it's the fact that whenever Robin talks about Ramy's death, que uses "the world broke" even in page 88, when we had no idea this would happen, he speaks of it as "the world broke in half". his friend didn't just die, no, the world broke. im heartbroken
Pairing: Rin/Nezha | Hurt/Comfort | The Dragon Republic | 2630 words | Read on AO3
Summary: Rin wakes up shaking in her bed on the Seagrim, reeling from the horrors of the Third Poppy war without opium to dull the pain.
She find comfort in an unlikely source: Nezha.
The feeling of a thousand knives twisting into her skull dragged Rin from fitful sleep to painful consciousness. She writhed and tossed on the bed of her cabin on the Seagrim, past the point of desperation, aching from the little cracks in her soul for relief. Arrow-sharp nettles burrowed under her skin in near heart-stopping stitches of agony. The blankets on her, under her, felt like a smothering bank of snow, a sensation that reminded her of being under the Stone Mountain with Altan.
Altan.
The thought of him heralded a fresh wave of hurt that wracked through her body. This time, she lurched so hard she ended up on the floor, snarled in her sheets. The jolt the hard ground sent up her tailbone was nothing compared to the melee in her skull, and she could have cried in relief for the momentary distraction. Maybe she should do that again. Maybe if she could just find a knife, she could cut herself, and-
A gust of air blew into the room from the doorway. Rin scrambled to her knees, head screaming, muscles trembling, hands clenched and raised to fend off the attacker. She didn't even look before pummeling the shadowed figure weakly with her fists. The blows glanced off him like water on a duck. She scrambled backwards, but he was too fast; titillating panic slammed into her as he got closer and closer. She opened her mouth to scream, but he caught her wrists in his hands and knelt down in front of her. She would have shoved her elbow into his face if it wasn't for his surprisingly gentle hold; more contingence than a solid wristlock. Her vision was blurry, but that porcelain skin and raven-black hair could only belong to one person. Only one person who looked so young, anyway.
"It's me," said Nezha, looking at her imploringly. Why was he looking at her like that? "I heard screaming, so I came to check."
She didn't know she'd been screaming.
The fight drained from her as quickly as it came, replaced by a swooping feeling of dizziness, and Rin pitched forward. Fortunately, her head met with Nezha's chest instead the floor, and he let her fall there; let her brace herself against him as though she was a child. She tried to pull away, but the second she righted herself, her vision swum with whorls of perfervid, garish colours, and she had to slump forward once more. She felt his fingers ease away from her wrists and his hands move to her back, rubbing soothing circles as he murmured nonsense words of comfort.
She had once heard Auntie Fang do the same for Kesegi when he was a baby, after he'd twisted his ankle stepping into one of the many potholes in the dirt path that crossed their house. But never for Rin, despite the many bruises and sprains and scrapes she'd acquired over the years. She had always been the war orphan no one wanted. The inkblot on parchment everyone just wanted to erase. Tears pricked at her eyes and she felt the sudden and irrational urge to sob, despite never before being affected by her foster parents' lack of empathy.
Pathetic fool, laughed the Phoenix. Look at you . Look at you.
She blinked furiously; trying her best to force the god from her mind, but he continued to linger at its shadowy corners, along with the guilt, and the resentment and the overwhelming fear. Mocking her, taunting her, daring her to fall into those recesses.
No. She couldn't. She could not succumb to him anymore.
Nezha pulled her head gently away from his shoulder, brushing the hair out of her eyes with his thumb, and looked over her face, his brows furrowing with concern. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from spilling.
"You need air," he decided.
She protested half-heartedly, murmuring something along the lines of "leave me alone," but Nezha either didn't notice or didn't care. He got to his feet and before she could blink, scooped her up in his arms like she weighed nothing more than a rag doll, and walked out of her room; onto the deck of the ship. The rhythmic motions of step somewhat dulled the storm in her head, and the heady citrus-smoke scent of Nezha enveloped her, pushing the Phoenix further and further away from the forefront of her thoughts.
The door that separated the upper deck of the Seagrim and its belowdecks swung forward, and suddenly, Rin felt alive again. Being out in the open tasted like that first breath of oxygen after nearly drowning. The air skimmed lightly over her skin like a kiss before rushing into her lungs; cold and fresh. She gulped it down eagerly: she had never been too fond of the salty sea air, but right now, it was the best thing she'd ever felt.
