Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nezha wants to go home.

After a year at Sinegard, he misses Arlong. He misses the labyrinth of rivers connecting his city together. He misses the feel of the warm breeze coming off the water. He misses the shipyards that were filled with boats he wanted to sail. He misses the green and blue hues of the city. He misses the cliffs that he liked to walk too close to the edge of.

But Sinegard only offers him four days off for the Summer Festival, which is not enough time to traverse from Sinegard south to Dragon Provenance and back. So instead, he is stuck interacting with the only part of home he does not miss: his brother. 

“You lost to a dirty peasant from Rooster?” Jinzha sneers. 

Nezha bows his head, ducking away from his elder brother. He knew what to expect when he stepped foot in the comparatively-small-to-Arlong home the Yin family owned in the Jade District. His family isn’t known for their warmth and affection. Even if he had won, he would have been lucky to even hear congratulations from his brother. Winning is expected. Second place? Forbidden. 

When Rin pummeled him to the brink of death, Nezha wished she had just finished the job, sparing him the humiliation of hearing his family’s disappointment. But Jinzha’s lecture will be just a warm up for the verbal lashing he will get from his father. That is if his father is not too repulsed to even look him in the eye. 

It won't be the first time his father shuts out Nezha. 

“Jun should have withheld his offer to you as a Combat Apprentice.” 

“I got second, Jinzha,” Nezha grits through clenched teeth. 

Jinzha does not respond, but the look of disgust he gives Nezha is clear enough. Nezha will never be better than second best. 

Nezha does not see his father until dinner that night. The large table feels empty as both his sister and mother make themselves sparse for his welcome home dinner. According to the hired help, they are both off visiting Hesperia again and are set to return on the last day of the Summer Festival, just in time for the parade.

Nezha sits down in his usual spot at the table, furthest away from the head seat. He slowly fills his plate with foods that look so much more enticing than the mush offered at Sinegard. He just wishes he had the appetite to eat it. When Nezha’s plate is full, he stills, holding his breath, waiting for his father to speak to him.

Yin Vaisra raises a glass of rice wine to his lips, slowly draining the glass in one gulp. He sets the glass down, firmly, not loud enough to startle Nezha, but solid enough to draw attention to the head of the table. 

“I expect better of you.”

Nezha sucks in a breath. “Yes sir,” he says, bowing his head down to stare at his plate. 

The rest of dinner is silent. Occasionally, Jinzha and his father exchange hushed words about the various political ongoings of Nikan, but Nezha remains tight-lipped. He knows his place as a second son. If he wants his father’s respect, he will have to earn it.

And he has not done anything to earn it.

Nezha is not surprised because this is what a typical welcome home looks like for him. A stiff meal, a withering glare, and the slow suffocation of the feeling of worthlessness.

In the silence, Nezha’s thoughts wander to Rin not for the first time since their fight.

She did not have any proper combat training. She came from nothing. She was nothing. And yet, she somehow decimated every single person she faced at Sinegard. She achieved the impossible when she nearly killed him. Something he can only accomplish in his best dreams. 

The dragon on his back writhes around as a reminder of failed suicide attempts. Nezha clenches his fork, his knuckles white, waiting for the pain to pass.

Nezha is not naive enough to admit that it was a fluke that she had won. He saw what she did in that ring. He experienced it himself. The god on his back could not even save him from the cosmic clobbering she had given him. He is also not naive enough to admit that he can never let that happen again. Not if he wants his father’s reverence. 

As a child, his combat instructors complimented his ability to learn new skills quickly through theory. But he improved the most when he was actually sparring. He frequently lost fights to Jinzha because his brother had a significant height and weight advantage, but those fights made him stronger. They made Nezha work on finding his ki, strengthening it, until one day he was able to beat Jinzha. That victory, however, was his only one, as Jinzha refused to fight him again after that. Still, that single win fueled Nezha’s determination in combat and drove him to become the top of his class at Sinegard.

He knows the only way to improve is to spar against someone better than him. Which brings Nezha to the unfortunate conclusion that there is only one person at Sinegard better than him.

Fuck.

Nezha needs to spar Rin.

Vaisra clears his throat, drawing Nezha out of his thoughts.

“I will be heading back to Arlong tomorrow morning. There is something I need to deal with there.” Vaisra gives a look to Jinzha that Nezha cannot interpret. “I will not be able to make the parade. Jinzha is to represent the head of the House of Yin. Do not embarrass me.” 

That last line is directed straight at Nezha. Years of similar slights trained Nezha to not flinch at his father’s words, instead he nods in understanding. His father gives him one last look before dismissing him from the table.

Nezha spends the rest of his summer break avoiding his home. Instead, he wanders the streets of Sinegard. He meets Venka at Summer Festival, buying various baubles and trinkets that he has no intention to bring back to the Academy with him. As promised, Vaisra leaves bright and early on Nezha’s second day there, making it quite easy for Nezha and Venka to break into the wine cellar at night. 

“Your father has excellent taste in alcohol,” Venka says, stealing the bottle straight from Nezha’s hands. She is tipsy, cheeks flushed and lips stained red from the wine. She lays down in the pile of expensive fabrics she bought at the market earlier in the morning, spilling the wine as she goes down.  

“Shit, Ven! Be careful!” Nezha hisses.

She waves him off, using the silk fabric below her to mop up her mess.  

“Gods you really forget how awful they feed us at Sinegard Academy until you come back home to all this,” Venka waves the bottle around, pointing at the other bottles littered on the ground around them, thankfully, not spilling any more liquid on the ground. Nezha only intended on splitting one bottle tonight, but one quickly turned into two, and then two into three. He initially drank because the taste of alcohol on his lips helped him forget Vaisra’s disappointment, but the more he drinks, the easier it is to block out the dragon.

Ever since Rin, Nezha aches for silence from his god. 

Nezha lays down, resting his head in Venka’s lap. “I am going to be so hungover tomorrow.”

Venka runs her fingers through his hair, now starting to grow out from when he cut it short in the winter. He thought he would look impressive if he looked the part of the perfect soldier. Nezha just isn’t quite sure who he was trying to impress; Jun, his father, or himself. 

“I am going to have so much fun annoying you tomorrow with those noisemakers they sell to children.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Gods, you wish I would.”

Nezha opens his eyes to glare at Venka. “More like your father wishes.”

Venka’s fingers tug on his hair, hard. “I hope you vomit in front of the Empress tomorrow.”

Thankfully, Nezha does not vomit in front of the Empress at the parade. He does, however, find himself hunched over in a dark alleyway, retching out what little dignity he has left. At least he remains hidden, out of sight from anyone of importance.

“Here,” Muzha says, handing him a cool towel she must have swiped from a nearby merchant stand. “You’re lucky father is not here to see you like this.”

“I know,” Nezha mutters, wiping his mouth with the towel, the bitter taste of bile still lingering on his tongue.

Muzha looks over her shoulder, scanning the crowd before muttering under her breath, “You’re lucky Jinzha’s head is so far up his ass to notice your behavior too.”

Nezha glances behind Muzha at where his older brother stands straighter than a mast. His handshake with Venka’s father is far too vigorous, his entire demeanor screaming of someone trying too hard to impress. He looks like a complete ass.

“I know.”

Muzha smiles at him, a small thing. “Let’s get this over with and try not to embarrass the House of Yin together.”

Nezha extends his elbow, offering his sister to accept it. Together they walk over to the Sring family. Venka’s father and mother are both talking with Jinzha, who is basking in their attention. Venka, however, stands out of her father’s line of sight, pretending to vomit, mocking Nezha's misfortune. 

Glancing over at Jinzha, ensuring he isn’t watching, Nezha gives his best friend a rude gesture.

Unfortunately, Jinzha notices anyway. His eyes narrow as he inspects Nezha, disapproval palpable.

“Jiejie,” Jinzha extends his arm to his sister. Muzha glances up to Nezha, mouthing a quick apology, before removing herself from his arm and joining her twin. 

“Nezha, straighten your gown,” Jinzha says coldly before turning his back to him to focus his conversation back to some important delegate.

Tugging at the collar of his cerulean gown, he feels a chill run down his back.

The dragon twitches, alerting Nezha of her presence before he can even see her. She stands next to Kitay, who is leaning down to whisper in her ear. Despite wearing the colors of the House of Chen, a dark red that compliments her skin begrudgingly well, Rin looks out of place. Her face betrays her, eyes bright as she takes in the environment surrounding her. Poor girl probably has never stepped foot at a parade, let alone one filled with such riches and nobility. 

Her face breaks out in a smile at something Kitay said, and Nezha has to turn away.

Soon, back at school, he will get his rematch with her, and everything will be right in the world.

Then maybe he would not have to see her stupid smile again.

A week.

Sinegard rules and stipulations require all the students to wait a full week back into the year before they can challenge another student to spar in the rings. During that week, Nezha watches Rin. She keeps herself attached to Kitay’s hip whenever they are in public: at meals, at class, in the hallways. Heads always ducked together, sharing secrets and smiles. If she is not with his old friend, she is trailing behind Master Jiang like a lost duckling, carrying a stack of books nearly tall enough to block her vision. She wears a dingy, already fraying, white band tightly tied around her left arm indicating her pledge to Lore. 

Pledging Lore was just another enigma about her. 

Once the weeklong band lifts, Nezha is the first in line outside the basement of the rings. 

Master Sonnen stands behind the small desk outside the entrance to the rings, sheet of paper in hand. “You’re eager, Yin,” Sonnen smiles at him. He is the only other master to offer him a bid. Nezha hopes the reason why he only received 2 bids is because it was obvious he was always going to pledge Combat with Master Jun, but the small voice in the back of his head nagged at him telling him that might not be true. 

Nezha gives Master Sonnen his best smile, “Best way to improve in combat is hands on training, Sir.”

Master Sunnen lets out a quiet laugh, “You would have made an excellent Weapons Apprentice. Unfortunate that Master Jun sunk his claws in you early. Alas, you will do well under him too.” 

“I hope so,” Nezha says. He pauses, shifting his weight to steady himself. “I would like to challenge Fang Runin in the Fighting Rings.”

“I figured you would,” Master Sonnen says. He flips through a page on his clipboard sighing, “However, you cannot do that.”

“What?” Nezha cries, forgetting all decorum in speaking to a Master. “Master Jun encourages us to fight. I am healthy. She’s healthy. I see no reason not to.”

Master Sonnen continues, ignoring Nezha’s immature outburst, “You need your Master’s approval to join the Fighting Rings. And-,” Master Sonnen says, before Nezha can interrupt again, “You may have approval from Master Jun, but Rin does not have permission from Master Jiang.”

Nezha clenches his jaw in frustration. Of course her crazy, fool of a Master would forget to give her permission to fight. He nearly says so aloud, but that will be disrespecting a Master of Sinegard, an offense his father wouldn't forgive, even if that Master is Jiang. Instead, he simply asks, “Did anyone remind Master Jiang to give his apprentice permission?”

“He showed up at my door before the sun was even up this morning to inform me that under no circumstances was his little Lore apprentice allowed in the Fighting Rings. So no, Nezha, he did not forget.” 

Nezha knows he was being scolded, but he is too angry to care. 

So he doesn’t get to fight Rin again? That is not acceptable to him. He needs her to be the best. 

And he needs to be the best.

“Fine. I challenge Han then.”

If he can’t fight Rin, at least let him fight the annoying prick from Horse.

Han is a gods awful opponent. 

Nezha handedly wins their match in a matter of minutes, satisfyingly cracking Han’s nose in the process. 

He challenges a few of the other boys in his year to the fighting rings, handedly beating them as easily as he beats Han. It’s too easy. His wins aren’t satisfying. He misses a challenge, and he hates the person who actually challenged him.

When he is not fighting in the rings or studying for his other classes, Nezha finds time to spar with Venka. Growing up together, he memorized her style and every move. He had always been more gentle with her, never taking that final blow. But if he wants to improve, he cannot limit his combat experience.

“Can I actually hit you, or are you going to be a bitch about it?” Nezha asks during one of their early morning spars.

“You’re an ass, Yin Nezha,” Venka says before storming off. She avoids him, opting to sit with irritatingly optimistic Niang instead knowing that Nezha would rather carve out his own eyeball than listen to Niang when he feels this incensed.

So he eats alone. 

Unfortunately, the corner he tucks himself into places Rin and Kitay directly in his line of sight. Her head is bent over in a worn out book, pausing only occasionally to take a bite of the slop Sinegard tries to pass off as food. 

Staring at her, a strange tension coils in his chest. It is a mixture of determination, frustration, and some third emotion he does not care to name. She is wasting her time at a military school if all she does is read and listen to the nonsensical ramblings of nut-job Jiang. She should be fighting.

And Nezha is going to make her. Jiang’s approval or not.

It takes a few days before he knew he would be able to corner her alone. 

Venka takes the late night patrol shift with the City Guard that week. She is still pissed at Nezha, but she will eventually get over it. She always does. Niang runs out of dinner early that night because Enro called her in to do an emergent procedure on a First Year boneheaded enough to break his arms sneaking into the highest tiers of the master’s quarters.

Which means Rin will be in the girl’s room alone.

Nezha figures she preferred to study there when the other two were gone, her absence from the library noted on nights when this happens. 

After laying eyes on Kitay, ensuring that he is not with Rin in the girl’s room, Nezha sneaks away. He carefully watches over his shoulder, ensuring that no one is watching him creep over to the girls dormitory. 

He hesitates outside the door. Internally debating whether to knock or barge in on an unassuming Rin. Realizing that he probably does not want to encounter an off-guard, enraged Rin, Nezha takes a deep breath and knocks. He hears an exasperated grunt from the other side and a large thump of something hitting the floor hard. Footsteps pad over to the door before it was forcefully opened.

Rin stands in front of him, her short hair sticking up at odd angles, lines creasing on her face where she must have been resting her hand while she studied. Her eyes flash from confusion to anger.

“Venka’s not here,” she says shortly, slamming the door shut in his face.

Nezha jams his foot in the door, wincing as the door slams into it. “I’m not here for Venka.”

“Well, Niang isn’t here either.” 

Before she can slam the door shut again, he elbows his way into the room and closes the door behind him. “I also don’t want her.”

Rin freezes, quickly calculating that Nezha knew she was going to be alone tonight. This is not a coincidence, it is an ambush. Fear flashes in her eyes for a brief moment that brings Nezha some twisted sense of satisfaction. 

Rin recovers quickly, fury replacing the fear. She shoves Nezha’s chest.  “Get out.” 

Nezha ignores her.

“You aren’t fighting in the Fighting Rings.” A statement, not a question.

Rin jutted her chin out defiantly, “No.”

“Scared of me?” Nezha taunts.

“No,” Rin scoffs. She chews on her lip before continuing in a quieter voice. “Master Jiang does not think that the rings are beneficial to my training. He says they are a place for pageantry and not actually about skill.”

Nezha smirks, “I do love showing off my ability to win.”

“You beat Han,” Rin rolls her eyes, “That is hardly something to brag about.”

“So you’ve been watching me,” Nezha teases, smirk widening.

Rin’s cheeks flush a faint pink. 

"I want a rematch between us."

Rin rolls her eyes again, scoffing as she replies, "I nearly killed you last time we sparred. Are you that suicidal, Yin Nezha?"

Yes.

"No."

Rin narrows her eyes. "What do you even get out of this besides a trip to the medic?"

"I get to improve my combat skills by sparring with the only person at this school who has the slight chance to challenge me." Nezha smirks, taking a step further into Rin's space, boxing her in. "And you also get the opportunity to actually learn combat at a military school. Jun isn't going to teach you. Jiang refuses to let you fight. I'm your best, and only, bet at actually learning something useful."

Rin shoves Nezha away from her. "You're an asshole."

"But I'm right."

Rin sets her face into a hard glare, jaw tightening. Nezha can already start to see cracks in her resolve.

"Fuck off," she growls.

"So is that a yes?"

“No.”

“No?” Nezha tilts his head, smirk still unfaltering. “You need me more than I need you, and you'll realize it soon enough. What is going to happen when you reach graduation and the only skill you learned at this school is how to grow Jiang’s drugs? You will be absolutely useless in any of the divisions.” 

He leers further down over her, voice dropping into a low, taunting murmur. “So tell me again, do you want to train with the best Sinegard has to offer?”

Somehow, Rin manages to look even more agitated with him, a flash of red crossing her eyes, but Nezha can see her calculating her options, coming to the obvious realization of what her answer should be. Finally, she spits out her answer.  "Yes."

Nezha grins triumphantly. An unexpected win for him. A win he will gladly hold close to his chest and use the next time he needs a memory to boost his mood. 

Rin takes an angry, small step towards him, no longer appearing intimidated by Nezha’s size. "And it's not because I think fighting you would be helpful. I just want an excuse to punch that pretty face of yours again."

"Aww, you think I'm pretty," Nezha coos mockingly.

Nezha sees Rin's fist coming before she even starts to swing. He catches it with one hand, not even needing to tear his gaze away from her stricken face. He twists her arm, pinning it behind her back. Nezha leans forward to whisper in her ear, "We’re not fighting now. Meet me tomorrow, an hour before breakfast, bottom floor of the combat building."

Rin grimaces, jerking her hand out of Nezha's grasp, leaving his hand feeling like it was on fire. "Jun won't be there?"

"Gods, no," Nezha says, wiping his hand on his pants, shaking off the lingering heat of her skin. "No one will be there. The last thing I need is people to see me taking pity on you by teaching you how to spar."

"Are you sure?” Rin asks, condescendingly, “I can bring Niang to be your medic."

"I won't be needing one." 

The dragon on his back twitches in agreement.

Chapter Text

The sky has not yet turned the warm hues of pinks and oranges of the crack of dawn when Nezha slips quietly out of his bed. He is cautious not to disturb any of the sleeping figures in the beds next to him, slipping on his tunic and then out the door.

The chances he will run into anyone besides Rin at this hour were slim, but Nezha is alert at every sound. He is not breaking any Academy rules being awake at this hour, he just does not want to explain his behaviors to anyone, especially if he ends up caught with the peasant. 

Rin is not there when Nezha makes it to the basement of the stone combat building, and for the first time, Nezha wonders if she won’t show up. But deep down, Nezha knows Rin. The last thing she will ever do is back down from a challenge, especially a challenge he set.  

Nezha runs through his stretching routine, waking his stiff muscles from their sleep when the door creaks open. 

“Get lost?” Nezha quips, unable to keep the scorn out of his voice, not even bothering to turn to face her.

“No,” Rin’s voice scoffs from behind him. “I wanted to prove to you I don’t need a full hour to kick your ass.”

Nezha finally turns to face her, taking her in. Rin is standing just inside the doorframe, arms crossed, her short hair tied half up, her signature scowl etched on her face. Nezha grins at her which only deepens her scowl.

This will be so much fun.

“So much confidence in such a small body,” Nezha says, cocking his head. 

Rin pushes herself off of the doorframe and strides over to Nezha, “So much confidence for someone who stayed with Enro for several days the last time we fought.”

Nezha shrugs, even though he feels his pulse quicken at the reminder how close he was to death’s door. 

“Basics. Hand to hand,” Nezha says, taking his opening stance.

Rin rolls her eyes at him, but follows suit. Her feet spread, toes pointing forward, knees in a slight crouch, waiting and ready for the first strike. She bows her head and Nezha bows his in return. 

“Actually yield if I am about to kill you,” Rin says, positioning herself into a crouch, feet firmly planted in the ground.

Nezha strikes first, quick and precise, aiming for her side. Rin dodged his attack effortlessly, just like she had when they last fought. Her ability to dodge and evade his strikes is what cost him in their last fight. Nezha became frustrated too easily leaving him open to an easy blow.

And it worked then.

It cannot work now.

Rin must know that Nezha is desperate to win this time, but he cannot let her get under his skin to realize just how desperate. He sucks in a deep breath to center himself, to remain controlled, calming his racing pulse, and works to channel his frustration into focus. 

He strikes rapidly, one after another, sharp and deliberate. His fists cut through the air in rapid succession, but Rin manages to continue to be a step ahead of him. She dodges, ducks, and sidesteps with infuriating elegance. Her footwork is light and precise, almost graceful. Something Nezha never thought Rin could be. 

Rin is toying with him, and he knows it.

He needs to throw her off her balance and break her rhythm. Pivoting smoothly, Nezha snaps his leg up in a sharp kick that successfully lands on her side. Rin staggers slightly, but she somehow manages to absorb most of his attack. 

She absorbs his attack and shoves her palm into his chest. It hardly hurts. A dull ache more than anything, but annoying nonetheless. 

“I am curious to know how quickly Jiang’s apprentice goes mad like he does. Tell me, Rin, are you aware how worthless your education will be underneath that lunatic? Wasting space for people more worthy than you.” 

Nezha’s words are sharp as a knife, and he knows that they cut deep when he sees Rin’s steps falter ever so slightly, giving Nezha an opening to kick her in her side. She stumbles, but quickly regains her balance. She swings her arm wildly, but Nezha blocks it with ease. Rin’s short fuse is her weakness. Her calculated footwork staggers with her anger. Nezha wants to frustrate her further, antagonizing her into making another mistake.

“You should be thanking me for actually challenging you while you are here, because you won’t be challenged as a Lore student.”

Rin swings again, sloppy, becoming more and more frantic, it is almost pathetic how worked up she gets with his taunts. He almost gouds her on further until suddenly, he’s flat on his back, her kick sweeping his legs out from under him.

“Fuck you,” Rin spits, an actual drop of her saliva hits him in the face. 

Nezha kicks his legs up, attempting to strike her chest just like she had done to him back in the fighting tournament. Unfortunately, Rin moves out of the way just in time, once again, eluding him. 

“You used that move on Han in the fighting pits last week,” Rin says smugly, eyes fiercely watching him as Nezha scrambles to his feet.

