@forgotten-junior
When he pulls his eyes open, he's met with the low glow of a candle beginning to flicker out, the little light its providing eaten away by the shadows. His eyes are dry, sore even, as they struggle to focus. The wooden grain of the ceiling blurs as he blinks again and again, trying to get them to focus.
He sucks in a breath, a pull of warm, dry air into lungs that don't burn and find no relief in the action. Strange. Brows furrow as he exhales, the action a wheezing uncomfortable thing, like he has to force his body to complete such a simple task.
Like it had forgotten.
What should have been a breath to ease the ache of oxygen hungry lungs, simply sat in his chest, heavy and unmoving.
A frown tugs on his lips as his eyes finally begin to focus, the dark grain of the wood - of Lotus Pier, he'd recognize it anywhere - coming into focus. He could hear the familiar, soothing sounds of the lake, tumbling up onto the shore the shore. How had he gotten here ? Just what had happened on that nighthunt ? He was never going to hear the end of it from Lan Jingyi. He could practically hear the teasing sneer of 'young mistress' already.
Breathe. He reminded himself, lungs wheezing again as he blew out the breath that he had been holding for entirely too long to be normal. He took stock of himself, from the dryness of his eyes to the dull, distant throb of a headache to come, to the-
His golden core was gone. Where it once sat, warm and bright was nothing but chilled pit of nothingness. With a sharp inhale, Jin Ling jerked upright, from where he had been laying, hands scrambling at his chest. Numb fingers dug into robes that had certainly seen better days, the gold embroidery on his chest, stained brown, perhaps once a vibrant crimson.
There was no warmth, at least not that Jin Ling could feel through his chilled hands and the layers of fabric, but worst of all, there was no heartbeat, rabbiting away in his chest. Where it absolutely should have been. Fingers, with nails caked with dirt and jagged and cracked, dug into the flesh of his chest. Not even a spark of pain.
Oh. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong with him.
Movement to his right caught his eye and he jerked his head to face whoever was in the room with him. Before him stood three familiar figures, two donned in the white mourning robes of Gusu Lan and one in the pale green of Baling Ouyang. Three sets of wide eyes stared at him, as if horrified by what they saw.
More movement, up where his head had laid. Flowing purple robes came in to view and the tension in Jin Ling's stiff, shoulder's eased. Jiujiu. Jiang Cheng frowned down at him, eyes sharp and calculating, as if he was gauging whether or not Jin Ling was a threat. In his hands sat two long, silver pins.
His mind swam, countless questions coming up but he was unable to find his voice. Unable to ask what he needed to. His eyes stung, the prick of tears at the corners - only there were no tears, no dampness.
โ My core. โ He finally managed to choke out, dragging his gaze away from the shining pins his uncle held and instead over to his companions. At least they were alright, they were alive. They looked healthy, if tired, but healthy nonetheless, he couldn't see any injuries from where he sat. There was that at least. At least it had only been him.
โ My core is gone. โ