Nezha set her down by the prow, and Rin teetered on unsteady legs before grabbing onto the wooden guardrail for support. He leaned next to her casually, arms crossed, but there was a tense set to his shoulders and mouth that spoke of concern, or distress.
"Stop worrying about me," muttered Rin, even as the throbbing in her head resumed. "I'll be fine."
Nezha ignored her. "Don't close your eyes," he said quietly. "It will only make it worse."
He was right. Her eyelids had been fluttering closed, forcing her to look at the tableau vivant of death her vengeful god wanted her to see - but she couldn't look, or else she'd throw herself off the ship right now before she could slit Su Daji's throat. She wrenched her eyes open and cast around for something to look at. She settled on the inky blotch that was the night sky; dappled with the flickers of the light of a thousand stars. The air was pleasant - but the silence was oppressive.
"Talk to me," she said desperately, too far gone for pride. "Please."
"And I thought you couldn't get me to shut up fast enough," he chuckled.
"Nezha."
"Okay, okay." He paused, and following her gaze, stared up at the sky. "Do you know about the constellations?"
"Sure," Rin said. Even through the haze of withdrawal, the passage from her books for the keju floated into her mind. "A constellation is a group of stars that appear to form a shape or picture. They are easily recognizable patterns that helped ancient Nikara orient themselves, and-"
"No no," he interrupted. "I mean their names. The stories behind them."
The people in Tikany were a people of the earth. They didn't often look up at the sky except to send paper lanterns floating up on new year's day - and when they told stories, theirs were about the ground, and the trees, and the animals. Rin shook her head.
"Okay," he said. If he was surprised, he didn't let it show. "I'll tell you about my favorite one. He pointed upwards. "Look to the north. You see the brightest star?"
"Yes," she said tersely, twisting her fingers into each other, trying in vain to create some friction. It was too cold. She felt so terribly cold inside.
He must have seen her shivering, for she felt an arm snake behind her and drape warmly around her shoulders. Despite herself, she found herself leaning into his touch.
"That's Zhinu," he explained. "The weaver goddess. She was beautiful. Choppy black hair, skin as dark as the night, skilled with a sword, and she had a mean temper that-"
She jabbed his side. "You're making that shit up."
"I am," he grinned, looking utterly unapologetic. "Zhinu was sweet as honey; she never said an unkind word to anyone. She was also the youngest daughter of the emperor, and they say she was so delicate and so adept at her craft that she wove her father clothes made of the clouds and the wind.
"Once, she came down from the heavens to bathe, and the cowherd, Niulang-" Nezha shot her a mischievous sidelong glance- "thought she was so incredibly hot that he fell in love with her at once."
Rin made a face. "Don't be disgusting."
"I'm not," he protested, almost laughing. "That's how the story goes."
He looked at the disgruntled look on her face and finally did laugh. Her cheeks burned but soon enough, she found herself laughing with him. His arm curled around her and drew her closer still to him.
"Anyway," he continued, sobering up. "She finished bathing; they met, they talked, and realized they were both in love with each other. They got married the same day, amid the green grass and rolling hills of the land."
She settled into the story, letting the words wash over her like a soothing wave; conjuring up a picture in her mind; a green landscape she'd only seen in particularly optimistic dreams. An idyllic portrait of a crystal lake surrounded by agrestal grass, the plain drenched in moonlight - the buzz of cicadas crescendoing as the evening wore on - two silhouettes, one of the air and one of the earth, embracing like long-time lovers. It didn't take long to lose herself in the lovely world he painted. It was wonderful to escape the dreary, bloody gray of their own lives - even for just a little while. Plus, i f she focused hard enough on the melodic lilt of Nezha's voice, she could just about drown out the Phoenix's taunting screams tearing at her mind.
"They were happy," he said, and there was a note of wistfulness in his voice. If Rin was sober, she might have wanted to know why, but it hurt too much to think about two things at the same time. "Niulang had a farm, and he built them a little house by the lake where Zhinu could weave to her heart's content and where in time, they welcomed two children, a girl and a boy. She was so happy in the mortal world with Niulang that her father and her sisters and her old life in the clouds soon became nothing but distant memories." Nezha paused. "But it couldn't last."
Rin couldn't help but shiver. It seemed obvious now, that the stories would mimic real life. Happiness could not last. The thought should have comforted her, plagued as she was by the notion that her purpose as a soldier would one day become obsolete - but all she felt was an odd sort of emptiness.