Nezha’s smug smirk returns to his face. “I didn’t realize how closely you watch me, Rin. Obsessed much?”

“Sunzi’s first lesson is to understand your enemy,” Rin spews back at him. 

Nezha knows this lesson well. It was the same excuse he used when he noticed Rin watching him from the top level of the fighting rings before his fight with Han. And the same excuse he used when he watched her leave right after he won. 

“And what did you learn about your enemy?” Nezha asks snidely.

Rin smiles at him, “That you’re desperate.” She lunges to his right, and Nezha is ready for it. But at the last second, Rin pivots, spinning to his left, and kicks his legs out from underneath him again. 

Nezha crashes to the ground with a sudden thud. 

She immediately drops down on top of him, all of her weight pinning him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him as she falls. “And when you are desperate,” she whispers, triumph thick in her voice, “You tend to overlook your blind spots.”

In normal circumstances, he should easily be able to throw Rin off of him. She weighed nothing in comparison to him, but this is not a normal circumstance. 

“You’re down on the ground, now yield.” 

Fuck. 

“Fuck you, I yield.”

Rin grins down at him, cocky and sure of herself. Her hair has slipped out from its knot, a few strands falling forward and framing her face. Nezha has a sudden, strange urge to tug on them. But before Nezha can act on his sudden urge, Rin’s fist comes flying down, backhanding him against the left side of his face, causing it to go completely numb.

The bitch slapped him.

“What the fuck?” Nezha snarls.

Rin rolls off of him and stands, brushing dust off of her pants as if nothing just happened, “Now we are even.” 

She checks the clock in the corner. “Not even twenty minutes, and you thought you would need the full hour. Quick finisher, huh, Nezha?”

Heat flashes through him, from embarrassment and anger. He wants to spit on her, drag her back to the ground, kick her skull in. Anything to make her shut up in that instant. Last year, he probably would have. But now, he won’t. He already begrudgingly admitted that he needs her to improve. 

And fine, maybe he deserved the slap. He did slap her during the middle of the tournament last year. That he would never admit.

“You seem to know a lot about men finishing. Get lots of practice in that shit hole you came from?” Nezha asks, voice dripping with bitterness.

To Nezha’s horror, Rin does not blush or stutter out a snapping insult. Instead she pales and stiffens. She reaches for the sleeves on her arms, tugging them down. Her eyes glaze over as if she pulled away from reality into some place much darker for just a second. If Nezha was not watching her closely for her reaction, he might have missed it. 

But he caught it. A flicker of a reaction that reminds Nezha of the moments where he feels himself falter and fall back into that grotto all those years ago. Guilt twists in his gut.  

Just as quickly as that moment came, it passes.

Rin returns to her usual hard self, building her formidable shell back around herself. She shoves past him, cursing him as she does. 

Nezha catches her wrist, spinning her back to face him. “Look, I should not have said that, but don’t go.”

“Why not? I won, we are done here,” Rin huffs, her bright brown eyes glaring up at him.

Nezha lets go of her wrist to run his hands through his hair, wishing not for the first time it were long enough to pull out of his face. “Don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not difficult.” Rin has the audacity to roll her eyes, but at least she doesn’t run away. 

“You are the definition of difficult,” Nezha snaps, stepping closer, “I throw one lousy insult at your tutor and you punch me in the face. You get kicked out of Combat, and instead of dropping out, you train yourself how to actually fucking fight. You chose Lore - Lore, of all things - just to be difficult.”

A stupid grin grows wider on her face with every word Nezha says. It infuriates him. 

Nezha sighs, deflating slightly, “Rin, please. I want to keep sparring. I want to do this again.”

“Apologize to me, and maybe we can do this again,” Rin says, crossing her arms. Her eyebrow raises. A smug look crosses her face, and Nezha wants nothing more than to slap it off her face. 

“Sor-” Nezha chokes on his own god damn spit, trying to get the rest of the word out, “-ry. Sorry for implying you’re a peasant whore.”

It is not really an apology, but still Rin looks proud at his groveling. “Apology not accepted. I’ll see you in two days.”

Rin turns to the door and strides out, not bothering to give Nezha another glance. 

Nezha glares after her, his jaw clenched so tightly he might crack a tooth.

He hates her.

And worse, he hates that he will be here in two days, waiting for another opportunity to fight her again.

He skips breakfast. 

Nezha had plenty of time to go to the dining hall and eat, but he did not want to see anyone. Let alone Rin. 

Instead he goes to the Combat grounds, preparing for Jun’s lecture. He goes through the movements of his fight earlier with Rin. Each punch. Each kick. Each maddeningly proud look on Rin’s face. Over and over in his head, Nezha replays it all. 

His foot is sweeping through a crescent kick, when he hears footsteps approach behind him.

“You skipped breakfast to practice a kick you mastered at the age of twelve?” Venka’s voice calls out to him, a light tease in her voice.

Nezha straightens and turns towards her, a tentative smile pulling at his lips. 

They had fights in the past whenever Nezha said something cruel or Venka said something bitchy, but at the end of the day, they always came back to one another. They never apologized, but there was always a silent understanding that the other was sorry, and they made up and were friends again. Throughout the years, it was always Venka by his side. She chose him after his and Kitay’s falling out. He sided with her when her father threatened to prevent her from attending Sinegard. 

Venka approaching Nezha now proves that she forgives him already. 

“There is a reason Jun has us spending all of our first year mastering our fundamentals,” Nezha says with a shrug. 

“Do you really need to suck up to Jun more? You are already his favorite.” 

Nezha laughs, “I can’t give him a reason to no longer be his favorite. You know all about the importance of maintaining a good reputation, Venka.” 

She shoves him, not cruelly, but playfully. “I don’t think your reputation is good per say, Nezha. You sent three people to Enro last week. Niang is already bitching about you.”

“Oh,” Nezha says, waggling his eyebrows, “What else is Niang saying about me.”

This earns him a hard shrug. “You dog, Yin Nezha!” Venka shrieks. “Besides, the last person you want to flirt with is Niang. She never shuts up, and I don’t want to be the one to have to hear about it.” Venka mimes vomiting into the grass at the thought.

“I know one way to make her shut up,” Nezha says with a wink.

Venka groans in disgust. “One more comment from you and then we are back on not speaking terms.”

“Fine,” Nezha says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He truly has no interest in Niang, also finding her inability to stay quiet quite annoying. However, he can never pass on the opportunity to rile Venka up, even if she just started talking to him again. 

Venka reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a slightly crumpled envelope. “You missed the mail carrier this morning. This came for you.”

Seeing who the letter is addressed from makes Nezha’s gut twist. Getting letters from home was not rare for him, but letters specifically from his elder brother are never a good sign. 

He rips open the envelope and gazes down at the short paragraph.

Nezha,

I heard that you won your last few fights in the Ring. At least you are not squandering the Yin family name at this time. But start challenging those years ahead of you. You are wasting your Sinegard education. You’ll be a worthless soldier if you don’t start taking your training seriously. 

Jinzha

“What a dick,” Venka says bluntly, not hiding the fact that she read the entire letter over his shoulder. 

Nezha shoves the letter in his pocket, crumpling it further. He will have to burn it later so no one else has the opportunity to read what his elder brother thinks of him. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” 

Venka places a reassuring hand on Nezha’s shoulders, but he shakes her off. 

“Besides,” Nezha adds, his voice low, “Jinzha is right. I should be challenging the upper years.”

“Just because he has a point, does not mean he isn’t an ass,” Venka says tersely.

Nezha sighs, “He means well.”

Venka snorts, “Jinzha is the real reason I am refusing this arranged marriage. He is the last person I would want as a brother-in-law.”

“Well, I’m refusing this arranged marriage because I don’t want you as a wife,” Nezha retorts, his tone teasing.

Venka opens her mouth to fire back at him, but loses the opportunity to defend herself when Jun walks out into the field, demanding the attention of all of his apprentices. He stares at the small group, face firm with disappointment. “Three weeks now, the rings have been available for you to fight in and I am so terribly embarrassed by the lack of fundamentals.”

Venka stifles a snort into her sleeve

“Yin,” Jun barks, pointing directly at Nezha, “Please demonstrate the proper footwork for an arched kick. You seem to be the only one who knows how to do the basics around here!”

Nezha steps forward, rolling his shoulders as he prepares to face the rest of the Combat apprentices. He sticks his tongue out at Venka before demonstrating the footwork he was just working on flawlessly. 

Venka rolls her eyes, mouthing the word showoff, and Nezha can’t help the flicker of pride that swells in his chest.

Chapter Text

Master Jun’s top third year apprentice is coughing up blood within a matter of minutes. 

Jun, however, is less than impressed as he stands over the wheezing apprentice, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. The third year cradles his ribs, each gasp escaping his lips sounding more like a wet rattle rather than a breath.

His master turns to Nezha, anger clearly written on his face, “You’re running extra drills after Combat for a week.” Jun then turns back to the pathetic looking third year, and supports his weight as they hobble off and out of the arena.

It isn’t Nezha’s fault. Completely.

The fractured ribs? Sure. 

The possible internal bleeding? Probably. 

But the third year had ample opportunity to yield, and never did. It is not Nezha’s fault that he had to stomp on his chest to finally get him to cede. 

Nezha’s punishment, the extra drills and added workload meant he arrives late to Master Jima’s Linguistic class. Not that Nezha minds all that much missing her class.

“You didn’t have to kick him, you know,” Venka hisses, tone clipped as Nezha slides into his seat next to hers. 

Nezha pulls Venka’s notes over so he can quickly skim and see what he missed so far. “If he did not want to break his ribs, he should have surrendered,” Nezha hisses back, and then shrugs, “Or not pledged Combat at all.”

Venka huffs, disappointment clear in her exhale, snatching her notes back to her. 

Nezha leans back in his chair, unbothered. He shoots Master Jima with his best Yin smile, but her glare sharpens with a scowl before she turns back to lecturing the class on the linguistic shifts of Nikan’s coastal dialects.

Surprisingly, the only person who congratulates him on his win is Rin.

“I don’t understand why they are upset that you won,” Rin says, taking a swig of her water. 

They’ve continued their routine of sparring twice a week in the mornings. Much to Nezha’s chagrin, Rin somehow still continues to kick his ass. He has successfully disarmed Rin on multiple occasions at this point, pinning her to the ground, but she always manages to retaliate harder and sharper the next time they spar. 

It’s frustrating.

Especially when she is the only person at Sinegard who gives him this much trouble. But Nezha recognizes that same frustration burning in Rin too whenever he manages to beat her. 

Which is why Rin’s practice sword is currently skewering the sparring dummy Nezha stole from a closet in the Combat building after she lost to him this morning. She stabbed the dummy in the heat of frustration and demanded a break.

Nezha is thankful for the rest, she tires him out, working him harder than any of Jun’s classes ever had.

Rin drains the rest of her water from her canister in a few gulps and Nezha watches water drip from the corners of her mouth, mixing in the sheen of sweat on her neck. 

Nezha uses his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his brow, “They are upset that I injured another Combat apprentice.” 

Rin snorts, tossing her empty canister onto the floor “Maybe Jun should pick better apprentices who don’t lose in a matter of minutes.”

“Well, it is hard to pick a better apprentice than me,” Nezha grins.

Rolling her eyes, Rin says, “I would have been a better apprentice than you.”

Nezha nods his head towards the practice dummy that Rin speared in frustration after her loss. 

“That is besides the point,” Rin waves her hand, dismissing him. But her face betrays her indifference as it forms a deep scowl. “Besides, Enro should at least be happy with you for giving her apprentices something to do.”

A grin tugs at the corner of Nezha’s lips, a laugh threatens to spill out of his mouth. “You would think.”

Rin snags Nezha’s water canister from his hands, taking a swig of his water. “Again?” she asks before Nezha can protest at her thievery. 

Nezha glances at the clock on the wall, “Breakfast ends in 15 minutes, Rin.”

“And I can finish you off in five.”

He won't admit to Rin that he enjoys his mornings sparring with her, but the routine they fall into is easy. Which is the reason why Nezha is so upset when his routine breaks when Rin does not show up one morning. 

He waits, not so patiently, for her, running through his warm up once and then once again when the door still does not open alerting him of her presence. The frustration at Rin’s audacity to be late morphed into anger that she completely skipped out on a training session.

A slight twinge of worry creeps into Nezha’s stomach that something happened to Rin, but he shoves that feeling deep down. 

He could ask Venka at Combat if Rin was in her bed this morning, but he has no clue how he could even approach that subject without sounding like a pathetic stalker. He has no reason to care about Rin’s whereabouts, no reason to care if she is hurt. 

“Whatever,” Nezha mumbles to himself, slinging his pack over his shoulder, leaving his secret training room. The only reason he is so upset is because he wasted his morning waiting for her. 

At least that is what he tells himself.

Breakfast passes in a blur. He looks for her, but the dining hall is trickling to empty at this time of morning. Besides a gaggle of first years sitting near a front table giggling to themselves and two fourth year Linguistic apprentices sit in the back, huddled over a large tome, Nezha is the only person there. 

A voice clears besides him. “You were excellent in the Rings, Yin Nezha,” one of the first years brave enough to speak to him says. “Your kicks are so direct and powerful.” 

Nezha schools his facial features in complete neutrality. “Thank you,” he manages to say, voice firm. Vaisra engrained the importance of alliances throughout Nezha’s childhood and this squeaky first year’s father is an important general of the Rat Warlord, so Nezha keeps any snarky comments to himself.

“Focusing on your connection to the ground and your crouch can improve your own kicks,” Nezha says instead, offering advice like a good Combat Apprentice should. 

A little too eagerly, the first year nods. “I will keep that in mind! Thank you for the advice, Yin Nezha.” 

Nezha forces his grimace into a smile and leaves the boy with the other first years. Usually, praise from anyone is enough to stroke his ego, improving his mood, but today, it pricks at him. A twinge of annoyance. 

Venka notices the moment he steps into the Combat Courtyard.

“Who pissed in your breakfast oats this morning?”

“A first year,” Nezha snaps, taking the opening position.

Venka snorts, mimicking his stance, “I would have expected one of them to offer to drink your own piss the way they think the sun shines out of your asshole.”

“They are annoying.”

“Of course they are, they are obsessed with you,” Venka replies, body gliding through different Seejin positions. “I have to hear their nonstop gossip when I am on night guard duty. Yin Nezha this, Yin Nezha that. You are their Altan Trengsin.” 

Nezha’s stomach swoops at the thought. The moment he stepped foot on Sinegard Academy, Nezha expected to hear ceaseless praises of his elder brother, continuing the trend from his childhood, but it was never Yin Jinzha’s name that came out of his masters’ mouths. It was Trengsin’s. 

The idea that he is already becoming the new Sinegard golden boy, eclipsing expectations as a second year makes Nezha grin. 

“It also helps that they have no clue Rin almost killed you last year in the Rings.”

Nezha’s grin falls from his face.

“And you won’t tell them,” Nezha threatens.

Venka lets out a haughty laugh. “I rather like my ribs intact. So no, I won’t let the impressionable first years learn that a girl who didn’t know what an outhouse was beat you into oblivion.”

Nezha sneers, “She beat you too.”

“Another reason why they will never find out.”

Combat passes quickly. Nezha won’t admit he is distracted, but Venka does manage to strike him a few times, something she brags about the entire way to Linguistics.

“How do you think those first years will react to the fact that a woman managed to hit the great Yin Nezha,” Venka teases.

“They will quickly realize how stupid and misogynistic they are when I force them in the Rings with you and they see just how vicious you truly are,” Nezha says, tugging on Venka’s ponytail. 

Venka smacks Nezha’s hand away, “I will show you viciousness if you do that again.”

Nezha’s sarcastic quip gets lodged in his throat when he hears a sharp, sudden laugh from the back row. Rin throws her head back in laughter at something Kitay must have said. She looks healthy, well-rested, as if she spent the morning having a lie in. 

Fury stirs in his gut as he watches Rin’s head bend forward to whisper something in Kitay’s ear. 

How dare she? How dare she have an air of nonchalance when she stood him up this morning?

Kitay grins, shaking his head at whatever Rin said to him. 

You deserve the utmost respect. She embarrassed you. You need to embarrass her. Get the respect you are entitled to.

Chills shoot down Nezha’s back and he flinches at the voice reverberating in his head. The Dragon had been more quiet this year, so Nezha is unprepared to hear his call so loud and so unexpectedly. 

Throwing his bag on the ground, Nezha takes his seat near the front, far enough away from Rin and Kitay. He ignores Venka’s look, knowing that his mood has violently switched so abruptly on her. Instead, he takes out his notes and actually pays attention throughout Jima’s entire lecture on Hesparian verb conjugations despite his fluency in his mother’s favorite language. 

He is doing well focusing until he overhears a snort and a snarky comment from the back, “Pretentious assholes. Hesparians requiring different conjugations while addressing authority.”

“Of course Southern trash like you doesn’t understand the importance of respect and decorum when addressing those above you.” The comment leaves Nezha’s mouth before he even realizes he is talking.

A hush falls over the class, even Master Jima stills in the middle of her lecture. 

He turns to face Rin, her face furious. She is biting her lip hard as if she has to physically hold back the verbal assault that is forming on the tip of her tongue. The last time they publicly brawled in class, she had been kicked out of class permanently, and Nezha sees that she is remembering that moment too. 

They maintain eye contact, silently staring at the other, daring the other to be the first to look away. It’s a completely new form of combat between the two of them. Eventually, Jima forces Nezha to forfeit their internal battle when she clears her throat and he has to turn back to the front of the class for the rest of the lecture.

The hour finishes soon, signaling the end of Linguistics. 

“What the fuck is your problem today?” Venka mutters under her breath. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

As he is slinging his bag over his shoulder, something or someone hits his shoulder hard. Books and loose papers fly across the floor as his pack slips off of his arm. 

Rin steps through him, elbowing his side as she passes. She turns over her shoulder and looks him up and down, gaze full of disdain. “Asshole.” She stomps on his papers as she leaves. 

“Bitch!” He calls after her, not caring if Master Jima is still in the room.

He feels Venka hovering over him as he bends down and picks up his scattered supplies. “She is lucky she is hardly ever in the dormitory when I am there,” Venka says, arms crossed staring at the door Rin and Kitay just exited out of.

“Why? What are you going to do, Ven? Fight her?” Nezha shoves his books back in his bag, organizing the loose leafs of paper so they don’t crumple. He notices an odd scrap on top of the pile of papers, and pockets it before Venka can notice.

“No,” Venka grunts, “But I might suffocate her in her sleep. Get her to stop snoring.”

Nezha sniggers at the idea of little Fang Runin snoring. 

“What do you mean she is never in the dormitory when you are there?” He asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

“I mean, she is never there. I go to bed, she is not there. I wake up, she is not there” Venka shrugs. “If I didn’t wake in the middle of the night because of her snores, I would think she didn’t sleep.”

“Huh.”

He feels Venka’s knowing gaze on him once again, so he changes the subject. “Come on, we are going to miss archery with Sonnen if we don’t hurry. And I don’t need you in a pissy mood because you missed your favorite class.”

They slip in the weaponry room just in time. Venka beelines towards the bow allowing Nezha the opportunity to slip the scrap of paper out of his pocket. 

Only one word in Rin’s sloppy handwriting was written on the page

Midnight? 

Nezha contemplates going to bed and leaving Rin to her own devices, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He does, however, make her wait, showing up a quarter of an hour after her suggested time. 

She sits on the ground, sharpening a sword, not even sparing a glance up at him as he walks over to her.

“You’re late,” she says, her voice clipped.

“And you didn’t show up this morning,” Nezha retorts, huffing.

Rin shrugs, indifferent. “Mornings no longer work for me.”

“And it couldn’t have killed you to let me know that?” Nezha scoffs, irritation dripping in his tone.

Finally, she looks up at him, head shaking in annoyance. “You are lucky I am letting you know now. We don’t talk, Nezha. We are not friends. We spar and that is it.”

No they are not friends, Nezha begrudgingly agrees with Rin, but that doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in his gut at her confession. “Still. It is common decency to let me know.”

A shrill sound escapes from Rin’s lips that Nezha cannot classify as a laugh. “What do you know about decency?”

“Plenty more than you,” Nezha fires back, his lips curling into a sneer. 

Rin points her sword up at Nezha’s chest, “Spare me the Southern trash insults. They are becoming repetitive and unoriginal.”

“You’re repetitive and unoriginal,” Nezha mutters under his breath.

“Really?” Rin asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Too tired to come up with anything clever to say back to her, Nezha sticks his tongue out at her like a child. “Why can’t you do mornings anymore?”

“Ugh!” Rin groans, tossing her sword on the ground, frustration rippling from every poor part of her body. “Fucking Jiang.”

“You can’t do mornings anymore because you are fucking Jiang?” The corners of his mouth tug up as he teases her.

“What! Ew! No!” Rin shrieks, a look of repulsion crosses her features as she shudders in disgust. “Fucking Jiang is making me meditate every morning.”

Nezha can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. “You mean to tell me, Jiang is making you sit still and find inner peace? You? ” He looks down at Rin who is silently fuming, her leg bouncing in fury. “Huh, maybe pledging Lore was not a stupid idea after all.”

Rin huffs, crossing her arms. “This is the first time I have ever thought it was a stupid idea.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to agree with me.”

A laugh, a real, whole laugh, slips past Rin’s lips. It is sharp, so sudden, so unexpected that Nezha can’t help but grin with her. It isn’t the first time he has heard Rin’s laugh, but usually this sound is reserved for Kitay in the back of classrooms and libraries. 

This laugh, however, is different. This is for him. 

He wants to hear it again.

“Maybe so,” Rin replies, voice much lighter than it was seconds ago.

“So,” Nezha shifts his weight, he lightly kicks out his foot, tapping Rin’s shin. “Are we still doing this then?”

