#unendead

It was just overnight, Himeko had promised. Of all the scrappy things Dan Heng did to make ends meet, reselling antiques and collectibles online hadn't been one of them. But, it was going well. He was only a month strong and already had a steady stream of sales, mailing at least one item daily. Lucky for him, the bus had a surfeit of room aboard since he'd helped clear out old items they gave to charity the other day, designating him plenty of room for his modest little side gig.

The latest item he'd gotten for free at a local flea market perplexed him the most. Under the hazy yellow glow of the ramshackle lamp atop a yellowing, aged desk that belonged to the motel room he was staying overnight, the bracer was subject to his close inspection. Light glared from Dan Heng's glasses in the rickety chair as he studied a leatherworking website for a clue about what he'd found, sighing as it yielded nothing.

"No wonder he gave it away for free," Dan Heng muttered as he set the bracer down with a sigh, shutting his old laptop soundly. Glancing at the loudly ticking wall clock, Dan Heng flopped to the bed in defeat, too tired to do anything else.

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.

Weeks had passed, maybe a month or two if an honest estimation was made, but one quotient was utterly clear: things had changed since Dan Heng shed the last vestiges of the past and he'd argue that they were for the better. The nightmares that had once plagued him had become replaced by those much more benign, dreams that belonged to his own mind instead of being the psychic link to an ancient bracer that opened him to the mind of the man at the other end. The pervasive feeling of paranoia he thought would never leave him of twin, spectral orbs blazing in the darkness no longer cropped up within his periphery. Even if he was still recovering emotionally from the removal of one of his life's greatest phantoms, it was better than it had ever been.

That morning, well after breakfast, Himeko had called a meeting and informed them that the Stellaron Hunters would be joining them with another collaboration. Not unusual; typically, that cycled between Silver Wolf, Firefly, and Kafka who all had warm relations with the Trailblazer and were far from problems. Hell, even Dan Heng had struck up an unexpected friendship with Silver Wolf, the hacker showing him the wonders of Aether Editing.

Not today, it seemed.

Dan Heng visibly bristled when Ren stepped into view, stubbornly averting his gaze to focus on Silver Wolf who joined the Archivist. As they gathered, Dan Heng hung back and waited for Himeko to debrief them, folding his arms tensely. Although all present knew of the tense encounters that had transpired with the swordsman, they were peacefully ignored for the time being.

"As you were saying, Himeko?" he prompted slightly hurriedly, letting the redhead speak who smiled at Dan Heng's acquiesce.

march and the trailblazer had quickly opted to play games with silver wolf and firefly, while welt and himeko ran over the damage report with kafka, leaving dan heng with ren.

the hunter didn’t leave enough time for the space to become awkward, just saying a quick and curt, “ come. “ leaving dan heng to accept the invitation or not. should he end up following him ren would lead him towards a workshop, one half splayed with ren’s sketches, prototypes of the various stellaron hunter’s weapons, and intricate designs for various tech both in traditional and digital formats. the other side, surrounding a furnace and various other assistive technologies was a bench, weapon racks, and an assortment of extremities catered towards gear maintenance. when dan heng walked in, ren was reapplying the medical tape on his hands, before slipping on some incredibly advanced stabilising gloves.

ren tapped the bench before turning his palm up in an expectant gesture.

“ cloudpiercer. it hasn’t been maintenanced in a very long time. “

Sometimes, convenience and necessity made for close bedfellows. Dan Heng wouldn't exactly say he was thrilled about being in such close quarters with the Stellaron Hunters again, but he wasn't there involuntarily; Himeko and Welt asked him each and every time if he wanted to, and he said yes every time they did. Destiny or not, Dan Heng felt no need to take part, but it had more to do with pride than a genuine interest in whatever joint operations they were conducting. If Dan Heng hadn't come, he knew he wouldn't have to worry: Ren only lost his sense of self when his Mara triggered because of him or those from his past before joining this faction. Beyond that, he didn't doubt the Herrscher of Reason could put the swordsman in his grave if it came to that. He refused to be weak; he refused to let Ren see him as anyone except someone thoroughly willing to kill him at any given time.

This development was... surprising, to put it mildly.

