
Within a lapel pocket of his overcoat, he divided the sheets and carefully folded them, the parchment durable enough that it wouldn't crumble after so long. Maybe he should feel guilt, and maybe Ren would be pissed if he noticed... but at that point, he didn't care. if he wished to storm the Express, so be it.
The clothes on his back, Cloud-Piercer, these sketches...
Maybe a little selfishness wouldn't be so bad for a change.
@tempestial