She pulls her leg back and shoots to her feet, challenging him. “Of course. Do you think I would let you win that easily?”

“Careful, Rin,” Nezha says, a playful grin spreading across his face “I might start to think you enjoy spending time with me.”

“Please,” Rin scoffs, “I enjoy pummeling your ass multiple times a week. I won’t let Jiang’s mission to mellow me out get in the way of that pleasure.”

A menacing grin curls across Nezha’s features. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t mellow out on me.”

That laugh slides out of her mouth again, curling around Nezha’s heart, squeezing it erratically. It’s the only explanation on why his pulse skips a beat. 

They both stand in the opening position, bowing to one another. He catches her eye, a mischievous glint in her eye. She kicks straight up, aiming for his groin. Thankfully, he maneuvers out of her aim, she instead just catches his left leg. 

“That was for your comment in Jima’s lecture today,” Rin juts her chin out, defiant, asking him to retort her reasoning.

“I’ve said plenty worse before,” Nezha says, continuing his process, angling from his left to strike her right side. 

She slides around him, easily blocking him. “Why do you think I missed, then?”

“Because your muscles are too stiff from sitting on your ass meditating all morning.”

Back and forth they strike, both verbally and physically, blocking and hitting one another. Nezha is getting stronger thanks to Jun’s training, but Rin is not as weak as she appears. Her mornings with him have strengthened her too. Together, they fight as if they are dancing. Lithe and choreographed, even if they are fighting each other. It is a feeling that he doesn’t experience in the Rings, but only in the cold basement of the Combat building.

Nezha manages to catch Rin off-guard, knocking her to the ground. He is on her immediately, pinning her hands to her side. 

She curses under her breath, knowing she lost. 

“Say it, Rin,” Nezha goads, his voice light and triumphant.

“I yield,” she spits at him.

“Look at you,” Nezha says, rolling off of Rin, “Smarter than the idiots I fight in the ring.”

Brushing dust off of herself, Rin says, “Careful, Nezha. I might think you’re complimenting me.”

“I am,” Nezha shrugs.

Bewildered, Rin looks at him, brows knit together in confusion “What?”

Nezha shifts to his knees, facing her head on. “You’re smart, Rin. You see who I have fought. Not exactly Sinegard’s brightest.”

“I’ll make sure I let Han know exactly what you think of him,” Rin says dryly.

“Please do.”

Rin continues to eye him with a flicker of doubt. It makes Nezha uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he continues, changing the subject, “I’m fighting Jeeha next week, if you want to watch me fight someone who isn’t an idiot.”

She tilts her head at his invitation. “You are going to spar a Fifth Year?” 

“Master Jun’s idea. I think he thinks it will humble me.”

Rin snorts, “Jun does not know you very well, then.”

They walk out of the room together, making their way back to the dorms. No one else is out and awake at this hour, so the only sound filling the night is chirps of nocturnal insects. The silence between them isn’t awkward nor tense, but it is still strange. Nezha breaks it. 

“So why must we meet at midnight? Surely we can meet earlier than this.”

It is Rin’s turn to shrug. “Library closes at midnight,” she says as if it were obvious.

He stops momentarily when they reach the spot where their paths diverge. “See you at the Rings?”

Rin turns, angeling her face up to him. The moonlight illuminates her face, accentuating the sharp angles of her cheeks, casting soft shadows along her jaw. “Maybe. Night Nezha.” She pivots on her foot, heading back to the girl’s dormitory, not sparing a second look back at him.

Nezha knows she doesn’t look back because he watches her all the way until she gets inside.

Chapter Text

He slides down the rope ladder, kicking up loose dirt into a cloud of dust as he lands. The cheering roar from his classmates banging on the railings of the Ring is music to Nezha’s ears. 

Here. Nezha is a god. 

A god that he actually wants to be. 

Sang Jeeha, fifth year Combat apprentice, stands before him. Cocky. Arrogant. Jeeha expected to become the pits golden boy after Altan graduated. He may have won every single fight this year, placing him right on track to become Altan’s successor, but that is only because he has not fought Nezha yet.

Blood pounds in his ears and adrenaline pulses through Nezha’s body as he circles his opponent.

The dragon stretches out across his back. Bloodthirsty. Ready to collect another trophy, another win. Beating Jeeha tonight will prove that Nezha is the best at Sinegard. 

Or maybe just second best.

Daring a glance up at the back corner of the ring, Nezha looks for Rin. He tries to not let his gut flood with disappointment when he doesn't see her in her usual spectator spot. 

“Begin,” Master Sonnen instructs.

Taking in Nezha’s opening stance, Jeeha grins as if he was handed a gift, an easy win. Despite Nezha’s perfect winning record, Jeeha still underestimates Nezha just because he is a second year. 

A quick strike to Jeeha’s side quickly proves him wrong. 

“This won’t be like your other fights, Yin,” Jeeha sneers, staggering away.

He is circling him, backing just out of Nezha’s reach. “You won’t be able to take me down as easily as your classmates. Tonight, you will realize just how inexperienced you are.”

Nezha huffs a laugh, “We will see about that.”

He lurches forward, swinging his arm deliberately to Jeeha’s strong side; he is easily blocked, exactly as Nezha intended. Pivoting on his heel, Nezha spins low, driving his elbow hard into Jeeha’s back. Jeeha staggers forward, wheeling around in time to see the smirk forming on Nezha’s face.

Nezha takes a step back, circling Jeeha like the prey that he is. “How embarrassing will it be for future divisions to learn you lost to a second year?”

Hissing, Jeeha turns to face Nezha. Anger flickers in Jeeha’s onyx eyes, his face hardening. “Your arrogance will get you killed, Yin. Two years at Sinegard is nothing compared to my level of training.”

Nezha lets out a haughty laugh. “You can’t kill me.”

“We will see about that,” Jeeha seethes.

For five years, Jeeha trained at Sinegard, four of them specifically as Jun’s apprentice. His muscles memorized every line of Jun’s playbook, executing his fighting style flawlessly. Unfortunately for Jeeha, Nezha’s been studying Jun’s playbook for months now and already has it memorized.

With every step Jeeha takes, Nezha knows how to counter it. Hit. Block. Strike. Kick. Block. Side-step. Nezha remains one step ahead of Jeeha, flowing through each strike and counterstrike, fluid like water.

He could end this if he wanted to, but why would Nezha do that? He is having fun toying with the elder apprentice. 

“Do you get tired of following the textbook, Jeeha?” Nezha taunts. Jeeha crouches, executing the form of the white tiger flawlessly, every muscle tense with power. But the position is limited, only a few moves can follow. 

Jeeha pounces up, trying to wrap around Nezha’s waist to pull him to the ground, but Nezha squats low to meet Jeeha at his level. 

“White tiger into flying monkey,” Nezha tuts, “We learned that combination as first years.”

Jeeha’s hands grapple for Nezha’s ankles, his eyes watching Nezha’s lower extremity. 

Stupid mistake. 

Nezha claws at his face, drawing blood instantly. 

“Fuck!” Jeeha cries out, stumbling back away from Nezha. Blood trickles down his cheek, a long scratch from where Nezha mauled him, already turning an angry red. 

“I’m the inexperienced one?” Nezha asks, his tone contumelious, “You can’t even block a simple strike, distracted by my feet."  

Using the back of his hand, Jeeha smears the blood off his face that is contorting into a snarl. “You have no honor.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Nezha corrects. They are back to circling one another, using their words to attack instead of their fists. “I know honor. There is nothing more honorable than sticking to your beliefs. And I believe you are woefully unprepared for a real battle. You will soon graduate from Sinegard and realize that you aren’t strong enough to lead.”

Jeeha shrieks, pouncing at Nezha. Even flustered, Jeeha still uses the techniques taught to him at Sinegard Academy. His strikes come faster, but still remain textbook perfect and predictable. 

It’s too easy, and Nezha is getting bored.

Let’s end this. 

A chill crawls up Nezha’s spine at the Dragon’s words.

Nezha kicks. Not at Jeeha, but rather at the ground. A billowing cloud of dust swallows the both of them. Jeeha coughs at the unexpected dirt contaminating his lungs, opening up the perfect opportunity for Nezha to attack. 

Blinded, Jeeha does not expect Nezha’s strike from behind, tackling them both to the ground. Nezha slams his left knee into Jeeha’s abdomen, knocking the air out of his lungs, his right arm slams into Jeeha’s throat, preventing him from sucking in another breath. 

Jeeha thrashes from underneath him, trying to escape, desperate and panicked, searching for air. One of his legs flails, and Nezha slams his right foot down on Jeeha’s knee. A sick crack of shattering bone echoes through the ring, followed by a small cry escaping Jeeha’s lips, wasting the last bit of oxygen in his lungs. 

Finally, Jeeha taps his hand on the dirt, surrendering.

The dust settles and Nezha has won. 

Pure euphoria surges through him as the cheers of his classmates erupt around the ring, their voices blending into a deafening roar. Nezha rises to his feet, lifting his arms in triumph. He turns to face the roaring crowd, grinning up at every single face he sees. 

Nezha’s grin falters, ever so slightly, when he confirms that Rin is not one of those faces in the crowd. 

Nezha hides his limp as he walks into Jima’s classroom. During his morning Combat lecture, Jun took one look at Nezha and pointed to the hill, forcing Nezha to run until his lungs burned and his legs felt heavy like lead.

“It’s probably for the best that you missed Combat this morning,” Venka says as they walk to class together, “Jun was already in a sour mood which only worsened when Jiang interrupted with Rin.” 

Nezha glances around Jima’s classroom, eyes landing on Rin in her usual seat. Her head lulls to the side, barely supported by her fist. Her eyelids droop, fluttering in a losing battle against the sleep obviously calling her.

She looks like Nezha feels. Exhausted. 

“How did they interrupt?” he asks.

Venka rolls her eyes, “The usual. Jiang was using the courtyard, reciting some Hinterland’s children’s story, animal sounds and everything, all while Rin was standing on her head. Fucking weirdos.” Venka shakes her head, muttering the last bit under her breath. “Jun, of course, asked them to leave. Jiang then started to act out the animal motions along with the animal sounds.”

“And you think I would have preferred sprinting up and down the hill over watching Jiang pretend to be a dog?”

Venka laughs, “He does have an impressive bark.”

“You should hear his monkey sounds.”

Both Venka and Nezha whip their heads to the back of the classroom. 

Still supporting her head on her face, Rin barely blinks her eyes awake, staring up at Nezha. Whatever sarcastic retort Nezha was going to say gets stuck in his throat as he watches the corners of Rin’s mouth twitch up into a soft, sleepy smile before it stretches into a large yawn.

“Jun loves monkeys, tell Jiang to whip that one out next time he interrupts class,” Nezha says. 

That soft smile returns to Rin’s lips and Nezha’s gut swoops at the sight. “I’ll pass along the message.”

Next to Rin, Kitay stares, slack-jawed, eyes flitting back and forth between Rin and Nezha. Around the room, some of their other classmates take notice too, bewildered by the exchange that has such a different tone from the last time Rin and Nezha interacted in Jima’s class. 

Nezha turns to the front, settling in for class, ignoring the lingering looks from his classmates. 

Venka too is staring at him.

“What?” Nezha asks.

Venka shakes her head and pulls out her supplies. “What the fuck?”

The rest of the day passes without incident. No one mentions Nezha and Rin’s surprisingly civil exchange in Linguistics, which Nezha is grateful for. Venka, however, does ask him how Nezha knew what Jun’s favorite animal is. 

“What happens in Arlong, stays in Arlong, Ven.”

Nezha leaves the library that night and makes his way to the combat building at quarter to midnight. He expects to be the first one there, but as he pushes open the door, he is surprised to see the lights are already on.

In the corner of the room, Rin lies on her stomach, her cheek pressed to the pages of a large tome sprawled open in front of her. Loose parchments are scattered across the floor, her writing brush held loosely in her hand. 

She is fast asleep.

Nezha feels a sudden, strong urge to correct Venka because Rin doesn’t snore. Instead, it is more a soft whistle that breezes through her lips as she sleeps.

It’s strange. Nezha thought it was impossible for Fang Runin to look this peaceful. It almost feels wrong to see her without her usual heated anger, instead replaced with a warm flickering glow. 

He should wake her. 

She cannot be comfortable, and should probably sleep in her bed rather than on the cold ground.

Nezha slams the door shut behind him, hoping the noise is enough to wake Rin. She stirs, just so slightly, but doesn’t wake. 

“Tiger’s tits,” Nezha mutters to himself. 

Nezha stomps his boots against the floor as he approaches, each step deliberate and loud. Still, Rin doesn’t move. He stops just above her, hovering over her sleeping form. 

Up close, he can see her textbook, written entirely in Old Nikan, a language that even Jima doesn’t spend much time lecturing on. Rin’s sleeves are pushed up to her elbows, dark ink spilled on her fingers and arms. Inspecting closer, Nezha notices odd splotchy scars littering her forearms that Nezha could only guess how she managed to acquire those. 

And then he realizes he is watching Fang Runin sleep like a fucking creep.

Disgusted with himself, he does the first thing that comes to mind.

He kicks her.

“Ow!” Rin jolts up with a curse, voice still heavy with sleep. “What the fuck?”

“You were sleeping,” Nezha says flatly, “I didn’t think you wanted to sleep here .”

“I didn’t want to sleep at all.” Rin pushes herself off of her stomach and up onto her knees. She tilts her head from side to side until her neck cracks. 

Nezha frowns, “You were half asleep in Linguistics today. You should probably go to bed.”

Rin ignores him, chewing on her bottom lip, staring up at the clock behind him. “I was only awake for thirty-nine hours.” She shakes out her muscles, then stands, shoving her textbook into her fraying backpack with a frustrated huff. 

She finally looks up at Nezha after snapping her backpack close, “Jiang is testing to see how long I can go without sleep. He wants me to last at least forty-eight hours without sleep so I can go completely nocturnal next week.” 

Nezha stares at her. “Why?” 

“Why not?”

Nezha drags a hand down his face. “Lore is fucking weird. And how does mimicking animal sounds tie into Jiang forcing you into sleep deprivation?”

“No clue,” Rin shrugs.

“This is insane. You should-”

“Do you want to do hand-to-hand tonight or spar with weapons?” Rin interrupts. “Personally I am itching to use a sword tonight.”

“What?” Nezha asks, giving Rin an incredulous look. “You should go to bed.”

“No.”

“No?” Nezha repeats, exasperated. “Rin, you are exhausted. Stop just trying to do the opposite of what I say.”

Rin ignores him, walking over to a rack of weapons along the wall. She picks up a sword, balancing it in her hand. “Do you want your usual sword, or do you want to switch it up tonight?” 

Sighing, Nezha tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds the patience he is so desperately looking for. “My usual sword will do.”

“That’s what I expected,” Rin says, already carrying Nezha’s sword, holding out the handle towards him.

He accepts it with a nod. He shouldn’t be humoring her like this, not when she is clearly running on fumes, but if she insists on fighting, then she will get a fight. Nezha should be able to end this quickly anyways with how slow Rin is moving.

“One round,” Nezha says, balancing the weight of the sword in his hand, “then we both can go get some sleep.”

Rin rolls her eyes, pointing her sword at the ground where she wants Nezha to stand, “I don’t need to sleep. Just get in your opening position.”

“So bossy,” Nezha mutters, stepping into place. 

A wicked grin curls across Rin’s face, and then she strikes. She isn’t as slow as Nezha expected, but it is still easy for him to block her strike. He knows her well enough at this point that she likes to strike low, an advantage for her short stature. 

He blocks one strike and then another. 

“You’re leading with your shoulder, Rin,” Nezha corrects after the fifth easy block. “I can read exactly where you are going before you even move.”

“I do not,” Rin retorts, but she squares off her shoulders and straightens her stance. Her next strike catches him slightly off guard. 

“Better.”

“Hmph,” Rin snarls under her breath. 

They continue sparring. Metal clashing with metal. But Rin is tired and slower than usual, even after she corrected her stance. With a quick twist of his wrist, Nezha disarms Rin, her sword clattering to the ground. 

“I win,” Nezha brags, unable to resist the egotistic grin forming on his face. 

Rin snatches her sword from the ground and stomps away over to the practice dummy, stabbing it through the heart.

“You lead with your shoulder again.”

“Tiger’s tits, Nezha!” Rin spins on her heel, anger flashing in her eyes. “I am going to take that sword and stab you through the heart next time, Yin Nezha.”

Nezha crosses his arms, unbothered. “I see your meditation is going well. Keeping you nice and calm.” 

“Fuck off. I heard you might need to start meditating too. Something about how you nearly killed Jeeha.”

Nezha picks up his sword and walks over to the practice dummy, prying Rin’s blade from the wood. “How would you know?” He asks. “You weren’t there.”

Rin crosses her arms, “I have my sources.”

“Kitay tends to exaggerate things despite his eidetic memory.”

Rin stalks forward and plucks her sword back out of Nezha’s hands. “Kitay does not exaggerate.”

“Give me that!” Nezha says in a stern voice as if he is reprimanding a child, swiping the sword back. “I do not trust you with this at all right now.” Both swords get placed gently back on the weapons rack, safe and away from Rin’s violent hands. “Where were you last night anyway? Since it sounds like you weren’t sleeping.”

“Aww. Miss me?” Rin asks. She slides in front of Nezha, looking up at him with a playful glint in her eye. 

Nezha arches an eyebrow. “Me? Miss you?” He scoffs. “Never.”

“Uh huh,” she nods in mock seriousness. It’s teasing. Almost playful. 

“I do wish I were there though. You actually did something cool and interesting in your fight. Kick a cloud of dust to distract your opponent? Sounds like something I would do to win” She tugs on the sleeve of his tunic, and continues. “Maybe you actually are learning something from our late-night fights.”

A huff of laughter escapes Nezha’s lips. “Coming from the girl who just listened to my own advice for her to stop leading in with her shoulder. Maybe we both are getting something out of these sessions.” 

They are standing close. Too close.

Nezha hovering over Rin, grinning down at her. She is looking up at him, her usual scowl twitching on her face like she’s fighting to keep it in place. Her hand still lingering on his sleeve. There has always been a charge of heat between them, electrified with animosity their first year. But now, over the last few months something has shifted in that energy. The venom is not there. It is a new fervor entirely.

Nezha swallows hard and pulls away from the heat that is Fang Runin. 

Rin coughs, turning abruptly to snatch up her backpack. “I was studying,” she mutters, almost to herself. “That’s why I wasn’t there last night.” 

It takes a second for Nezha’s brain to clear to catch what Rin said. 

Obviously, Rin was busy. Jiang pushes her in her studies of Lore further than the extent Jun will ever push Nezha. She misses classes often, so with whatever free time she has, she is catching up on her work for her other classes.

But she was here tonight. 

She made time for him tonight.

His heart skips a beat.

“You know,” Nezha says with a start when he finally finds his voice. “If you ever need help with your other classes. I can—” He trails off. Not quite sure what he even is offering.

“I have Kitay’s work,” Rin says. “But thank you for the offer.”

Right.

Rin has Kitay, she does not need Nezha for schoolwork. He tries to ignore the sting.

Rin shifts her weight. “I do have a question for you.” She pauses waiting for Nezha’s objection, and when it doesn’t come, she continues. “You nearly choked Jeeha to asphyxiation. You shatter ribs and knee caps. Han still can’t quite walk without a limp and you last fought him months ago.”

“Is there a question in here, Rin?” Nezha interrupts curtly.

She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. In a small voice she asks, “Why don’t you hurt me?”

The question catches Nezha off guard. He tenses, unsure how to answer. Definitely not truthfully.

“I can’t keep sending you to Enro. It would start to be suspicious and our secret meetings won’t be so secret anymore.” Pathetic excuse, but the best he can come up with.

Rin nods slowly, accepting his answer. But then she smirks. “If you did send me to Enro, I’d make sure you were limping in right beside me. Then everyone would know you spend your spare time with pitiful Southern trash.” She tilts her head. “Your reputation would be ruined.”

“And I can’t have that.” Nezha rolls his eyes.

Rin’s laugh eases the ache crawling up his back, clawing at his flesh, begging to be noticed. The dragon writhes along his back. Not silenced. Never since their first fight in the ring.

But with her, it is quiet.

Chapter Text

“Chess. The most famous strategy game,” Irjah’s smooth voice fills the classroom. “Two players. A series of moves and countermoves. Slowly battling their way across black and white tile until one team out-maneuvers the other. Checkmate.”

The Strategy classroom is warm after lunch, a welcome reprieve from the bitter winter outside. Despite the fresh layer of snow covering the grounds that morning, Combat was still taught outside, leaving Nezha chilled to the bone. A lecture in chess is exactly what he needs right now. 

Simple and easy.

“By now, you all should be experts at the game. You have mastered different strategies and already have mapped out your attacks.” Irjah lazily picks up the black rook piece, twiddling it between his thumb and forefinger. “War is the furthest thing from chess. War is messy. Unpredictable. You can plan and strategize all you want, but unknown to you, your rook is actually a spy for the other team.”

Irjah flicks the rook to the ground. “Today, I will partner you up and you will play a round of chess. As the game progresses, I will pass out cards. Some cards will help you. Some will sabotage you. These cards could just be information for you or some knowledge your opposition is privy to.” Irjah takes his time to look around the room, letting the explanation of their task today to settle in. “To put it simply, shit happens in war. Today, you will prove to me your ability to adapt.”

A small flit of laughter flickers throughout the class at Irjah’s language. 

“Now, let me tell you your partners.”

Irjah runs through a list, assigning competitors and pointing to the table they should move to. 

“Kitay, you are with Nezha.”

From the front row, Kitay turns his head to meet Nezha’s eye. He nods and silently slides out of his chair heading to the corner desk Irjah pointed them to. 