As Dan Heng wordlessly followed suit, it wasn't lost on him that the last time Ren had been given Cloud-Piercer in any capacity was when the emotional ravages instigated by the Nameless had begun, the vicious and wolfish dissolution of their antagonism that had come at the expense of Ren's sanity. Now... Dan Heng wasn't sure. The tolerance was uneasy, but that was the fulcrum: it was uneasy. With how Dan Heng had effaced his psyche so violently, part of him still couldn't fathom why Ren persisted with these small instances of contact at all.

He balked at the threshold of the workroom, utterly mystified by the array of tools and paraphernalia. To say he was confused was an enormous understatement. Hadn't Yingxing been buried? It made sense that he'd utilize his prowess to make his comrades weapons, but why? Wasn't that all behind him? Why would he want to cling to the past like this? Though Dan Heng narrowed his eyes, no matter how many ego-deaths Ren underwent, he was still maker of this weapon.

Dan Heng summoned the spear and set it gingerly on the workbench, not raising his eyes to Ren.

If sleep was a rare bird, then it was perpetually migrating to places elusive to the likes of them.

During a routine sojourn to Herta Space Station, one of Stelle's trips into the labs had discovered that several of the catcakes she'd made months ago had made a consensus that they wished to board the Astral Express as Nameless. While there had been some deliberation, no one had really dissented, and Dan Heng had been fine with it. All the more to huddle when he decided to assume his draconic form and--

A bleary eye cracked open when their little stowaway--Sesame Cake--butted his little nose against Dan Heng's, a soft smile spanning his seraphic features. He couldn't help but be reminded by a certain someone with his antics, but... at least it hadn't been trying to murder him. Elusive, prideful, but clingy when Dan Heng so much as left the room. Lifting his arm, Sesame mewled satisfyingly and wedged close to the Vidyadhara, chirping again like an order to cuddle closer.

the hunter had been unable to keep his gaze off the other, talking with his comrades across the parlour car while kafka and himeko debriefed and traded mission findings. silver wolf remained next to him occupying his phone, and ren was left without something to pretend to be immersed in. crimson gaze naturally drifted to dan heng, then lower, down, to his lips. only when ren realised he'd been staring for longer than intended did the hunter slowly blink, running a hand through now shortened hair, and turning away.

that cursed muscle within his chest still ached.

In the ake of their resolution, there existed a space in his chest he hadn't been aware of before. He recognized it because it had once been violently red and real, filled with hatred and fear, stewed in adrenaline whenever they'd encountered one another. But, in this wake, at the tail end of a funeral, it wasn't empty. It wasn't full, but colorless as the plasma in blood. Blood had been there, once. But, it was drained, waiting to become something else. Dan Heng understood its presence, and respected it for its existence: it was the hole Ren had carved into him, the same place it had been made by Yingxing in Dan Feng all those centuries ago.

Dan Heng in the present considered the Burnice Berry. When it was unripened, at its freshest, its exterior was as hard as steel and tough enough to shatter jawbone. Of a human. He glanced at the unassuming snack March had thoughtfully gotten him, then he glanced at the swordsman.

What was he without his mania, his violence? He wasn't Yingxing because Yingxing was dead. He was sullen, broody, petulent, and attention-seeking. The last he'd deny vehemently, because he wasn't like that around most people. To Kafka, he was reasonable and compliant. To Silver Wolf, he was mildly exasperated and undeniably indulgent. To Firefly, he was quiet and reserved, but receptive. To the Astral Express crew, especially to Stelle, he hung back and listened.

To him? To Dan Heng? He tolerated, and... stared at his lips, apparently.

Dan Heng's wicked fangs protruded among his teeth and he placed the berry between both sets of molars, the sound it made being crushed like the grotesque crushing of raw bone into dust. March and Stelle startled, piqued like deer in the headlights while Dan Heng chewed his morsel loudly. Like a dog gnawing a bone.

Fyxestroll Garden was one of the few places he was allowed to wander alone. With Hanya ensuring that every entrance except the way he came was barred and sealed, and a seal placed on his hand prevented transformation, he could be left alone with his thoughts. Bailu had since retired for the evening at the Forbidden Estate and he would follow suit, soon enough.

Swallowsong Pavilion had become something of a haunt for him. What had once been a venue to celebrate the arts had since become an empty but warm place of refuge in the Garden, Dan Heng leaning against a redwood column that supported the structure, the vast, swirling sea of mist as silent as he.