"The emperor found out about Zhinu and Niulang's relationship," continued Nezha. "He was filled with anger that a common cowherd had taken his daughter away from him. He summoned the Divine Mother of the West''-he pointed at a constellation that looked like an undulating snake- "and ordered her to kidnap Zhinu and bring her back home. So one day, when Niulang was out in the fields and their children were playing outside, the Divine Mother appeared in Zhinu's house, whisked her back to the heavens, and imprisoned her there.
"When Niulang found out, he was heartbroken. Faster than it should have been humanly possible, he built a boat that would take him and the children up to the heavens with his wife - but just as he was about to be reunited with her, the Divine Mother created a great river that rushed between them, keeping them apart forever."
The red hot needles of pain in her skull had faded to a dull throb at some point in his story. Nezha looked sad, as if the events he had just narrated were happening to him and not two imaginary characters. She wondered distractedly if he had ever loved anyone. If there was some pale, lovely girl waiting for him when the Seagrim docked in the Dragon Province. She hated the thought instantly, and pushed it from her mind lest the Phoenix gain more ammunition with which to torture her.
"Is that all?" She asked, reluctant to let the tale end.
"No," he said, with a small smile that pulled at her heart. A little more of the block of agony in her mind melted. "Their love ran so deeply that it would tear at the fabric of the universe if they were kept apart. Finally, the Divine Mother relented. Every year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, she allowed a flock of magpies to fly over the Great River, making a bridge for Zhinu, Niulang, and their children to cross and spend the day together." She felt lips brush the top of her head, taking her by surprise. "And that is the story of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl."
She toyed with the tale in her mind, analyzed it from every angle. "What does it mean?" She asked finally.
"Hmm?"
"Stories are supposed to teach you something, right? A lesson, a moral?"
Nezha exhaled a laugh. "Not always," he said. "Sometimes stories are just stories."
"But what's the point?" She pressed.
He considered her question for a moment. "I've never really thought about it," he said. "I suppose- I suppose it's to say that some things are meant to be - like Zhinu and Niulang's love. The universe conspired to keep them apart, but despite, they found each other."
A sarcastic retort flew to the tip of her tongue but she bit it back. He sounded so terribly sincere that she couldn't help but fall for it. Would it be so bad to believe in something so beautiful as that? Wasn't that why soldiers fought wars - for love? Who did she love? Who did she fight for?
She fought for Kitay. She fought for Altan. She fought for the memory of Tyr. Somewhere in her heart - maybe she fought for Nezha too.
"You should get some sleep," murmured Rin, suddenly realizing how late it must have gotten.
"You first," he said. "Can you walk back to your room?"
"I could have walked the first time," she muttered.
"Like hell," he scoffed, and moved to ruffle her hair. She ducked away from his hand and punched his stomach. He groaned in mock agony and cracked a wide smile. "There's my Rin."
"Shut up, Nezha."
Despite her protests, he walked her back to her room, and sat down cross-legged on the floor while Rin crawled back into bed. Settled on the cot, she turned to her side, head propped up on her hand, and watched the shadows from the single round window dance across his face. The silence swelled, and she felt compelled to say something.
"Thank you," she blurted.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Sleep," he said.
"I will," she promised, already feeling tendrils of sleep unfurling to claim her. For the first time in a while, they were not undercut by the saccharine, toxic scent of the poppy drug, but instead by the scent of the salty sea and of Nezha. She liked the latter much better. "You should too."
He rose to his knees and twined his fingers in hers briefly. Perhaps he thought that the still of the night was the best place to do what he did next; when either of them could pretend it was a dream, or some other withdrawal-induced hallucination.
He kissed her.
People around Rin always spoke about kisses as if they were extraordinary things, but she had always scoffed at the notion that a brush of lips could be anything more than just a sensation. She had never understood why they said something so simple could cause hearts to flutter or pulses to quicken; how something so simple could feel like an adrenaline rush and the softest caress at the same time. She had one thought before she drifted into unconsciousness.
no but the cike is so underratred and for what??? Especially Baji, Suni and Ramsa and I wanted more of their content. Their dynamic was just something so personal to me. Suni was the nicest fucking person in the series, Baji was a menace ands Ramsa was only just a child. And I just hate how they died, hate how they’re barely mentioned in the last book. Can you imagine Baji and Suni waiting for Rin, only she never came. The soldiers came instead. Can you imagine Ramsa realizing his family is gone, he’s lost them for the second time but he can still save Rin. I just-
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