He looks slightly lost without Rin at his side. For the last week and a half, Rin has been on a nocturnal schedule, missing classes and catching up on her work at night. She still manages to meet Nezha in the middle of the night a few times a week to spar, but Nezha is not sure if she is able to carve time out for her best friend. 

Nezha slides into the chair across from Kitay. “White or black?”

Kitay tilts his head, studying Nezha. “White,” he says after a pause and turns the chess board so his pieces are facing him.

“You may begin,” Irjah tells the class.

Kitay does not hesitate, immediately moving his pawn two squares forward. Nezha copies him. Another pawn moves forward, and Nezha replicates Kitay’s move again.

“I thought you outgrew this strategy when we were nine and you realized it never worked for you,” Kitay says, moving a bishop. 

Nezha shrugs, “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try it again.”

Irjah slips a white piece of paper to Kitay face down. Kitay picks it up and his eyebrows furrowed together as he reads the words. Silently, he picks up one of his pawns from the board and sets it off to the side. 

“He died of pneumonia,” Kitay clarifies. “It’s your turn.”

Taking advantage of the missing pawn, Nezha moves his knight, capturing the bishop Kitay had just played. 

There is something familiar about playing chess with Kitay that causes an uncomfortable heaviness to settle on Nezha’s chest. He misses Kitay. He misses the childhood they shared with Venka. But that Kitay is gone. A new Kitay sits in front of him. One that chose Rin over him. 

Irjah slips Nezha a note. 

It rained overnight, soaking all of your gunpowder. You are only allowed to move pawns for the next two turns until long range attacks are available again.

Well shit.

Adjusting quickly, Nezha redirects his attack, moving a pawn a square forward instead of the rook he intended to use. 

Kitay and Nezha continue to play well-matched, even as Irjah tries to sabotage their game. It’s fun. Having to constantly switch strategy midway through play is such an interesting exercise that Nezha doesn’t allow himself to feel comfortable even as he starts to surround Kitay’s king. 

Their other classmates must finish their matches as all eyes are now on Nezha and Kitay. Venka hovers nearby, intently watching. 

Another white note lands in front of Kitay, and as he reads it, a small curl of a smile — one that reminds Nezha so much of Rin — forms on Kitay’s lips. He picks the first pawn that Kitay took off of the board and places it back on the square it originally was removed from.  

Right in front of Nezha’s king.

“Checkmate,” Kitay says, grinning.

Nezha blinks at the board, completely lost on how that happened. “Give me that,” Nezha snaps, reaching across the board, grabbing the note from Kitay’s hands.

Your original pawn has returned from home. You may place it on the board, exactly from where you took it from. 

“I thought it died from pneumonia!” Nezha cries out.

“Of course that is what I would tell you,” Kitay says, grin widening. “The pawn simply went home for a few months after hearing about his wife’s illness.” Kitay pulls out the original note. “And now he is back. I hope he is back because his wife got better, not because she died,” he mutters almost to himself as an afterthought.

“Anyways,” Kitay continues, “I figured he would have to come back at some point, so I just had to direct your king in a false sense of security, right in the path of where my pawn will return.”

Fucking Kitay. 

Swallowing his pride, Nezha extends his hand forward. Kitay stares at it for a second before extending his own, shaking it. “You did good, Kitay.”

A bewildered look crossed Kitay’s features, “Thanks, Nezha.”

Class ends shortly thereafter. 

“Nezha, a word.” Irjah calls him over as the rest of the class shuffles out the door, back into the bitter cold. 

“Yes, sir?” 

Nezha runs through a quick list of reasons, both good and bad, of why Master Irjah would want to talk to him after class. Unable to come up with a good reason, he starts to sweat, the warmth of the classroom only making him flush harder.

“I am impressed with you today.”

What?

“But I lost.”

“Perhaps,” Irjah says, “But you still did well. I would never expect you to outsmart Kitay. I wouldn’t expect any of your other classmates to either,” Irjah continues before Nezha can sulk much further. “I partnered you with Kitay because you are the only person here who I thought could give him a small challenge. And I wanted to challenge you too.”

Nezha clears his throat. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir.”

“You would have made an excellent Strategy apprentice, Nezha.”

That makes Nezha pause. “But,” he hesitates, making sure he isn't misremembering, “But, you didn't offer me an apprenticeship, Master Irjah.”

Irjah waves Nezha off. “You were never going to accept it anyway, with the way Jun sunk his claws in you. I did offer your brother, Jinzha, an apprenticeship, you know. Obviously, he selected Jun, and I was not going to make that same mistake twice. The Yin family knows what they want, and they take it.”

Nezha is not sure if that was a compliment or an insult. 

“Jinzha would have benefited from a Strategy apprenticeship. Make sure you don’t make the same mistake he did and only focus on Combat.” Irjah packs away the chessboard. “That is all.”

Confused, Nezha shuffles out of the classroom. Venka, the great friend she is, waits for him just outside the door. 

“What did Irjah want?” she asks, handing her bag over for Nezha to carry without hesitation. 

Nezha grunts, lifting the unnecessarily heavy bag on his shoulder, “Great Tortoise, Ven. What are you carrying in here?” 

She rolls her eyes. “What did he say?”

“He just wanted to let me know that I did a good job today. That’s all.”

Venka huffs, rolling her eyes. “Great, just what you need. Another person sucking up to you telling you just how amazing you are,” she says, sarcasm dripping from every single word.

“I will drop your bag in the snow.”

“And I will be the first to tell you just how deserving of that compliment you are.” Venka grips his arm tight, nodding emphatically. “Yin Nezha is just the best at everything.”

He laughs, pulling his arm out of Venka’s grip. “Fuck off.”

Snow continues to fall, blanketing Sinegard Academy in an icy grip essentially freezing most of the students to their dormitories, not wanting to make the trek to the library to study late at night. Several more candles are lit amongst the stacks than usual, providing an incandescent warm glow throughout the room. 

It is well into the evening, and yet Nezha is one of the few student’s who braved the cold to study at the library that night. 

Irjah’s words kept repeating in Nezha’s head, over and over again. 

You would have made an excellent Strategy apprentice. Don’t make the same mistake Jinzha did. 

Nezha is not sure what that even means. As far as Nezha is aware, Yin Jinzha does not make mistakes. Every single decision, every single action Jinzha did, set the gold standard that Nezha is expected to meet. But if his older brother somehow fell short of Master Irjah’s expectations, Nezha will be sure that he won’t fail where his brother did. 

Which is why Nezha is not cozy in his own bed and instead freezing his ass off at the library, working on a Strategy paper not due for another week. 

He is not alone in his self-inflicted misery. 

Three tables over, tucked in the back corner of the library, Rin sits hunched over an impressive stack of books. Her head barely pokes up over the towering stacks, and she has not moved from her spot since Nezha arrived hours earlier. They exchanged a polite nod when he first arrived and they ignored the other since. 

Well, Rin ignores Nezha.

Nezha, on the other hand, watches her work. Her nose is constantly buried in a book only looking up from her work to open a different book. Occasionally, her head droops, her body betraying her exhaustion, but she catches herself, startling herself awake.

Jiang must hate Rin, the way he forces her to never sleep. 

Just as Nezha is about to turn back to his essay, movement in his periphery draws his attention back to Rin’s table. Rin’s eyelids droop again, her head nodding, losing her fight to sleep. Again, she startles herself awake. He watches as she looks around the room, just glancing back to his essay in front of him as she looks over at his table. 

Heat pricks along his neck, almost caught watching her.

Nezha looks back up, just as Rin picks up the candle on her table. She hesitates, sucking in a breath, then tilts the candle over, pouring hot wax on her forearm. 

Nezha stiffens. 

What the fuck?

Rin bites her bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut. A small, barely restrained cry escapes her lips that Nezha can hear only because he is storming over to her table. 

His heavy footsteps alert Rin of his presence just in time to shove the sleeves of her tunic down over the fresh wax burning her arms.

Nezha is having none of that. 

He grabs her wrist, hard, twisting her forearm and pinning it to the table. With a sharp tug, he yanks up the sleeve of Rin’s tunic, exposing what she clearly wanted to hide.

“Rin, what the fuck?”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Rin shrieks, her voice too loud for the library. She tries to buck Nezha off her, but his grip is too strong. Scars, both old and fresh, litter her arms. He saw them that night he woke her from her sleep. At that time, he was not sure what could possibly make these types of scars, but it all makes sense to him.

Rin burns herself.

And by the looks of it, she has been burning herself for years.

“My problem?” Nezha scoffs, “I am not the one self-harming. What is your problem?”

Pain shoots up Nezha’s leg as Rin's foot connects with his shin. His grip slackens on her wrist, so she finally pulls herself free. 

“You are my problem right now,” Rin seethes. “Leave me alone so I can finish my work.”

“No,” Nezha says, defiant. 

“Nezha,” Rin says, throat tight, voice cracking. She blinks as if she is holding back tears, “Just leave me alone.”

His heart stutters, “ Rin.”

She doesn’t respond. The heels of her hands press against her forehead, her fingers gripping tightly to the roots of her short locks of hair. She squeezes her eyes shut, refusing to look up at him, shoulders curling inward as if she is trying to make herself smaller. 

Nezha stares, something uneasy stirring in his gut. He has never seen her like this. So vulnerable. It doesn’t fit his version of Fang Runin, and he doesn’t like it.

“Rin,” Nezha repeats, his tone much softer. 

“You don’t get it!” Rin cries, hands slamming on the table next to them. 

A fifth year apprentice, the only other person in the library besides the two of them, hushes them before turning back to his work. 

“You don’t get it,” she repeats, softer this time.

She lifts her head at last, eyes burning with something sharp. Something bitter. 

“You won’t get kicked out. You are Sinegard’s golden boy.” The title drips from her tongue like an insult. “You could be last in class, but you will still get an offer to work in whatever division you want just because of who your father is. I, on the other hand, am just Southern trash.”

Nezha’s gut sinks at her words, but she continues her rant before he can interrupt her.

“If I don’t do well, I can get kicked out and sent back south where I will have nothing. I will be nothing.” Disgust flickers across Rin’s face. “Sinegard was my chance to escape that fate. It is all that I have. I can’t fail. I can’t go back.” 

Her breath is ragged. She is on the verge of frustrated, exhausted tears, and Nezha has no clue how to comfort her.

“So why do you burn yourself?” He asks instead. 

“Gods, Nezha! Is that all you can focus on?” Rin seethes. “The pain keeps me awake, so I can keep studying. It is how I managed to pass the Keju despite only studying for two years.”

Nezha’s brain can’t quite compute what she just said. He started studying for the Keju as soon as he learned his alphabet, and yet, Rin managed to learn all of the content needed to make it to Sinegard in a matter of two years. 

“You must have had an excellent tutor,” Nezha says.

Rin gives him a hard look. “The first words I ever heard you say were insulting Tutor Freyik.” 

Of course, Nezha hasn’t forgotten. That was the first day Rin ever punched him, and his feelings for her have been complicated ever since.

“To be fair, most things I say are insulting.”

She snorts, “Isn’t that the truth.”

Nezha realizes he is hovering over her still, and instead of going back to his table, like he should, he slides into the seat next to her. 

“And to be fair,” he says, settling in, "if I did get kicked out of Sinegard, my family probably would disown me.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re dramatic?”

“Venka,” Nezha replies. “Quite frequently, actually.” Nezha stalls, for just a second, before asking his next question, he wants to keep her talking to him. “And your family? Would they disown you if you failed out of Sinegard?”

“No. Marry me off more likely.” A blunt laugh escapes her lips. “Auntie Fang probably will be furious that my dowry is more expensive now than it was when I was fourteen, but if the Tikany’s import inspector is still looking for a child bride, then I am sure she will be thrilled that she gets to-”

Rin slammed her jaw shut, her teeth loudly clicking together, sounding terribly painful. In the state of her exhaustion, Rin revealed so much about herself that she likely never intended to let anyone, let alone Nezha, know. 

Nezha watches as realization dawns on her. Watches as her expression tightens, her shoulders stiffen, like she is only just realizing how much she’s let slip.

A crushing, suffocating feeling engulfs Nezha. He feels bad for Rin. It is not the same condescending pity he used to feel where he thought she was pathetic because of where she came from. No, this is entirely new to him. An understanding of how difficult she had to climb to get to where she is now. 

He and Venka kid about their arranged marriage all the time, never really taking the ramifications of their set up all too seriously. But for Rin, it was not some distant inconvenience. It was real and it was terrifying. 

His heart sinks further as he puts it together.

Two years to study for the Keju.

Fourteen years old.

Child Bride.

Fuck . 

She is avoiding eye contact, looking everywhere else besides at Nezha’s concerned face. A faint red tinges up her neck, flushing her ears and her cheeks. 

Nezha’s throat feels tight, sticky as if he swallowed sweet sorghum. He needs to say something to break this embarrassing tension between them. 

“My sister, Muzha,” he starts, the words tumbling out, cracking ever so slightly, “was sent off to Hesperia the same year her twin brother, Jinzha, was accepted to Sinegard.” 

Rin doesn’t react, so he presses on.

“She studied every day with Jinzha. He never let me study with him, but sometimes she would let me study with her. She loved the classics and could almost recite them cover to cover. And then the day before the Keju, my mother informed her that under no circumstances was Muzha going to take that exam. A chance to study at the Grey Towers in Hesperia opened up for her, and mother was not going to let her only daughter not snatch that opportunity.”

Nezha scratches the back of his neck, unsure if any of what he is saying is helping or hurting Rin at all. “I wish she fought back against mother like you fought against your family, Rin.”

Finally, Rin’s head snaps over to his direction. Her face is still slightly flush with embarrassment, her lips slightly parted in something resembling shock. 

Nezha continues before he can think too hard about whatever strange feeling is fluttering in his gut.

“She is brilliant, but she isn’t strong,” his voice lowers. “You’re both, Rin.”

As soon as the words leave Nezha’s mouth, he regrets them.

The air between them grows tighter, the tension sharper. He leans back slightly, forcing more space between them, but it seems to stretch the invisible cord between them more taut, increasing the tension. 

Why the fuck did he say all of that?

He plants his feet firmly on the ground, ready to bolt, when Rin raises her voice.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Rin spits out, sounding so sour, so bitter. 

Nezha burns in indignation. “Well, I didn’t say it to make you feel worse, Runin.”

Rin scoffs. “Being reminded that the hardest thing you had to deal with was your sister being sent away to go fucking study is not the comforting speech you think it is.” 

Her cheeks now are a splotchy red, her eyes are watery, tears from earlier still threatening to spill. 

“I was going to be unwillingly bedded by my much older husband while your sister got sent off to be pampered by Hesperians. Boo fucking hoo .” 

That familiar hate in his chest stirs, he hasn’t felt it directed at her in almost a year now. Not since their last match in the Rings. 

“Poor Nezha,” Rin continues, venom dripping from every word spilling from her mouth, “All alone in his palace. The only Yin child left for his parents to pamper and provide the best tutors for him to get into Sinegard. I am sure you absolutely loved being doted on by your mother when you were her only child at home.”

Nezha’s anger boils to a breaking point. How dare she talk about his mother like that. How dare she imply his childhood was easy. 

“You know nothing,” he sneers through clenched teeth. 

“Please,” Rin rolls her eyes, “Your mother walked you to the front steps on Sinegard on your very first day. Her precious youngest son.”

Nezha’s throat tightens. His vision tunnels.

“My mother,” Nezha chokes, “ignored my existence for an entire year because she blames me for killing my younger brother.”

Finally, Rin shuts up. 

Of course, Mingzha’s death is not the only reason Yin Saikhara could not look Nezha in the eye for over a year, but too many secrets have been spilled at this table tonight, and that is one Nezha will always keep close to his chest. 

Nezha is breathing hard as if they just finished a sparring match instead of a verbal argument. Tears prick behind his eyelids, and the overwhelming feeling of guilt floods his system like it always does whenever Nezha is reminded of Mingzha. And with the guilt, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots up his spine.

The Dragon awakes.

He needs to leave. Now. Before the pain becomes too unbearable. Before he becomes an utter shell of himself and cannot take a breath without that slight movement of his ribs expanding sending him into an agonizing spiral, wishing for death. 

Just as the pain wraps around his head, squeezing pressure behind his eyes, a small, warm hand wraps around his wrist.

“Nezha,” Rin says, her voice soft and too far away. 

Desperate, Nezha clings to the sound of her voice, using it like a lifeline to pull himself away from the claws of the Dragon and back to reality. Away from the grotto.

“Nezha?” Rin repeats, uncertain.

The pain dampens enough for Nezha to focus on Rin’s dark fingers holding on to his wrist.

“Don’t start feeling sorry for me now, Rin,” Nezha attempts to tease. He doesn’t pull away from her grasp, appreciating her touch to keep grounding him. “For all you know, Mingzha’s death was my fault.”

Her fingers tighten on his wrist. Nezha hopes they leave a mark. 

“Was it?”

Nezha shrugs, extra cautious that his movement does not pull away from Rin. “I was left in charge of watching him. He wanted to go to a place that Father forbade us from ever going, and I let him. Mingzha drowned because I took him to a place we never should have visited in the first place.” Nezha sucks in a breath, “I tried, I really tried to save him.”

He can’t stop the crack in his voice. 

Rin lets go of his wrist, and fuck, she must be repulsed by him. Nezha can’t blame her, everyone else is disgusted with him. Himself included. He punishes himself further, daring to look down at Rin and see the disgust in her eyes, but when he meets her gaze, a softness is there instead. 

It confuses Nezha.

Rin openly burned herself, and metaphorically cut herself open, revealing too much of her past, unwillingly giving a part of herself to Nezha to hold and to keep. And Nezha spilled the sliver of himself that he rarely offers anyone else. They can destroy the other with their new secrets. There is a new balance between them. A dangerous kind of trust.

She opens her mouth, finally going to break the silence .

A bell rings signalling Midnight and the closure of the library.

Nezha exhales, tension uncoiling just enough for him to move. He goes back to his table, picking up his neglected Strategy homework. 

Turning back to Rin’s table, he watches her tighten the button at the top of her winter uniform, bracing herself for the bite of the bitter winter on her walk back to her dorm. He waits for her by the door. 

“I’m sorry about your little brother,” Rin says, “Mingzha.”

His brother’s name on her lips is like a knife straight to his spine. He grits his teeth from the pain. He isn’t sure if he verbally responds if he would be able to actually form words, so he nods. 

“Night, Nezha,” Rin murmurs. She hesitates for half a second, then reaches out and squeezes his wrist again before turning to walk away in the night.

Every step Nezha takes back to his dorm is excruciating. The sadness settling on Nezha’s chest weighs heavy, battling with the Dragon tearing Nezha open from the inside.  

You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine. 

The Dragon’s heavy voice pounds in his head, over and over again. It never liked Nezha’s grief for his little brother, and now it is taking the opportunity to remind him that Mingzha was the price for Nezha’s future.

What little future Nezha has.

He doesn’t even remember the rest of his walk back to the dormitory. One moment, he is standing outside the library, the next he is stumbling into his bed.

“Nezha?” a familiar, kind voice asks, “Are you okay?”

Obviously fucking not. He wants to die. He wants this pain to end. 

“Get the fuck away from me!”

Kitay’s startled face looks down at Nezha, flinching away from his curled form. “Whatever,” Kitay mutters, turning away and stalking back to his bed, three down from Nezha’s.

Maybe, if Nezha does not feel like ripping off his own skin to get the tattoo to stop slithering on his back, maybe, then Nezha would feel sorry for snapping at Kitay. But he is in too much pain to care. 

“I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.” Nezha chants over and over in his head, trying to drown out the sounds of the Dragon claiming him.

You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine. 

Chapter Text

At some point, despite the tremendous pain, Nezha must succumb to sleep. He sleeps for an hour, maybe two, but then he wakes before the sun, still in excruciating pain. 

The Dragon’s voice is not as loud as it was when he left the library, but it still rattles inside his skull, coiling around his thoughts, claiming him. It is the worst thing he has ever heard. Gods, he needs to silence it.

Nezha can hardly recall the last time that the Dragon sunk its claws this deep into him, especially when Nezha did not call upon it himself. He is unsure what triggered it, Rin or Mingzha. Likely some twisted combination of the two, but Nezha can’t think about it too hard with his head still pounding like a war drum.

Somewhere in the haze, Nezha finds himself outside. He doesn’t remember deciding to leave his room. He barely remembers shoving his feet into his shoes. But he must have, because now he’s standing in the courtyard, breath curling into the frigid air.

Snow drifts down, melting the moment it touches his overheated skin.

Scooping up a clump of ice, Nezha presses it to his temple, a futile attempt to soothe the throbbing behind his eyes. The Dragon must find this amusing, Nezha using frozen water to soothe his symptoms, because the moment the ice touches his skin, the pain flares hotter. It thrums, almost delighted, like a beast toying with its prey.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Nezha mutters to himself, hoarsely.

The Dragon laughs.

It’s laugh doesn’t echo in the air, it doesn’t need to. It resounds inside his skull, curling into the cracks of his sanity, digging in deeper, deeper.

Nezha exhales sharply. His breath shakes. He needs a cure. There is one place on campus that can rid him of this parasite. And somehow, in his delirium, he has already wandered there.

Jiang’s drug garden.

Nezha hadn’t been there since that first Lore lecture that Jiang never showed up to, but he could never forget the important lesson he learned that day: where to find a cure to the Dragon on campus. 

Nezha pushes open the garden gate, wincing at the sharp screech of rusted metal. He stands still, listening. Nothing. No crazed Lore Master barreling through the undergrowth to reprimand him.

Step by careful step, Nezha moves forward, eyes darting between the tangled flora, searching. Looking for Jiang. Looking for the poppies.

Just as he rounds the corner, a voice cuts through the silence.

Shit.

Nezha ducks, well stumbles more like it, and hides in a nearby bush. Thorns dig into his knees as he crawls into the leaves, hiding from the voice. 

“What lesson have you learned over the course of this last month?” Jiang’s unmistakable, airy voice carries throughout the garden.

“That you must hate me,” a tired voice replies. 

Rin’s tired voice.

Fucking shit. 

“That was not the lesson, although,” Jiang pauses, and Nezha can hear the amused lilt in his tone. “I will admit, it was a nice break from you. I got to sleep nice and cozy in my bed at night while you were awake, and I got to be alone in my garden while you were asleep. Honestly, I should extend this lesson a little longer,” Jiang adds as almost an afterthought. 

Nezha can practically hear Rin’s eye roll.

“Now,” Jiang continues, “What do you think is the real reason I made your sleep cycle so screwy?”

There is a pause, the faint cries of the Dragon is all Nezha can hear as Rin takes her time to answer her master’s question. Nezha can almost imagine Rin chewing on her bottom lip like she always does when she is working out a difficult answer. 

“I think,” Rin says hesitantly, and Nezha shifts closer to hear her answer. “This was a lesson in control. It is easy to be in control when you are put together and easily rested. You wanted to exhaust me, push me to my breaking point, and see if I could still function and remain calm despite the situation.”

Nezha thinks back to the night before. Rin’s tears pricking her eyes, but never spilling over, unlike her secrets. Nezha wonders if Jiang knows that she finally cracked last night, ever so slightly, finally reaching that breaking point that he was pushing her to.

“Precisely. Control is important to know. You need to learn how to control and keep your mind focused despite the exhaustion. Rin, you will reach a point where every part of you burns, wants to call upon that fire within you, and you must resist it. No matter how feeble or hopeless the situation is. You must remain in control. Do you understand?”

Jiang has never sounded so coherent, so strict and firm. Nezha feels like he himself is being lectured by the Lore Master.

“Yes,” Rin finally replies.

“Good!” Jiang claps, “Now get out of my garden and sleep. I don’t want to see you for a few days, I enjoyed your absence too much.”

Vague shuffling follows, and Nezha can only assume the grumbling curses Rin is muttering under her breath as she picks up her bag as she is kicked out of her Lore Master’s garden. 

He holds his breath as Rin passes his hiding spot, and he holds in a snort as he watches Rin trip over a raised stone on the path. 

Nezha waits, counting each small leaf on the branches obscuring him from view to pass the time, hoping that eventually Jiang leaves the garden and Nezha can steal some poppy.

“You can crawl out of that bush now, Nezha,” Jiang calls from above him.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuckity. Fucking shit.

Awkwardly, Nezha clambers out from the shrubbery, thorns sticking to his clothing. He feels like an utter fool and must look like one too. 

He stands up tall, facing Jiang, but Jiang isn’t facing him. Instead, he is walking away, deeper into the garden, closer and closer to wear the poppy flower grows. Morbid curiosity, sheer stupidity, and excruciating pain are the only reasons why Nezha follows the Lore Master. 

“Were you looking for something? Someone? Yourself? Students wander into my garden all the time trying to find something,” Jiang picks up a pair of garden shears larger than Nezha’s head, “They usually run off before they do.” 

Nezha takes a small step back. His hair has finally gotten long enough again that he can tie it back in a slick bun, and he doesn’t need Jiang chopping it off now. 

“Just, going for a walk,” Nezha mutters.

“A walk,” Jiang repeats the word like it is the funniest thing he has heard. He has his back turned to Nezha, shearing leaves from the tall shrub beside the poppy plant. 

“Most walks involve staying up on two feet. I would call what you were doing a crawl or a scuffle. Unless you tripped and fell into one of my bushes during your walk, and if that were the case, I need to go lecture Jun on teaching his apprentices proper footwork.”

Jiang’s back is still turned and Nezha wonders if he could run away and end this conversation before it somehow spirals further out of control. But then Jiang moves to pull a poppy pod from the plant, twiddles it between his fingers. 

Nezha freezes. 

“I- I didn’t trip,” Nezha finally says when he finds his voice. His eyes are trained on the poppy seed. “I just didn’t want to be seen.”

“Runin can be terrifying on no sleep.” Jiang nods solemnly. “I’ve been hiding from her too.”

Nezha isn’t sure if he agrees with the Lore master. Rin is always terrifying, sleep or no sleep. 

“I wasn’t hiding from Rin.”

Jiang bends over laughing, letting out an unattractive snort. “I would have thought you Yins were better liars.” He actually wipes a tear from his eye, leaving a streak of dirt on his cheek. “So if you didn’t trip, and you weren’t hiding from Runin, what lead you to be buried in my osmanthus bush? Do you have a new interest in horticulture, Nezha? Because I could always use a second student to help water my plants.”

“I was looking for medicine,” Nezha admits. Pain curls around his chest and squeezes his heart at his confession. It knows that Nezha is trying to get rid of him.

“Ah, you do realize I am Jiang and not Enro.”

Jiang is so frustrating that Nezha understands why Rin enjoys working under him so much.

“Yes,” Nezha says, tone clipped.

Jiang hums to himself, turning back to the poppy plant. “I wasn’t sure if you’ve been concussed too many times in that silly fighting ring that you forgot the difference between Enro and I’s subjects.” 

“I was looking for something for pain,” Nezha says slowly, “Something different than what Enro can offer.”

A giggle escapes Jiang’s lips, “Well don’t I have just the thing for pain.” Still turned away from Nezha, Jiang tosses the poppy pod seed over his shoulder. The seed smacks against Nezha’s chest before hitting the ground by his feet. 

This has to be a test. Both Jiang and Nezha are aware that if Nezha were to be caught with the drug, he would immediately get kicked out of the Academy. His family name would mean nothing. He would be a disgrace.

And yet.

The Dragon claws Nezha’s heart, its voice screaming in Nezha’s head

Don’t do it. You're mine. 

Nezha bends over and picks up the seed. The Dragon snarls loudly in his head, momentarily making his vision go white. It is fighting Nezha hard, and if he doesn’t silence it soon, Nezha might pass out and end up back in a bush.

“Get out of here, Nezha,” Jiang says breezily, “And go back to bed. There have been too many children in my garden this morning instead of their beds.”

“Right. Thanks, Sir.” And as some weird thanks for the drug and for not being turned in, Nezha adds, “Master Jun’s favorite animal is the monkey. If you ever find yourself mimicking animal noises during Combat class again.”

Jiang’s wild laugh follows Nezha outside the garden all the way to Nezha and Rin's secret sparring room where Nezha could heal alone. 

Winter passes.

It’s cold, miserable, and wet. The stirrings of political unease throughout Nikan do nothing to ease the bitter tension. Absurd rumors fly throughout the halls of the Academy about the Mugenese and the potential for another war. 

But buried within every wild rumor, there is a flicker of truth deep, and everyone is having vastly different responses to the rumors.

Han freaks out. He is from Horse, the province that, admittedly, deals with the Federation more than the others, so he understands their threat the most. He is terrified and willing to shout his fears from the top most part of Sinegard if Jima would let him. 

It is annoying. Fearmongering. Nezha wants to push him from the top most part of Sinegard for it.

Kitay, on the other hand, actually laughs at the absurdity of another war. He’s the youngest in their class, brilliant beyond his years, but his naivety shines through in his unwavering belief that war will never happen again.

Nezha isn’t stupid. His whole life, he was raised for another war. Granted the war he was prepared for was more civil in nature versus one between the small island across the sea. Letters from his brother come sporadically, updating him on the state of the Dragon Province, otherwise he doesn’t hear from his family besides the one letter from Muzha wishing him a happy 18th birthday. 

Jinzha isn’t worried. Of course he isn’t. The Yin family is strong, they have troops that they don’t need to sacrifice for this. Daji can handle it and if she can’t, all the better for them. His brother doesn’t say exactly those words in his letters, he’s not that foolish, but the subtext is crystal clear. There is the ever so slight chance that their correspondence gets intercepted. 

And Rin?

Nezha has no idea what she is thinking.

He probes, asking leading questions late one night as they lie on the dirty ground of their secret room, both too exhausted to move. 

“Who cares,” Rin says, staring up at the ceiling as she catches her breath. “If war comes or not, that changes nothing about my education and training.” 

She pushes herself up on her elbows, and reaches for her sword she discarded on the ground. 

“Again?”

Her answers have become more clipped since that night in the library. She continues to have no problem sparring with him, but the small semblance of a normal relationship between them has shifted since that night in the library. 

Nezha tries to talk to her, to get to know her further, but Rin shuts him down every time.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red. Like the color of your blood I’m going to see if you don’t start focusing on blocking my sword.”

“What is Tikany like?”

“Dirty.”

“Did you always want to get into Sinegard, or was there something else young Rin wanted to do with her life?”

“Young Rin and I shared the same passion of getting people to shut the fuck up and stop asking personal questions.”

So Nezha stops. 

He doesn’t understand why this sudden shift in their dynamic bothers him so much, but it does. They never truly interacted in public together. Occasionally exchanging heated comments between classes, but now they have gone back to ignoring the other. 

A reminder that maybe they never truly were friends.

The tension between him and Rin only adds to the unease sinking into Nezha’s stomach, tangled with the growing unrest in his country. Everything comes to a head when rumors of another skirmish in Horse Province begin circling. Gossip spreads among his classmates at lunch, but Nezha does his best to ignore it, focusing instead on the latest letter from his brother.

Nezha,

Arlong continues to remain strong during these times. Father has everything well under control, and is very optimistic about the way things are progressing. Do not be Dragon’s only weak spot.

Jinzha

Nezha carefully tucks the letter to his chest pocket. He catches Venka’s eye and shakes his head at her. The silent later understood between the two of them. Together, they walk side by side to Strategy, Venka’s warm presence providing a small semblance of comfort to Nezha. Every single day is a reminder that Nezha doesn’t deserve Venka’s kindness, but he is thankful that she gives it to him anyways.

Do not be Dragon’s only weak spot. 

Jinzha’s letter rattles in his head, distracting him so thoroughly that he doesn’t see Niang until he slams straight into her, knocking her off balance. She glares at him, but Nezha barely notices—his focus is on the small white note clenched in her fist.

“Irjah’s gone,” Niang says as a greeting.

“What?” Venka cries. “Why?”

Niang passes the note to Venka as they step into the classroom together. Apparently, Irjah was summoned to the Empress’s diplomatic party due to the Horse border skirmish. Four civilians dead is enough to pull the Strategy master to beck and call for the Empress. A heavy feeling sinks in Nezha’s gut.

The trio seems to be the last to arrive, as the rest of the class continues to crowd around several desks in the front, murmuring in hushed tones. Rin hovers next to Kitay, not saying anything, but clearly absorbing whatever Han and Kitay are whispering about.

Nezha catches her eye. Rin clenches her teeth, but stares wide eyed over at him. A small flicker of terror crosses her eyes that Nezha understands all too well. 

Fear.

This is uncharted territory. He wants to talk to her, understand exactly what she is thinking. Work through different strategies on how she would handle the unrest because Rin always has a solution, an unexpected, brutal, and brilliant answer to every problem. 

Before Nezha can slip next to Rin, try to discreetly ask her a question, Han’s annoying voice pulls him away from his objective.

“The real problem is that some Warlord’s,” Han says, looking directly at Nezha, “don’t know how to put national interest first.”

“You don’t know what the hell you are talking about,” Nezha seethes. If one thing that his father cares about, it is national interest. Han can’t see that, he is too short sighted, and puts too much faith in the Empress. How Han doesn’t see the reason why Horse Province is being attacked is because of Daji’s incompetence, Nezha will never understand. 

“What I know,” Han snaps, “is that my father’s men are dying on the border, meanwhile, your father’s sitting pretty in his little palace, turning a blind eye because he’s kept nice and safe between two buffer provinces.” 

Idiot.

Nezha knocks some sense into him. He grips the back of Han’s neck and slams his face into the desk. A satisfying crack echoes throughout the classroom.

“Coward,” Han spits, blood pouring out from his nose. A dark bruise is already beginning to form under both of his eyes. ”You and your father.”

Nezha wonders if breaking Han’s neck will be enough to effectively shut Han up for good. 

Before he can test that theory, Kitay interrupts before Nezha can test that theory, changing the conversation away from Nezha’s father and back to Daji. 

Slowly, the cloud of anger slowly fades and clarity slowly sweeps over Nezha’s senses. The Dragon slithers across his back, too pleased with Nezha’s outburst. 

Since Irjah isn’t there to teach a lecture, and they all have plenty of other work assigned to do from their other Masters, the class disperses to use their surprise free time to get work done. Nezha is the first to leave, eager to get away from the crowd. 

He is not alone for long, as footsteps follow him closely. 

Nezha sighs to himself, “Venka, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not Venka,” Rin says.

Nezha sucks in a breath and turns sharply to face her. 

“Rin,” Nezha says, because what else can he say? She is the last person he expected to follow him. Especially lately. But here she is, in broad daylight, following him out of the classroom after he assaulted Han. A part of him wonders if she might hit him.

A part of him hopes that she might.

She stutters, mouth agape, as if she wants to say something, but it is stuck in the back of her throat. “Nevermind,” she mutters, shaking her head. 

Rin takes one step away from Nezha, but he catches her wrist, pulling her back. “No. What did you want?”

Anger flashes across her face, a look so familiar to Nezha at this point it is almost comforting. 

“Just,” Rin stammers, pulling her wrist out of Nezha’s grip. “Just wondering what the fuck your problem is.” 

“Han’s insinuations about my father are clearly my problem,” Nezha fumes. 

Rin rolls her eyes, “Please. Since when did you care what Han thinks?” Rin takes a step forward, lowering her voice, “And besides we both know that your family dynamic is weird.”

“Why are you here, Rin?” Nezha asks harshly. 

“Because I personally know how upset you get when people talk shit about your family and I had some weird, misguided urge to make sure you were okay!” 

Silence.

Why? Why does Rin care? Nezha wants to ask, but for some reason, he can’t force the question past his lips. Instead, he stares down at her, holding his breath, scared that if he says anything this moment will break. Rin is looking up at him as if he were a logic puzzle Irjah assigned them to solve, and Nezha has a weird sudden urge to hold on to her.

“Nevermind,” Rin mutters, breaking the tension. “It was stupid of me to follow you.”

And then she is gone. And Nezha said absolutely nothing.

Despite Irjah’s absence, the rest of Sinegard moves on as if nothing outside the academy’s walls is happening.

Jun has his combat apprentices prepare for the first year’s end of the year fighting tournament, which is why Venka and Nezha are sitting off in the courtyard watching the first years stumble through their lecture. They were assigned with creating the initial match-ups for the fights, instructed to let the pairs be somewhat even. 

“The goal is to avoid any near death accidents,” Jun says, looking directly at Nezha. “Make the first matches as even as possible.”

With Jun’s advice crystal clear, Venka and Nezha studied the first years. 

“Those two for the first round?” Venka asks, discreetly pointing to the Rat general’s son and a stocky boy Nezha doesn’t recognize. 

“I was thinking that we actually pair him,” Nezha juts his chin at the stocky boy, “with him.” Nezha nods over to a tall, lanky first year from Monkey. 

Venka snorts, “Why not.” She writes down the pair. “The boy from Monkey is fine at hand to hand, but Great Tortoise does he suck at any form of weaponry.” She shakes her head. “I was with Master Sonnen working with the first years and the idiot kept dropping his sword. Don’t even get me started on his archery skills. Or, I should say, lack of skills.”

Nezha huffs out a laugh, watching the boy take down his opponent by using the length of his arms to grab his torso without getting too close to be wrapped up himself. 

“Why didn’t you pledge Weaponry with Sonnen? You love archery.” It is a question Nezha wanted to ask for months now, especially watching Venka during Sonnen’s lectures.

Venka gives Nezha a hard, indiscernible look. “For you, dumbass. I thought that much was obvious.”

“What?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, I was not sure how you would take me leaving you for a different apprenticeship. I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you.”

“Ven, I would never abandon you. Especially for pledging a different apprenticeship than me.”

She tugs at the end of her braid, twirling it in her hand with mild anxiety. “After the way you dropped Kitay for beating you in the Keju, I couldn’t be so sure that you would not drop me.”

Nezha’s heart plummets. Is this really his legacy? His best friend couldn’t trust him to accept the fact that she chose a different specialty. 

“I am so sorry, Venka.”

She smiles. “You know, I was going to say that you don’t need to apologize, but I think this is the first time you have ever actually muttered the word ‘sorry’ to me, so I won’t have you take that back.”

“Shut up,” Nezha says, unable to keep his laugh out of his voice.

Venka’s smile turns wicked. “Who would have thought Rin, of all people, is the person able to soften you enough that you actually know what an apology is.” 

Nezha chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“Oh you know,” Venka waves a hand, smirking. “Your cute little rendezvous together, sneaking off in the middle of the night. They turned you soft.”

“I-,” Nezha swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Nezha, Nezha, Nezha,” Venka shakes her head, tossing the bracket on the ground in front of them, “You should know better than to lie to me.”

Of course Nezha does know better, he tells Venka nearly everything. “How did you find out?”

“When we leave the library at midnight, sometimes you walk in the opposite direction of the boys’ dorm, so I followed you one night. Imagine my surprise when I found you pinned underneath the southern peasant you vowed to kill on the first day of the Academy.” Venka smirks. “I’m disappointed all you two did was spar. If you were sneaking around with Rin after midnight, I’d at least expect you at least to be fucking.”

“Venka!” Nezha hisses, slamming his hand over Venka’s lips to silence her. He feels heat flush his cheeks, turning them pink. 

None of the first years look over at their outburst, thankfully still focused on Jun’s instructions. 

Something wet swipes across Nezha’s palm, he snaps his hand back. “Gross.” Nezha wipes his hand on the grass, “Can’t believe you licked me.”

“I can’t believe you are frequently meeting up with Rin,” Venka grumbles, “I also can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“You, of all people, should understand why I don’t want people knowing I secretly meet up with Rin.”

Venka shrugs, “How did it even start?”

He stares over at the first years who are all preparing for the biggest sparring match of their lives. Last year, he was in their shoes. The Fighting Rings was the most important thing to him, winning was the most important thing to him. Nezha is not sure if that is true anymore. 

He still continues to spar, and win, in the Rings, but he doesn’t get the same adrenaline, the same rush sparring with his other classmates as he does with Rin. Even losing to Rin is more thrilling than beating a 5th year apprentice.

“I wanted a rematch,” Nezha finally says. “And Rin wanted to kick my ass again.”

Venka grins, “Well, it looks like both of you got what you wanted then.”

“Yeah,” Nezha replies, non-committedly. 

“So what, are you two friends now?” Venka asks.

Nezha frowns. Are they? Rin made it clear months ago that they weren’t friends. And nothing has really changed since then. Except secrets shared and frequent late night meetings. 

“Rin and I hardly talk.” A small wave of disappointment floods Nezha’s gut at his confession with the realization that maybe Nezha did want to be friends with Rin. 

Venka hums, understanding him all too well. “You know, she isn’t too bad.” Venka bumps her shoulders to Nezha’s. “People wouldn’t think it too weird if you do start talking to her.”

Exhaling, Nezha mutters, “I guess you’re right.”

“People probably wouldn’t think it too weird if you start fucking her too,” Venka says, that annoying smirk returning to her lips. 

“I fucking hate you,” Nezha grunts. 

He pulls the bracket back into his lap, focusing back on the first years wrapping up their Combat lesson. He ignores Venka’s cackle and the creeping heat of a blush at the thought of Rin below him in a much more intimate position than what their sparring matches allow. 

Nezha is screwed.

Chapter Text

Nezha runs through a mental list of different ways he can poison Venka. 

Nothing fatal, of course, but something strong enough to make her sick for the next few days, forcing her to miss several meals. A stomach-wrenching illness. A mild fever. Something that keeps her bed-ridden and far away from the mess hall, because his former best friend has found a truly insidious way to make his life miserable.

By sitting next to Rin at breakfast. 

She positions herself perfectly, sitting across from Kitay, leaving only the spot directly across from Rin open for Nezha to sit at. Nezha never expected Venka to be so conniving and evil. He contemplates skipping breakfast, but Nezha doesn’t like to think he is a coward, so he slides next to Venka on the bench avoiding eye contact with Rin. 

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” Venka muses, stealing a sliced apple off of Nezha’s tray before he can protest. She takes a bite, grinning, “watching them.” 

Kitay’s eyes flit between Venka and Nezha before looking over at Rin in confusion. “Watching who?”

“The first years,” Venka clarifies, hiding her grin with a bite of an apple. “They are nervous and twitchy.”

While the upper levels sat around the mess hall, enjoying their breakfast and talking amongst themselves, the first years all had their noses deep in a book. Several frantically scribbling notes off to the side, others muttering to themselves. Only two first years burst into tears this morning which is an improvement from yesterday’s five, but the day is still young.

“That’s rich coming from you, Venka,” Nezha replies, arching an eyebrow, “I remember how twitchy you were last year.”

Venka scoffs, “I was completely fine last year. I was confident in my knowledge, and I had no problems memorizing Sunzi’s Principles of War.”

Rin snorts from across the table, a mischievous look crossing her eyes, “Is that why you kept a vial of wheat flour under your pillow at night last year? Thinking it was ground up rhino’s horn?”

Nezha bites his lip to prevent himself from spilling over in laughter. Venka’s cheeks flush red as she mutters, “Just because I knew everything, didn’t mean a little extra luck wouldn’t have helped me.”

“All of you were twitchy last year,” Kitay says, stabbing at his oats in mild disgust. “It was funny watching all of you mix up Suni’s mandates and fall victim to glaringly obvious schemes by the apprentices to get you to spiral.”

“Hey!” Rin protests, elbowing Kitay, “I didn’t fall for any of the apprentice’s stupid tactics to get us to fail.”

“No, but you did mix up Sunzi’s seventeenth and eighteenth mandates, which honestly might be more embarrassing,” Kitay teases. 

Rin scrunches her nose at him and steals an apple slice off of Kitay’s plate. “You don’t deserve my apple today.”

“Fair enough,” Kitay says, raising his hands up in false surrender. He turns and gives a curious look at Nezha. “You know, I am surprised I haven’t heard any rumors about you trying to sell fake exam answers to the first years.” 

“He doesn’t need to sell any fake exam answers,” Venka cuts in before Nezha can defend himself, “He just concusses them during Combat, making them stupid before the trials.”

Nezha scoffs, “I don’t concuss the first years.” 

A skeptical huff comes from his left. “Please,” Venka says, rolling her eyes, “If you aren’t concussing the first years, what do you call what you do in class then?”

“I call it pinning them to the ground and correcting their form,” Nezha says.

“You call them stupid,” Venka counters.

Nezha shakes his head, “Yeah, I call them stupid and then kindly educate them how to not be stupid by correcting their form.”

Rin snorts from across the table, her lips pressed together, fighting a grin. 

“I also really don’t give a shit about the first years and their exams. It is the fighting trials that truly matter,” Nezha says as a matter of fact.

“That’s rich coming from someone who lost last year,” Rin says. 

Nezha leans forward on his elbows, leering over at Rin. “That is exactly why I know that they are all that matter.” Nezha tilts his head, “If you didn’t think the trials mattered, you would not have worked so hard to beat me.”

Rin’s glare hardens, she leans forward too, “Not everything is about you, Nezha.”

“Maybe not everything,” he concedes, the corner of his mouth lifts up into a smirk, “But you beating me in the tournament was.”

A beat passes, and Nezha waits for Rin to kick him or throw something at him like she usually does when he says something to piss her off. She reaches across the table, and Nezha flinches back, expecting to be hit. Instead, she steals the remaining apple slices off of Nezha’s tray.

“You don’t deserve apple slices today either,” Rin says, voice muffled by the apple slice already in her mouth. 

Venka snorts beside him, and Nezha starts thinking about different ways to poison her again.

“I wish the fighting tournament wasn’t important,” Kitay says, drawing focus back to him, “I am sick of the first years using my quiet places as secret locations for them to practice their martial arts. I caught Choi, the one from Dog Province, using the shower stalls as a training ground this morning. I just want to piss in peace.”

“One of the boys from Snake Province was even braver,” Rin adds, laughing. “He tried to use Jiang’s garden as a place to train. Jiang found him and made him water his plants for the next several hours.”

Nezha grins, “Was it Zhang? I found him after curfew in the basement of the combat building, and told him to get lost, but if he needed a private place to practice where he wouldn’t get caught, I had the perfect recommendation.” 

Rin’s eyes narrow at him. She must pick up on the fact that Nezha found Zhang training in their private practice room, but is not pleased that he redirected him to her private area instead. 

“I would normally be pissed at you for doing that,” she says, “but it got me out of horticulture duties for the day.”

“So what I am hearing is that you should be thanking me, Rin,” Nezha teases.

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think ‘thank you’ is in Rin’s vocabulary,” Kitay says.

Rin gasps, scandalized “You’re supposed to be my best friend!”

Venka, Kitay, and Nezha all laugh. A warm feeling settles in Nezha’s gut that has nothing to do with his morning oats.

The end of the year passes as easily as one of the Yin’s boats through gentle waters. The second year apprentice work-load is light in comparison to the first year’s preparing for their apprenticeship bids or the fifth year's preparing for their assignments after graduation. 

Nezha hands in his last assignment to Jima one warm morning, basically signalling the end of his second year. 

The first years finished their oral examination without too much trouble. A boy Nezha knew from Dragon apparently did shit his pants when Jima asked her first question, but besides that, everyone seemed to survive. 

The only examination left was Jun’s Tournament.

Because Nezha and Venka assigned the pairings, they fortunately get out of any major responsibilities during the tournament. Their presence is required. Not that Nezha minds, he loves the Rings, and these first years will be his eventual competitors next year. 

Not that his future competition is impressive.

The first several rounds pass without much fanfare. A few matches over in a matter of seconds, not because there are any grand feats of physicality, more the opposite really. A small, scrawny boy trips and knocks himself out before Sonnen can even tell them to start. 

By the end of the first day, Nezha takes note of a few of the first years who have some skill that could make decent Combat apprentices with a little bit of work. Not better than Venka, and surely not better than him, but there is some promise. 

The second day is better, at least no one knocks themselves out. 

By the time it is the final round, the Rat General’s son, Renji, and, surprisingly, Zhang, the idiot who Nezha convinced to practice in Jiang’s garden are the last two standing. 

Nearly the entire school stands around the Rings, watching the two of them. This final fight is the only thing separating the students of Sinegard Academy from four days of break for Summer Festival. Nezha finds himself pressed shoulder to shoulder next to Venka and Niang. 

“I hope this ends without any bloodshed,” Niang says, her fingers tightly gripping the railing, “Enro has me working the medical wards tonight if needed.”

“Good thing I’m not down there right now, then.” Nezha says, grinning. “You definitely will be working tonight.”

Niang rolls her eyes, “You made my life miserable this past year. I wish you were down there with Rin again, so she can pummel you to a pulp. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the medical ward instead of your opponents for a change.”

“Would you take nice care of me, Niang?” Nezha winks down at her.

Niang scrunches her nose up in disgust. “You’re a pig.”

The fight is tedious, lacking any true creativity. Like Niang, Nezha too wishes he were down there with Rin instead. He could show the whole school how far he has improved over the course of the last year, and maybe, also remind everyone just how skilled Rin is.

He looks across the Rings, watching Rin watch the fight below. Her elbows are resting on the railing, using her fist to support her head. She looks unimpressed. 

Rin must feel his gaze on her, because she looks up and catches his eye.

“This is boring,” she mouths over at him. 

Nezha grins and mouths back, “Pathetic, truly.”

She laughs, and Nezha’s heart swoops. 

The fight below continues. Zhang and Renji exchange blow after blow and block after block. It’s a choreographed, simple dance between the two. Zhang kicks and then Renji does. Renji strikes left, so Zhang strikes right. The loser isn’t going to be because the winner bests them and delivers a final blow, but because they make an error in their own technique.

Jun will offer them both apprenticeships because they both have excellent fundamentals.

They are just boring. 

Finally, Zhang’s foot catches on the dirt below him, causing him to slip while his foot is midair in an arched kick. Renji is able to use that mistake and knock Zhang to the ground. 

“Break!” Sonnen shouts. 

The room erupts in cheers, whether it is for Renji winning the tournament or for the start of their summer break is unclear. Nezha politely claps along, happy to celebrate the end of the year. He has a few bottles of sorghum wine he stole from his father’s cellar at the beginning of the year stored under his bed, and he is ready to celebrate.

He looks over the ring again where Rin is already watching him. Nezha grins over at her, she seems to be thinking the exact same thing he is. 

We are so much better. 

Suddenly, Nezha realizes that there is truly only one person he wants to celebrate the end of his second year with. He cants his head in the direction of the staircase to their secret training room, inviting her to join him tonight.

A confused look crosses her face for just a second, and then she shrugs and mouths, “Sure,” over to him.

“See you tomorrow,” Nezha says to Venka.

A knowing smirk crosses her face, “Have fun tonight,” Venka says with a wink. 

As fast as he can and still not draw suspicion to himself, Nezha makes his way to the boys’ dormitory. Thankfully, it is relatively empty, and those in the room pay no mind to Nezha as he reaches under his bed and grabs two bottles of sorghum wine hidden with his undergarments. 

He takes the long way back to the combat building, avoiding common paths to dodge the other students leaving the Rings. The basement hallway is dark, the only light emitting from a door at the end of the hallway, slightly hidden and tucked away from those who don’t know to go looking for it.

Nezha pushes the door open.

“Get lost?” Rin asks. She is sitting cross-legged on the ground, sharpening her sword.

“I brought wine,” Nezha replies, holding the bottles up in the air.

“Oh,” Rin says, confusion rich in her voice. “Are we not fighting?”

Nezha walks over to Rin, hovering over her. “We do that enough, don’t you think? We should drink tonight instead.”

He offers a bottle down to her, waiting for her to take the peace offering. She hesitates, biting her lower lip.

“I promise I didn’t poison it,” Nezha reassures her.

She snatches the bottle from his hand, “I know that.” Her hands awkwards twist at the neck of the bottle. “I was just confused because I thought you wanted me here to fight.”

“Nah.” Nezha picks up Rin’s sword and places it back against the wall next to his own. He turns back to face Rin who is still looking at him strangely. “Look, I wanted to drink tonight and I thought you would make good company.”

Rin’s eyebrows furrow impossibly closer. 

“Why?”

“Because I’ll end up getting drunk with Venka at some point within these next four days of break, and I can only handle drunk Venka in small spurts.” 

Nezha sits down across from Rin, legs sticking out in front of him. 

“And besides,” Nezha continues, giving Rin a light kick with his foot, “I am curious to see what drunk Rin is like. I think she will be quite fun.”

“I’m not getting drunk,” Rin says defiantly. 

Nezha twists the cork off of his bottle and takes a swig of the sweet wine. “You won’t with that attitude.”

Rin scowls at Nezha, but she turns the cork in her hand and opens her bottle of wine with a pop. 

“Cheers to finishing another year,” Nezha says, raising his bottle in the air.

“Cheers,” Rin echoes, clinking her bottle to Nezha’s.

They both drink. The wine is slightly sour on Nezha’s tongue, but he welcomes the warmth filling his body. Some liquid spills from Rin’s mouth, trickling down her chin.

Nezha snickers, “Is this your first time drinking wine, Rin?” Which earns him a hard glare from Rin.

She wipes her chin with the back of her hand. “It’s not like I could afford to buy any and wine wasn’t Uncle Fang’s drug of choice.” 

Something bubbles in Nezha’s chest. Rin is opening up to him again, and it is not exhaustion or one sip of wine that is making her do it. 

“Where did you get these anyway?” Rin asks, taking another drink of the wine.

“Stole them from my father.”

Rin snorts, “We lived very different childhoods.”

“Why do you say that?” Nezha asks. 

“Are you serious?”

“Humor me,” Nezha replies. 

He is not stupid, he knows there are obvious differences between how he and Rin grew up. Dragon versus Rooster. Arlong versus Tikany. Orphan versus whatever exactly his upbringing was. But he is curious what difference Rin is focusing on now.

Rin shifts so she is sitting on her knees, she cradles the bottle to her chest like it is her one source of comfort. “If you get caught stealing wine from your father, what is the worst that is going to happen to you? You get yelled at? Reprimanded? Hit, maybe?” 

Nezha nods to her last suggestion. 

“Well, if I got caught stealing my uncle’s…” Rin’s voice trails off.

“Opium,” Nezha fills in the blank for her. It was an easy conclusion to come to. Lazy peasants from the South earned their reputation because of their addiction to the poppy seed. It’s the same unfair belief that made Nezha hate Rin when he first met her. 

Clearing her throat, Rin continues, “Yeah. His opium. If I got caught, I definitely would not be here right now.”

“Married off?” Nezha asks.

“Dead most likely,” Rin replies almost too nonchalantly. 

A dark reminder of their childhood differences. Nezha thinks of little Rin, forced to be married off at fourteen, scared that her adopted parents would seriously hurt her if not kill her as punishment. Her burnt arms are the only evidence of her work to escape her childhood home. 

It’s all too heavy.

“Well that is fucking depressing. We are supposed to be celebrating, not wallowing in pity,” Nezha says, taking another drink. “Talk about something fun for once, Rin.”

“No wait,” Rin frowns, “I said something sad about me, now you have to say something sad about yourself. I can’t be the only person revealing embarrassing parts about their past.”

“That sounds like a personal problem, Rin. Not my fault you keep telling me all of your secrets.”

Rin’s bottom lip sticks out even further in a pout. She shuffles forward on her knees, inching closer and closer to Nezha. 

“You owe me,” Rin pouts.

“I gave you wine!” Nezha counters.

Rin reaches over and wrestles his bottle out of his hands. “Now you don’t have any wine.” 

“Hey!” Nezha lurches forward, trying to grab his battle back. He wraps a hand around her wrist, but Rin twists her arm wrenching it free Nezha’s grasp. 

“Ah ah ah,” Rin tuts, holding Nezha’s bottle above her head. “No more wine until I learn a new secret about you and your family.”

He lunges again, this time grappling her ankle, and yanks her towards him. A squeal escapes Rin’s lips as her back hits the ground as she is pulled towards Nezha. “Careful, you’re going to make me spill.”

“We can’t have that,” Nezha says, a grin tugging at his lips.

Rin pulls the two bottles of wine close to her chest, “Give me a secret and I’ll give you your wine back.”

“Deal,” Nezha says instantly, “Now give me my wine.”

Rin pinches her face together, as if she is thinking it over, even though it was her terms and conditions she set. Her feet are pressed against Nezha’s thigh, toes lightly tapping against his leg. She finally passes him back the bottle, their fingers brushing during the exchange, sending an electric shock through Nezha’s fingers. 

“So tell me, Nezha. What’s your secret?”

Well he has several, just definitely secrets he shouldn’t tell Rin. He can’t tell her about the parasite on his back, even though she knows some of his history on how he got it. That is a secret he will likely take with him to his watery grave. He shouldn’t tell her about his father’s plan for the future Republic of Nikan. The timing isn’t right for that secret. Maybe someday he can trust her with it. Maybe someday Rin will be standing at his side wearing the Republic’s uniform.

He scrunches his nose, “It’s not really much of a secret.”

Rin shrugs. “Tell me anyway.”

“Well, let’s just say that you are lucky you are an only child, Rin.”

“I’m not.”

“What?”

“I’m not an only child. I have a younger foster brother. Kesegi.” She takes a swig of her wine. 

“What?” Nezha repeats. How has he never known this before?

“Doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to be telling me about your shitty childhood to make me feel better about myself.”

Nezha snorts. “Okay, you already know about how my mother ignores me.”

Rin shifts her foot ever so slightly, stroking her shoe against his thigh as some form of comfort. “I do.”

“I wish my older brother would ignore me,” Nezha says, focusing on keeping his voice steady. “He is the only one of my family members who writes to me here, and his letters are never really kind.” 

He takes another drink of the sorghum wine, somehow already halfway finished with the bottle. A part of Nezha wishes he brought himself a second bottle for himself. Rin doesn’t say anything, giving him the space to continue, watching him through dark, unreadable eyes.

“He doesn’t hate me, but he doesn’t like or respect me. Jinzha is the future war general of Dragon, and I will be one of his several subordinates working for him. So he has always treated me as something beneath him.”

Rin huffs a breath, but doesn’t say anything about the fact that is exactly how Nezha treated her when she first arrived at Sinegard. 

“He can be terribly cruel. When Mingzha,” Nezha’s throat tightens around the name, the Dragon stirring, “died, he blamed me. He was already at Sinegard, but when he came back, he let me know how he felt.” A small, sardonic laugh slips from his mouth. “He used his new Sinegard combat skills to let me know how he felt. Told me he wished I died instead.”

“Nezha,” Rin says tentatively. 

Nezha waves a hand as if he were brushing off her concern, “Not the first time someone said it, and not the last time I thought it.” 

Rin’s foot presses a little firmer against his leg. "Nezha."

Her voice is heavier this time, carrying something he doesn’t know how to name. It makes his chest ache in a way he doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

“Doesn’t matter. I hardly see him now. He just constantly reminds me to not be a fuck up.”

Rin sighs and takes a drink. “Your family is fucked up. Is anyone normal?”

Nezha runs quickly through his family line and comes up short.

“Me?”

Rin laughs that sharp and sudden laugh of hers that makes Nezha’s head spin and his body fill with warmth like he is drunk on the sound escaping her lips.

“Have you considered that your family hates you because you’re an arrogant dick?” Rin asks lightheartedly, her foot nudging Nezha’s leg again.

He reaches for her ankle again and pinches it.

“Asshole!” Rin shouts, kicking Nezha’s shin.

“Bitch,” Nezha retorts, his voice too affectionate to be anything but teasing. 

Rin sticks out her tongue, now stained a burgundy from the wine. 

Nezha shifts closer to Rin, extra cautious that his leg doesn’t break contact with her foot. She is a magnetic field, pulling him closer and further in.

“You need to drink more,” Nezha says, comparing the amount of liquid left in Rin’s bottle to his own. “Catch up.”

“Everything’s a fucking competition with you,” Rin mutters, but lifts her bottle and downs a significant amount with an exaggerated gusto. 

“Atta girl,” Nezha grins, all teeth. 

After her last large gulp, Rin slams her bottle down in front of Nezha, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to challenge her again.

He sets his wine next to her own, eyeing the levels of the liquid in their respective bottles. Before Nezha can see exactly whose bottle has less wine in it, Rin picks up her bottle and dumps a generous amount of her wine in Nezha’s. 

Rin tuts, “You need to drink more, Nezha. Your bottle clearly has more wine in it.”

Shaking his head, Nezha snorts, “I think you are trying to get me drunk.”

“I believe,” Rin says, leaning in closer to Nezha that he can swear he can see flecks of amber in her warm brown eyes, “that was your intended goal for the night. And I am nothing but a good person for trying to help you reach your goals.”

“How considerate of you,” Nezha says, voice lower than he means it to be. 

His hand finds her ankle again, lightly pinching it, but this time, Rin doesn't kick him away. He spreads his fingers slightly, claiming more space on her warm skin than is necessarily considered friendly. 

Then her foot shifts—barely—and he feels it. That slow, featherlight drag of her foot against his thigh. Almost nothing. Almost friendly. He might not even have noticed if he wasn’t currently holding onto her, feeling her ankle shift under his touch.

It’s casual, just barely brushing their skin. They’ve had far more physical contact than this. Bruises and grapples and taunts whispered with breath hot against his skin. He’s had her pinned to the mats, his weight over her. She’s had him gasping on his back, her knee to his throat.

And yet.

This casual, innocent touch. His hand on her ankle. Her foot brushing his thigh. And suddenly it’s like the room tilts sideways and everything inside him goes liquid 

He wants to blame the wine, but he has been much more drunk plenty of times before and has never felt like this. This swooping sensation in his gut isn’t nausea. It is something so much worse.

“Okay!” Rin claps, startling Nezha out of his spiraling thoughts. “I have a weird question.”

“Hit me with it, Fang.”

“You know Jun pretty well, right?” Rin asks.

Nezha frowns, “Yes, but how is that a weird question —”

“Do you think Jun and Jiang ever fucked?”

He is thankful that his bottle of wine was nowhere near him when she asked that question, because he likely would have choked or at least spilled the sweet liquid everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” Nezha says, disbelief thick in his voice, “What?”

Rin repeats herself, slower this time. “Do you think Jun and Jiang ever fucked?”

“I heard you the first time, but what?” Nezha exasperates. “They hate each other.”

“Exactly,” Rin says, like she’s unveiling some grand theory.

She shifts closer, bending her knees, so she doesn’t break contact with Nezha’s hand. Her hand curls around his forearm, grounding herself—or maybe grounding him. He isn’t sure which. All he knows is her fingers are warm, and his brain is no longer cooperating.

“Jun definitely hates Jiang,” she continues, eyes flitting with mischief, “but Jiang does everything he can to annoy Jun. Jiang has us only interrupt combat classes. Sonnen occasionally also has class outside, but Jiang never goes out of his way to bother Sonnen.”

Nezha stares at her. “Because Jiang annoys Jun, you think they are fucking?” 

“All I am saying,” Rin says, tone light, leaning in a little more, “Is that maybe they hate each other because they are ex-lovers, and that is why Jun keeps trying to get Jiang fired —he hates seeing his ex around campus. Or maybe they have hate sex every now and then.”

Nezha's mind whirls with the idea of hate sex.

“Why are you even thinking about Jiang’s sex life?”

“To make you think about Jun’s sex life,” Rin replies, taking another swig from a bottle of wine that might have originally been Nezha’s bottle. 

He watches her mouth curl around the bottle’s rim and promptly wishes he hadn’t.

“You know,” Nezha bites back a condescending smirk, “The more you drink, the more that lovely Southern accent of yours creeps out.”

The last sentence he says nice and slow, drawing out his vowels to mimic her accent. 

Rin shoves him hard, knocking Nezha flat on his back. She hovers above him, her short hair framing her face, accentuating the pink in her strong cheekbones, flushed from the alcohol. The light behind her head emits a soft glow, making Rin look like a warm, inviting fire. 

His hand, as if it has a mind of its own, starts to reach up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. 

Rin’s elbow comes flying out of nowhere and hits Nezha in the gut, punching the air out of his lungs.

“Tiger’s tits,” Nezha chokes out. “What the fuck, Rin?”

“That is for being a condescending asshole,” Rin says in an almost perfect Sinegard accent.

Nezha misses her Southern one. 

“It was supposed to be a compliment,” Nezha retorts when he gets his breath back. 

Rin rolls her eyes in disbelief. “Whatever,” she mutters to herself. 

Nezha’s tongue feels dry and heavy in his mouth. He takes a large gulp of his wine to dampen his tongue.

There is a shift in the atmosphere between them. What was once a light-hearted, jovial, space had suddenly turned tense. Why doesn’t she believe him? Why is she still so sure that he hates her? 

Somewhere between the late night sparring matches, the bruises Rin leaves on Nezha’s skin that heals by morning light, and the whispered conversations in secret hallways, Nezha has grown fond of Rin. He enjoys her company, even seeks it out as evidence as of this night. He doesn’t mind that she knows secrets about him and his feelings about his family. He cherishes the moments where she laughs at his jokes or even at his own expense. 

Venka had asked if Rin and Nezha were friends, and he had told her no. But if they weren’t friends, what were they doing?

A more sober Nezha might have let Rin’s detachment slide, but this current version of Nezha nearly finished his bottle of wine.

“Do you consider us friends, Rin?”

She scoffs. “That’s a stupid question.”

Nezha sits back up, facing Rin head on, “Says the girl who asked me if our two masters were fucking earlier. It is a completely reasonable question.”

She crosses her arms, looking down, refusing to make eye contact with Nezha. A beat passes and then another, but Nezha won’t break this silence, won’t give Rin an excuse to not answer his question. 

Finally, after what could have been several antagonizing seconds, minutes, hours, or even days, Rin responds.

“No.”

No.

Oh.

“Oh.”

Everything spins. His head, the room, his emotions. Everything. After months of spending hours alone with each other, still, Rin doesn’t like him. It stings, the rejection. He should be used to this feeling by now. This isn’t the first time he has been dismissed, but from Rin, it hurts more than it should. 

He swallows, “Why?”

An incredulous, furious look crosses Rin’s face. “Why, Nezha. Are you serious?” 

Nezha wants to understand. “Yes.”

She still doesn’t look at him, instead she pulls into herself. Knees up to her chest, her fingers playing at a frayed string from her Sinegard uniform. She looks so small and ashamed, like the time he caught her pouring wax on her arms.

“You never apologized to me,” Rin says, sounding even smaller than she looks. 

All the air sucks out of the room. Gods damn, he did this to her. He made her feel this small. A year ago, he would have been thrilled at her reaction, that he could remind her of her insignificance. 

But now.

Nezha knows that Rin is larger than life. There is this feeling of wrongness that she is so terribly insecure. That he made her feel like this. 

“You never apologized to me,” Rin repeats, voice shaking, “I was just some poor piece of Southern trash, and you are just some rich War General’s son from the North. I was shit beneath your shoe.” 

She looks up at him now, eyes burning. 

“And then I embarrassed you. Beat you. Nearly killed you. So you invite me to spar, thinking that it was a fluke that I won. And then I kept winning. Sure, somewhere in there, you started to respect me, think of me more as an equal,” Rin’s voice grows louder and stronger with every venomous word. “And yet, you still never apologized for making my life a living hell my first year. How can we possibly be friends after that?”

It is as if he has been slapped. Stabbed through the chest even. 

Guilt pools in his gut, flooding his senses. Tears prick behind his eyes, and he has to blink them back because how embarrassing would it be to cry in front of Fang Runin right now? 

“Rin, I —.” Nezha cuts himself off. 

Who is he to apologize half drunk after being called out? He knows that it will look as insincere as it feels. Even if Nezha means it.

Which he does.

He feels awfully sorry.

“Forget it,” Rin mutters to herself, pulling back, taking her bottle of wine with her and widening the distance even further. “We were supposed to talk about fun things tonight.”

Nezha finishes off his own bottle, hoping that the sweet taste on his tongue makes his head spin enough to squash the guilt pulsating throughout his body. 

He can’t forget it. Won’t forget it. But he will move past it for now, try to make the mood lighter between them, for Rin’s sake.

“I finished my drink Rin. I thought you were trying to beat me.”

“Overly arrogant, competitive asshole,” Rin mutters to herself before finishing off her own bottle.

They go back to lightly teasing each other, but the tone has shifted too far from the easy light air that was there earlier in the evening. 

Nezha finally calls it a night after Rin suggests sparring with real weapons, which thankfully, Nezha dissuades her from doing as she stands wobbly on her two legs, unable to walk in a straight line.

She does still hit him in the chest as they leave their sparring room for good measure. 

“Have a good break, Nezha,” Rin says quietly at the door to the girls’ dormitory. 

He shouldn’t have walked her back. He told himself it was because she’d nearly tripped on the steps leaving the combat building, that she might not make it alone. But really, he just wanted a few more moments with her.

Her eyes sparkle in the moonlight, and before Nezha can think about the consequences, before he can think better of it, before caution can stop him, he steps forward and wraps his arms around her.

She stiffens beneath him for just a moment, surprised, and for one suspended heartbeat, Nezha thinks he’s made a mistake. But then, Rin melts into him. Her arms wrap around his waist, and Nezha realizes just how much smaller she is than him. Usually, she is all sharp edges and fire, but right now she’s soft and warm and real in a way that makes his chest ache. He buries his face in her hair, just for a second, and breathes her in like he might never get the chance again.

Too soon, Rin lets go, pulling away and taking the warmth with her. 

His throat bobs, “I’ll see you around, Rin,” He says, the words thick on his tongue. 

Nezha turns, stumbling back to his own dormitory. Alone. The world is spinning just slightly from the wine, but it isn’t the alcohol that has him reeling. It’s his inability  to forget the feel of Rin’s body close to his chest and the words she said out of his head.

You never apologized.

The Chen estate has not changed much throughout the years since Nezha last was on its grounds. Four long rectangular buildings still stand in a square with a massive garden, filled with lavish scents and colors to rival the Lore Master’s garden that grows in the middle of the pavilion. 

A white, fluffy creature that reminded Nezha too well of his mother’s dog, Binbin, sprints forward welcoming Nezha. Squatting down, Nezha looks at the dog’s collar, remembering what Kitay’s pet’s name is — the Chen’s had at least four of these creatures running amok.

Dragon Emperor. 

Fucking Kitay and his fucking nerdy ass names for his pets. 

Nezha sucks in a breath, standing outside the door. He feels like a coward and the longer he stands out here, hand hovering to knock, the more of an idiot he looks like. 

He knocks and he waits. 

The door swings open, and a short, plump older woman greets him.

“Young Yin Nezha,” she says, “It has been too long.”

Nezha smiles, “Hello, Lan. You look as lovely as ever.”

Lan flushes, batting her hands at Nezha’s compliment. “Oh hush. You are too sweet and pretty for your own good. Are you here for Kitay?”

“Him and Fang Runin as well.” 

“Oh,” Lan says, voice slightly clipped. “Of course. Of course. Come in and I will grab them both for you.”

“Thank you, Lan,” Nezha says, slightly bowing his head which only makes Lan flush further. 

Nezha waits in the entrance, taking in the rich maroon and gold tapestries hanging in the foyer, representing the colors of the Chen family. It brings a warmth to the home that contrasts the cool blues of Nezha’s family home. He has never really stood too long in this room, when he used to visit the Chens, Nezha never had to wait, usually immediately called back to see Kitay.

Oh, how times change.

A framed portrait of the Empress hangs on the wall opposite of an extensive map of Nikan. Nezha wrinkles his nose. How unfortunate.

Someone clears their throat behind Nezha. He turns and faces Kitay. 

Just Kitay.

“Where’s Rin?” Nezha asks, words slipping past his mouth before he can bite his tongue.

Kitay shakes his head. “What do you want, Nezha?”

He made it all this way, he can’t back out now. 

“I’m sorry, Kitay.”

That must have been the last thing Kitay expected Nezha to say because his eyebrows shoot up into his mess of curls. He is quick to recover, crossing his arms, scowling in a way that reminds Nezha so much of Rin.

“What for?” Kitay asks.

“I’m sorry for dropping you after the Keju. It wasn’t right or fair of me to do.”

They stare at each other, silence stretching between them like a taut string. Then Kitay nods once, sharp and final. “No it wasn’t.”

Kitay takes a step forward, and Nezha wonders for the briefest second if Kitay might hit him. But then Kitay claps him on the back. “Glad to know you see the errors in your dickish ways, Nezha.”

“I don’t know, Kitay,” comes a voice from behind. “I think Nezha might see the errors, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop being dickish.”

Nezha turns. 

Rin leans against the doorway, she looks well-rested and relaxed. She wears a burgundy tunic, with a pair of pants rolled a few times to fit her small frame that must have once belonged to Kitay’s older sister, Kinata. It is the first time Nezha has ever seen her in something other than her Sinegard uniform.

She looks good in red. It compliments her skin well. 

“Rin.” Nezha exhales her name. 

“Nezha,” she says, indifferent.

That same familiar guilt that has been sitting heavy in his gut since the night prior stirs again. 

“I’m going to —” Kitay starts, then waves a hand and disappears down the hallway, leaving them alone.

Rin pushes herself off of the doorframe, taking a step closer to Nezha. “I gather you are here to apologize. A sober apology too.”

“Rin,” Nezha starts. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real dick to you. It’s no excuse, but I was scared of you.”

At that confession, Rin stills, but Nezha keeps going. 

“I lashed out. I was insecure, stupid, spoiled. I got it in my head I was better than you because of where I came from. You have proven time and time again that you are better than me. Stronger. Smarter. I hated you for it.”

He takes a deep breath, “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Rin swallows hard. For a moment, she says nothing.

“You know,” she finally says, voice soft but firm. “I shouldn’t have had to prove myself to be better than you for you to treat me like a human.”

“I know,” Nezha says quietly.

A long, still silence passes, and then Rin speaks three glorious words.

“I forgive you.” 

And Nezha believes her. 

They stand, several feet apart, staring at each other. Finally fully trusting the other person for the first time. 

Rin’s eyes flick down, then back up to meet his. “Come on,” she says, breaking the tension with a tilt of her head, “Kitay requested Lion’s Head and pig intestines for lunch, and I need someone else to help me suffer through the extensive meal Lan made because I know I won’t be eating that.”

Nezha grins at her invitation, “Lead the way.” 

She turns, and he follows—past the threshold, past the awkward silence of things unspoken, and deeper into the warmth of the Chen household.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s walking toward something good.

Chapter Text

“First years have sweeping duties, so you will get to know the seven tiers of the Academy very well,” Nezha says dryly, voice echoing just slightly off of the stone walkways.

Somehow, he has been roped into giving orientation tours, and now he has a small group of five trailing behind him, looking various degrees of unimpressed. The group consists of a pair of pale twins from Boar, their obnoxious mother who brought along snacks in case her growing boys got hungry, and a quiet father and son combination that have not said a word since Nezha told the group his family name.

He suspects that’s going to be a theme amongst future tour groups.

Nezha had not even been back on campus for ten minutes after summer holiday when Jun cornered and informed him, with a voice full of false sympathy, that tour duties now fall under Nezha’s “leadership development as a third year.” 

Venka says it is because the academy needs his pompous, pretty face to welcome the new students to ease them into the hell they are about to start. Rin laughs in agreement and then, of course, invites herself along the tour to watch Nezha have to be nice to the new crop of students and their parents.

So now Rin has been quietly following along, interjecting his tour with some occasional nonsense to rile up him or the new first years, Nezha is not sure. 

“New students live on the bottom tier, and you work your way up a tier with hierarchy. So the masters live on the sixth tier and Nezha lives on the top,” She says between bites of a steamed bun she somehow managed to snag from the twin’s mother. 

“Don’t listen to Rin, she is a Lore student. She is graded on her ability to lie.” Nezha sighs, “Alright, and on our right is a very important building called an outhouse,” Nezha says with a pointed wink at Rin, gesturing to the toilet by the brook.

Nezha probably does deserve Rin’s kick to his shin for his comment. 

Not too much later, Nezha wraps up the tour, dropping the students off at the registration line, Rin still lingering nearby.

“You know,” Rin starts, “two years ago, in this exact spot, is where I hit you for the first time.”

Nezha grins, “Happy anniversary. Sorry I didn’t bring you a present.”

Rin scowls, crossing her arms, but the corners of her mouth tug up in a small smile she is trying to fight. “You are terribly annoying.”

“And yet,” Nezha says, stepping closer, voice low, “you volunteered your own time to help someone you find terribly annoying with a tour to doe-eyed, innocent first years. That doesn’t scream hatred, Rin.”

“We can recreate that moment if you like. You can scare off the first years with a nice purpling bruise on your cheek.”

Nezha sticks out his chin and turns his head—an offering for Rin to hit him.

Like a child, Rin sticks her tongue out at him mockingly. “I’m leaving to go find Jiang.”

With a turn of her heel, Rin abandons Nezha to start another group tour, taking the warmth that always seems to surround Rin with her. 

It’s a heart stopping realization that Nezha has become quite adjusted to Rin’s warmth.

During their small amount of allotted freedom, Nezha spent every second he could at the Chen household with Kitay, Rin, and Venka, who invited herself along the moment she found out Nezha apologized. 

Ever since they forgave him, Nezha wanted to show he was sincere in his apology — buying trinkets and jewelry for the both of them at the marketplace that Kitay threw at his head and Rin mocked him for.

But she pocketed that little gold necklace. And he swears he saw a flicker of gold around her neck, hidden underneath her Sinegard uniform that morning. 

When he was not at the Chen’s or in the marketplace with Rin, Kitay, and Venka, he was back at his home. 

Isolated. Alone. And cold.

The contrast was suffocating.

Unfortunately, appearances had to be kept up, and Nezha could not avoid his family forever.

The Yin household had grown quieter, more solemn since the last time he visited. Jinzha remained as cold as ever, but there is something different this year than the last. He looked tired too. 

Muzha and his mother stayed in Hesperia this year. It is safer, at least that is what Jinzha tells him. His father suggests that a strong alliance is being formed with a woman called Petra Ignatius, and his mother cannot come home and risk harming that relationship.

Despite the isolation, Nezha still hears whispers in the halls about the ongoing unrest. 

“Horse has requested another fleet of soldiers to help at their border,” Vaisra whispers to Nezha’s elder brother late one night. 

Nezha had just snuck in the front door after leaving the Chen’s. Venka ended up spending the night after one too many glasses of wine, too tipsy to walk back to the Sring house, so Nezha walked home alone after leaving Venka in the care of an equally as intoxicated Rin. 

“I denied them of course,” Vaisra says, voice muffled through the door Nezha’s ear is pressed up against.

Jinzha’s voice follows, quieter but edged with something colder. “Have you thought about sending a few disposable hundred or so soldiers? We have some to spare, and it might be smart to strengthen our alliance with a Northern province for when the right time comes.”

“Horse is a lost cause,” Vaisra says sharply, “I won’t send my men to a certain death. It will be much better for us for the Empress to fail to provide them support.”

Something shuffles behind the door, so Nezha bolts before he could be caught eavesdropping.

The dynamic throughout the academy is noticeably tenser too. 

Every lesson begins with whispered gossip about the ongoings of the Mugenese soldiers and the skirmishes in Horse. Even the meals have grown worse. Dry oats and bland broth, like the kitchen is already rationing for a war no one has officially declared yet.

“I can’t believe Han just dropped his armband and left,” Venka says, picking at her oats, making a face as they stick together. Her voice isn’t loud, but still carries across the mess hall as every other student is also silent and tense, muttering amongst themselves.

“Can you blame him?” Kitay says. 

The Mugenese governor retaliated tenfold to their small business being looted in the middle of the night in one of Horse’s small outer cities — burning down Nikan businesses, resulting in the death of a young merchant’s daughter. 

“It’s a shame they can’t prove exactly who started the fire,” Venka says. “I’m sure Ryohai loves that.”

“Who is Prince Ryohai?” Rin asks, voice hushed but sharp. 

“The rumored succession to the throne,” Kitay whispers. 

“I knew that ,” Rin hisses, “But exactly how fucked are we once he takes the throne?”

Nezha swallows his dry oats. “Well, it’s not good.” He says flatly “The old Federation Emperor was more of a pacifist. He took the throne immediately after the Second Poppy War and is actually scared of the threat of Hesperia. His unexpected death,” Nezha says with an eyeroll, “leaves the position open for Ryohai to succeed. 

“Ryohai is much younger, he doesn’t remember the exact threat that Hesperia is. He is affiliated with Mugen’s war party. Jinzha’s recent letter informed me that specific war party flags have been seen up in the Horse cities where the lootings and building burnings are occurring.”

“Not that Ryohai will admit that,” Kitay mutters under his breath.

“So, Ryohai’s denying involvement,” Venka says cautiously, “but he won’t stop it either.”

“Exactly,” Nezha says.

“What about the Non-Aggression Pact?” Venka asks, “Is there not anyone in power in Mugan who can do anything to stop Ryohai and his party?”

Rin snorts, “Please, those in power won’t give up their power, and Ryohai is promising the Federation what they always wanted, Nikan. Do you really think they care enough about the flimsy pact made all those years ago?”

Venka shrugs. “I just would like to hope that not every single member of the Federation supports the war party and the burning to death of a small girl.”

“They might care,” Nezha cuts in, “But they aren’t going to do anything about it. They are going to sit back and watch the war party massacre Nikan civilians and do nothing. But they will feel okay about it because at least they said they didn’t openly support the war while still reaping in the benefits.” 

Nezha huffs, heated.

Kitay gives him an odd, sharp look. “Since when do you care so much about Mugenese politics?” 

Since they too closely resembled Nikans. Nezha thinks to himself, but doesn’t dare voice out loud. 

Rin’s thigh brushes against Nezha’s under the table, just lightly, but enough to steady him. She doesn’t say anything, just holds the contact.

Nezha presses his leg back against hers, subtle but deliberate. His voice is calmer when he speaks again.

“Since their politics are going to cause a war here. Master Yim told us in our first year that the Muganese never rest, and we don’t have Speer or Hesperia to help us anymore.”

“So…” Rin drags out the word, leaning towards him with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “We are fucked.”

Nezha doesn’t answer. He just looks at her a second too long before glancing away.

Things only go from bad to worse.

Irjah is frequently gone from lessons, often away at diplomatic meetings with the Empress. Kitay says that his father is away from home more nights than not, also attending these meetings as the defense minister. 

What is left of their class is currently sitting in the Strategy classroom. Several students, most from the outer north, slowly disappeared over the course of the last several weeks, going home to help their families. Irjah, once again, is not there, so the third years are, once again, left to their own devices. 

These free periods are becoming more frequent, other students often using the time to catch up on their work for their Masters, but Venka, Rin, Kitay and Nezha like to use this time to strategize and theorize about outside politics. 

The first time the four of them sat together, they all received weird looks. Especially when Nezha sat directly next to Rin who smiled that bright smile of hers at him. But slowly, no one questions it anymore when Nezha saves the seat next to him for Rin, even when she misses class to attend to whatever Jiang has her doing. 

That spot belongs to Rin. It has for weeks now.

Today, that spot is filled again, Rin sliding into the chair beside him, flashing him a grin at the start of class.

“Good of you to show up today,” Nezha says, lightly teasing Rin.

She brushes his shoulder with her own, “Miss me?”

Nezha doesn’t look at her, but he doesn’t stop smiling either. “Never.”

Kitay leans forward, gesturing to the four of them at the table that he learned something new. He sometimes is privy to confidential information due to his father’s status and being Irjah’s favorite apprentice. “They are going to Longbow Island to try to make negotiations.” 

“What are they hoping to accomplish with that?” Rin asks, her voice close to Nezha’s ear. 

“Trying to stop a ground invasion, I’m sure,” Kitay says. 

“Who is all going?” Nezha asks. 

“Irjah, my father, I think Han’s father might be going since he is the representation of Horse,” Kitay says, listing names on his fingers, “and I am sure a few others.”

“No Daji?” Rin asks. 

Kitay frowns, “Too risky. She won’t go herself.”

“But she sends your father?” Venka asks, her voice unsettled.

“It is his job to help with these diplomatic parties,” Kitay says stiffly. “He is good at it.”

“You would think as Empress,” Nezha starts, careful with his words, “that it would be important for her to be there for these negotiations if she is trying to stop a ground invasion. Trying to stop a third war.” 

“The Empress trusts my father and Irjah,” Kitay says curtly, mouth tightening.

“And I didn’t say that she shouldn’t,” Nezha defends himself. 

Kitay opens his mouth, but Rin reaches out, squeezing his arm to silence him. “I think Nezha is just saying that he is surprised the Empress didn’t speak directly with Mugen’s administration herself, not that he thinks that your father can’t represent Nikan.”

Kitay glares at his best friend, but relents, muttering to himself something about Rin always taking Nezha’s side now, but Nezha can’t be quite certain he heard correctly. Rin’s hand doesn’t leave Kitay’s arm until the tension passes, and by that point, the conversation has ended.

Thankfully, Emperor Ryohai and his new administration surprisingly welcome the Empress’s diplomatic party warmly and the crisis passes. There is no invasion, yet, but the threat is still there.

They are back in their room.

Somehow, despite the absolute shit and chaos brewing outside their walls, Nezha and Rin continue to find time to spar. The ongoing threat of an upcoming war breathing down their necks makes sharpening their combat skills the only thing they can control.. 

On one of their first nights back in the room, they briefly considered inviting Kitay and Venka to spar with them, but they both found excuses as to why they shouldn’t extend the invitation.

“Kitay needs his sleep, Irjah works him hard,” Rin said, stretching her arms over her head, “so he wouldn’t want to be up past midnight sparring.”

“Venka is already a Combat apprentice and enjoys working with the Night Guard,” Nezha added, “She likes bossing around the younger apprentices too much to give that up to spar with us.”

So they continue to spar alone. 

It is truly the one place that Nezha can forget the politics and just exist. Just Rin and him.

Sweat glistens Nezha’s brow, his hair is pulled back in a tight knot, but a few pieces fall forward sticking to his forehead. Rin currently has a knee in his gut, the other pinning his arm to his side. Her hands are both wrapped around his other hand, pinning them to his chest. Her breath is heavy and her hair is a mess.

Nezha can easily throw an elbow and free himself, but he is quite fond of this position. 

“I yield,” Nezha grins up at Rin.

“As you should,” Rin replies breathlessly. She pushes herself off of Nezha, rolling to the side. The top of their heads barely brush. 

“Again?” Nezha asks, still trying to catch his breath from the last round. They have been at it for a few hours now. The two of them are equally matched now, winning about the same amount of matches between them. Nezha has his height and weight to his advantage, but Rin always manages to surprise him.

Rin props herself up on her elbows, “I think I need to call it a night.”

Nezha flips on his side, his entire body is facing her. “Come on,” Nezha pouts, “the only reason you are quitting now is because you won the last round.” 

“You can’t prove that,” Rin clips back. “Besides, I need to get some rest.”

Rin tugs at the cuffs of her sleeves, “Also, I have been meaning to tell you that Jiang is sending me off somewhere, and I don’t know when I will be back.”

Nezha blows air out his nose. “Jiang has you running errands all of the time. This is nothing new.”

She scrunches her nose, “This time is different,” she says, voice quieter, “I could be gone for months.”

This catches Nezha’s attention. 

“Months?”

Rin nods, not looking Nezha in the eye. Nezha tries to swallow, but his mouth has become impossibly dry.

“Where?”

Rin shrugs, “Doesn’t matter.”

Nezha does not understand this part of Rin, and that absolutely drives him crazy. He knows about her past in Tikany, about her shitty foster parents, the marriage she was almost forced into, but her Lore lectures continue to remain a complete mystery to him.

It’s reached a point that Nezha isn’t sure Rin knows what she is doing half the time either.

“Okay,” Nezha says, because anything else he might say sounds too much like don’t go . “Do you want me to take notes for you in class?”

Rin shakes her head, “Kitay said he would do it for me.”

He nods and bites his tongue before he says something stupid like I’ll miss you . 

Instead he says, “Promise to come back in one piece at least?”

Rin smiles at him, the light not quite meeting her eyes, “Just out of spite, I think I'll come back in two.”

And so Rin leaves Sinegard to do who the fuck knows. She disappears with no fanfare and no clear destination. Nezha doesn’t even know if she remains on the continent, let alone the same province.

Nezha looks for Jiang in her absence, but he disappeared with Rin. It is the longest Jun’s lectures have gone without being interrupted by the Lore Master since Nezha started his education at Sinegard. 

At first, it’s fine. Rin is gone for a week—nothing new. She has been gone for that long before, and Nezha can take the time where they would spar to catch up on sleep instead. He doesn’t miss getting kicked in the ribs or the shins or whatever body part of his Rin can reach. 

But as the first week creeps into the second, Nezha starts to become antsy.

He catches himself watching for her in the halls, in classrooms, and, in one truly pathetic moment, in the combat room well after midnight. 

Nezha asks Venka if she wants to spar with him later at night, but she adamantly refuses. 

So Nezha takes out his frustration and angst out on the other combat apprentices during class and at the Fighting Rings. 

He has gotten better about not permanently maiming his opponents, something Jun is quite proud of, but he finds himself slipping by the fourth or fifth match of the night. Renji, the poor kid, ends up with a dislocated shoulder after Nezha accidentally pulled it out of its socket.

Classes aren’t much better.

During one of Jima’s language lectures, Nezha snaps at Niang for mispronouncing the Muganese word for ancestor.

“If you’re going to butcher the language like that,” he says sharply, “the Federation should’ve wiped out your ancestors entirely.”

Kitay calls him an asshole for that.

In Strategy, Venka slides into the empty seat next to him, the one he was saving for Rin, and lets out a theatrical sigh.

“This is just sad.”

“Hey —” Nezha starts to protest, but he shuts up when Venka gives him a pointed look. 

“Your crush on Rin has prevented me from sitting next to you and copying off of your work for the last two weeks.”

“I do not have a crush on Rin,” Nezha hisses. “Also what do you mean copying off of my work?”

Venka ignores him, digging through her bag for her notes.

“Nezha doesn’t have a crush on Rin,” Kitay pipes up from the other side of the table.

“Thank you, Kitay.” 

“Nezha is in love with Rin.”

Nezha chokes on his spit. “Excuse me?”

Venka chortles, throwing her head back and howls with laughter, nearly toppling out of her chair. Her laugh echoes throughout the classroom, attracting more eyes on the three of them.

“Shut up,” Nezha hisses through clenched teeth, yanking her back into her seat by her arm, much harder than he should.

“Fuck,” Venka yelps, yanking her arm out of Nezha’s vicious grip. “Easy!”

“I see you are in denial about it, too,” Kitay says, shaking his head, flipping a page in his book.”

Nezha scowls. “I am not in love with Rin. She is just a friend.” 

The look Venka and Kitay share makes Nezha’s head spin. 

Rin is his friend.

But Nezha’s pulse doesn’t race when he studies with Venka. He doesn’t search every room for Kitay the moment he walks in. And Nezha considered them friends. 

However, with Rin… 

Oh.

Irjah clears his throat at the front of the class, drawing all eyes onto him. The bags under his eyes have darkened while the hair on top of his head has greyed since the last time he has taught class, aging him several years. According to Kitay, Irjah arrived back to Sinegard late last night after another week-long diplomatic meeting with the Empress. 

Nezha isn’t sure who is away from Sinegard more, Rin or Irjah.

Irjah sucks in a shaky breath, “Today we are going to discuss techniques and strategies to survive torture. When to talk, when to lie, when to stay silent. And most importantly, how to endure the pain.”

The room goes cold and still. The threats of the outside world are becoming more and more real every day.

Over the next several weeks, lectures transition from discussing if war is to happen to when. 

There are a lot of conversations about the last time the Federation attacked and what those attacks looked like. 

Jun has his apprentices study previous battles during the Second Poppy War, what went right and what went terribly wrong. Nezha knew that the war was deadly, an entire island was annexed, but the sheer volume and numbers the Federation had to fight is still shocking to read and make his stomach churn. 

They would need endurance to survive against the size of the Federation militia, so Jun forces the students through long, excruciating drills.

Enro holds extra meetings outside of classroom hours, reminding everyone the basics of field medicine. Every meeting is packed with students remembering how to tie a proper tourniquet. 

Jima dropped focus on any other language and only teaches Muganese. She pulls Niang and Venka aside after a lecture and Nezha doesn’t see either one for several hours.

“What did Jima want?” Nezha asks Venka later that night, walking to the library together.

Venka goes pale, her eyes hardening in anger, her voice colder than ever. “She reminded us what exactly it means to be a woman during wartime.”

And through it all—every exhausting drill, every late-night session—Rin is still gone.

“Do you think Rin is still alive?” Niang asks the table five weeks into her absence.

It is a thought that has been crossing Nezha’s mind for a while now, but never wanted to articulate. He imagines her, bleeding out, somewhere foreign, unable to be saved. 

“We would have heard about it,” Kitay says, reassuringly.

“Would we?” Niang presses.

“Yes,” Venka says certainly, voice firm. “I don’t think it is possible for Rin to die, otherwise Nezha would have killed her our first year. Now go away.”

Niang glares at Venka, but gets up from the table and sits by the other two medicine apprentices in their year.

“I wouldn’t have killed Rin,” Nezha says, almost to himself. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Venka says condescendingly, “because she wouldn’t have let you.”

And then, thirty-nine days after she left Sinegard, Rin returns with as little fanfare as she left.

“Thank the gods,” Venka declares the moment she spots her. “I have been trapped in this male filled cesspool without you. Never leave me alone with these two ever again.” Venka points to Kitay and Nezha.

Rin tilts her head, “Didn’t you three grow up together?”

“Yes, so I am so well aware how much I never want it to just be us three again.”

A small smile forms on Rin’s lips.

Rin turns to face Nezha. “We sparring tonight? I am out of practice.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Nezha says the words slipping out before he remembers how to breathe.

When did he stop breathing?

“Great, see you then!” She turns then, pulling Kitay with her, talking a mile a minute in his ear.

Once they are both out of earshot, Venka turns to Nezha, a wicked grin curling on her lips. “Aww, you have a date tonight.”

“Shut up.”

With one solid swoop of his legs, Rin falls hard on her back. A small gasp escapes her lips as the wind is knocked out of her. 

Rin doesn't have a second to catch her breath before Nezha falls to the ground on top of her, locking her arms to her side between her legs. 

"Do you yield?" he asks, grinning.

Rin squirms, trying to free her arms, wriggling her entire body beneath him to no success. She is pinned beneath him. Nezha watches the growing frustration on her face with amusement. 

"Fuck you," she huffs. Her voice lacking the venom needed to sound truly mad as she was still too breathless to speak.

Nezha is completely captivated by the image of Rin pinned between his legs. Blood flushing her cheeks, hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead. Her lips are slightly parted, chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. She looks absolutely divine. 

And Nezha wants to devour her. 

"If that's what you want me to do, Runin," Nezha says, his voice low and hungry as he presses his thighs tighter against her waist. 

Rin's eyes comically widen in horror, "Ew! I yield! Now get off of me, you disgusting pig!" Rin tries to further wriggle herself out from underneath him. 

Nezha laughs, but relents, rolling to the side until he’s lying beside her, heads close, breathing still heavy. He tilts his head to the side to catch eyes with Rin. Her cheeks were still flushed red. 

"I win," Nezha says with a satisfied grin. 

"You're disgusting," Rin says, jabbing Nezha in the ribs. 

“I missed this,” Nezha says. The I missed you is silent, staying trapped in his throat. 

“It's only been a few weeks. I am sure you were plenty occupied with your other responsibilities.”

“Nah,” Nezha dismisses. “I did catch up on some sleep, however.”

Rin rolls her eyes. “So you were lazy while I was away.” 

“What were you even up to?” Nezha asks. “Terrorizing children? Walking to Tikany and back? Visiting random farms to study different animal noises?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“Humor me,” Nezha says. “I am curious about what you do for Lore. Especially something that takes you out of classes for nearly a month and a half.”

Rin glares at him, huffing, “Fine. I’ll show you what I was doing.”

She shifts her weight so she is sitting on the ground, cross legged, back straight. She goes still, completely still. No movement, no sound. Nezha isn’t even sure she is breathing. 

Nezha watches, and waits. And waits for several long seconds.

Then he kicks her.

“ Hey! ” Rin cries out, eyes flying open.

“You meditated in the mountains for a month?” Nezha asks, incredulous. “You missed Strategy lectures, time to work on your combat skills, and Jima’s Muganese lectures so you could sit on your ass?”

“I speak Muganese perfectly fine,” Rin says in flawless Muganese. “And besides, it was important.”

“How?”

Rin chews on her bottom lip. “It is about understanding the truth of the world. About understanding power,” she finally says, voice quiet. 

There is a pause and then she looks directly at him. “Do you know anything about the gods and the pantheon, Nezha?”

He jerks back as if he has been physically slapped. 

Of course he knows the gods. At least a little bit. He understands the excruciating pain of living with a god inside you. He knows of the absolute fear that comes along with the loss of control over your body. He knows excruciating pain. He knows the grief of the sacrifice to become a slave to a god.

But he can’t tell her that.

“Just the children’s stories.” 

Something dark shutters across Rin’s face, as if Nezha has somehow said the wrong thing. 

“But tell me about them,” Nezha quickly continues, wanting, needing, to understand where she is going with this.

“There is this connection of a greater web of cosmological forces,” Rin says slowly, as if the words are too confusing for Nezha to understand, “Understanding that balance can steady oneself…”

She trails off, focusing off in the distance at a spot behind Nezha’s head. 

“But,” Rin continues, “If there is an imbalance, one is more attuned to one god over the others. They can siphon that power in the instability.”

“And meditation helps find that balance?” Nezha asks, voice too small.

Rin wrinkles her nose. “It provides a method of control,” she says slowly, as if she is still trying to find the words to explain it herself. 

“Teach me.”

“Why?”

Nezha shrugs, indifferent. But inside, he is stirring, spiraling, craving to find this balance Rin speaks of. A way to silence the parasite clawing at him.

“I am just trying to understand you and your subject.”

Rin still looks at him, lost, but finally she nods her head. “Okay.”

They sit across from one another. Nezha mimics Rin’s posture as best as he could, cross legged, back straight. 

“Stick your tongue on the roof of your mouth,” Rin instructs, “I have found that it helps.”

He sits and closes his eyes. Nezha tries to hold his breath, like Rin appears to, but after a minute he lets out a large exhale. 

Meditating is boring. Uncomfortable. 

He opens his eyes, realizing that he much rather watch Rin meditate than try himself. She just looks so peaceful. It is different from the few times Nezha has caught her sleeping. Then she still twitched, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She looked so small and human then. 

But now, something about the way Rin sits, the way she exists, is ethereal.

He sits, still cross legged, still back straight, but his eyes wide open. He watches Rin, uncertain exactly how much time passes. 

And then something tugs deep in the back of his skull, so faint that if Nezha weren’t sitting so still he wouldn’t have noticed. 

Rin frowns, cracking an eye open. “Did you feel that?” 

Nezha nods, unsure exactly what he felt in the first place.

“Hmmm,” Rin hums almost to herself, she rubs the back of her skull, in that exact same place that Nezha felt that uncomfortable tug.

Nezha felt unsteady. Unbalanced. 

He feels something crawl across his skin, ready for the opening to slip back into Nezha’s mind, as if there were some great, otherworldly disturbance allowing this opportunity.

“We should get some rest.”

Rin agrees quickly, still frowning and rubbing the back of her neck. 

Sleep comes quickly to Nezha that night, too exhausted to worry about whatever disturbance he felt. And when he wakes to the news of another border skirmish in Horse, the strange tug is the least of his concerns.

Especially when thirteen days later, a courier eagle reaches the academy with eight short words scrawled on a piece of parchment.

Horse Province has fallen. Mugen comes for Sinegard. 

Chapter Text

A city with the most prestigious military academy in the Empire should, in theory, be more prepared to fend off an invasion. However, with each fleeing family, Nezha’s disappointment deepens.

Oh, how quickly people forget history. 

Not even two decades after the last Poppy War, civilians have forgotten how devastating and deadly war is. Prioritizing non-essentials instead of food, medicine and their loved ones. Either these people are stupid or have placed too much confidence in the Empress. 

Probably a little bit of both.

Kitay and Rin are assigned on evacuation duties, overseeing civilian exodus. Rin constantly complains to Nezha about the Sinegard residents and their prioritizing of teapots. Nezha is thankful that Jun pulled him and Venka aside along with the other Combat apprentices to assign positions alongside the Eighth Division for when the Federation does attack.

“We have to protect our three gates.” Jun points to the map splayed out on the table, weighted down by stones. Red ink already bleeds across the map, highlighting essential exits and escape routes. “They won’t waste time trekking through the Wudang Mountains to attack from the west. But the other cardinal directions are fair game.”

Jun dips his writing brush in red ink and circles each gate. 

“The South Gate will be the hardest gate for them to get to, as they are coming from the North. So the North Gate will be essential to protect because that will be the easiest for the Federation to attack.”

“We will prioritize the North Gate then,” the general of the Eighth Division states clearly in a deep timber, “Split the forces. Fifty percent to the North Gate. Thirty to the East. Twenty to the South.” 

The Eight division only has a few thousand men, and even with the extra support from the Academy students, the numbers did not look good. The Third Division was called for support, but they were further north than the Federation soldiers. So unless the Third Division was somehow faster and managed to surprise the Federation from behind, they wouldn’t arrive until after the slaughter. 

Hopefully, the Third Division didn’t arrive to a city of corpses.

Sinegard was evacuated. The main hospital was stocked with supplies. Escape routes were created. Battle plans were drawn and redrawn until Nezha could sketch them in his sleep.

Now, they wait. 

Or sit like prey in a trap.

It feels the same to Nezha.

Any day now, the Federation Army will knock on the doorsteps of Sinegard, and that is the only advantage that they seem to have. That they have the upper ground and the battle is coming to them. 

Nezha hopes that is enough. 

During the hours of daylight, Nezha spends every second by Master Jun’s side, strategizing battle plans and strengthening his combat skills.

“You are going to exhaust yourself out before the first arrow flies, Nezha,” Jun scolds him early one morning. Nezha spent the night before with Rin sparring, but she went to bed and Nezha decided he wanted to continue training. So that is where Jun finds him hours later, covered in sweat and grime, swords in both of Nezha’s hands, dark circles under his eyes.  

Nezha nods to his master, but doesn’t pause his movements, “Sir, I am just ensuring that I have the endurance to last long enough to make a difference.”

The parasite will ensure that Nezha survives this battle. He won’t die, but he can still be injured or impaired enough that he is taken out of the battle. If Nezha goes down early, if he’s crippled or cornered, then he’s useless. If he can’t fight, he can’t protect Sinegard. He can’t protect his friends.

Jun approaches slowly, then claps Nezha on the shoulder. 

“I worked you hard these last three years, Nezha, and every time I pushed you harder, you somehow exceeded my expectations. Sure, when you first came to this Academy, you carried the aura of the spoiled Yin brat you are, but these last few years, you have really grown into your own person. Even if you constantly severely injured my other apprentices,” Jun says with a small smile.

“I am proud of you, Nezha,” Jun says, his voice firm and reassuring. “You are one of my best apprentices I have ever had.”

Embarrassingly, Nezha’s eyes start to sting. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now go shower and get some rest. I will hate it if one of my best apprentices dies right away because he was half-asleep on the battlefield.”

Nezha sheaths his swords and scampers off, his chest feeling lighter for the first time since Mugen announced their attack on Sinegard. 

Nezha’s assignment is protecting the East Gate with Raban. Venka is placed on the upper level with the other archers, and Nezha is silently grateful that she will be further from the thick of the bloodshed. Rin and Kitay are protecting the South Gate. 

Nezha doesn’t trust the Eight Division’s general’s plans to leave the South Gate the least protected to prioritize protecting the North Gate, but Nezha has to hope he is making the correct decisions. 

He hates the idea of not being with Rin, not knowing if she is okay.

Thirteen days after the Muganese announce they are marching to Sinegard, the faint outline of their formation of troops is seen in the distance. An endless sea of red soldiers, black flags, and grey smoke.

Organized chaos erupts behind the city gates as the few thousand of soldiers left at Sinegard scramble to their assigned posts. 

Nezha is still sitting at the breakfast table when the horn blares, signalling the Federation’s arrival. The sound tears through the morning like the blade strapped to Nezha’s side.

He sits frozen with Venka, Kitay, and Rin as the blasting, jagged sound echoes around them.

“Shit,’ Venka mutters first, calmly. Her long, silky hair is pulled back, out of her face, ready for battle at any moment. Nezha doesn’t remember the last time he saw her hair down. 

“Shit,” Kitay repeats, louder. Eyes wide and vacant. 

“Shit,” Rin echoes, a sharp laugh pulled from within, but there is nothing amused on her face.

Nezha nods and sighs. “Shit.” It is the only word that fits how they all feel.

Their gazes meet, flickering from one face to another, all realizing that this could be the last time they are together. No one wants to voice the fact that one of them could die today, but they are all thinking it. 

Sinegard trained them to be soldiers, but all of that felt like pretend until now. Every single fight Nezha won in the Rings was child’s play to what is coming. No matter the hours of education and years of training, nothing truly prepares you for when war is at their door steps. 

Venka stands first, grabbing her bow that has not left her side for a fortnight. Rin commented that she even sleeps with it. “I will see you all on the other side.” 

Nezha rises with her, “Be safe.”

“You too,” she says, her voice tight. She swallows hard, then disappears into the rising noise.

“We should go,” Kitay murmurs to Rin. 

Rin looks nauseous, her hands tightly clenched together, but still slightly trembling. Her eyes close for a moment, she inhales, straightens her back, and slowly exhales. It reminds Nezha of the time Rin meditated, grounding herself. 

When she opens her eyes again, the color returns to her cheeks. She looks steady, vicious. There is something sharp in her eyes, the same look that flared the first time they ever fought in the tournament so many moons ago. 

“Ready?” Rin asks Kitay. 

He nods, leading the way out the back door to the South Gate. 

Rin turns to walk with Kitay, and something heavy settles on Nezha’s chest watching her leave.

“Rin, wait!” Nezha calls after her. He moves before he thinks, catching her wrist, turning her to face him. She stumbles, startled as he pulls her into him.

For a moment, the chaos melts away and it is just Rin, warm, alive, in his arms.

Silent words pass between them. Be safe. Don’t die. Nezha thinks these things, but will never say them out loud.

“You’re being pathetic, Nezha,” Rin whispers only for him to hear, her face buried in his chest, her arms squeezing his back. 

Nezha buries his nose in the top of her hair, inhaling her scent. A mix between the earth and smoke. Years ago, he would have said she smelled like dirt, but this scent is intoxicating, it grounds him. 

Rin pulls away first. And Nezha, for all his bravery, lets her go. Her eyes meet his, and the last silent words pass between them. 

Come back to me.

She turns and follows Kitay out the back, and Nezha walks to the East Gate all alone.

There isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The sun had risen over the eastern horizon a few hours ago, flooding the morning with cracks of soft golds and blooming pinks, a breathtaking sight on a morning that would likely claim the lives of half of Nezha’s classmates. 

A beautiful day for bloodshed. 

Now, under a serene blue sky, Nezha stares out at the endless wave of soldiers, dressed in blood-red uniforms, with banners raised like slashes of war paint across the landscape. They snake toward Sinegard in a thick column, thousands strong, loud and arrogant. Their chants thunder across the plain, drums pounding in rhythm with the march. It doesn’t sound like war, it sounds like celebration for a battle they believe they’ve already won. 

Looking out in the sea of red, Nezha realizes two things. 

One, that Sinegard could have been preparing for the last three years for this invasion, and still that would not have been enough time to handle the sheer size of the Federation Armed Services.

And two, he is terrified.

Nezha knows he cannot die, but his immortality does not save the few thousand soldiers Sinegard assembled. It won’t save the terrified second-years lined up beside him. It doesn’t save Kitay, Venka, or Rin. 

But he will do everything in his power to try. 

His sword starts to feel clammy in his hand as the sound of a ruthless army marches closer and closer. 

A whistle cuts through the air, cannon fire slams into the East Gate causing wood to splinter around him, the metal hinges screaming as they try to hold.

Raban is swaying back and forth next to him, rocking on his feet. “We are so fucked,” Raban admits.

“Yeah,” Nezha breathes out, because it is true and there is no point in lying to himself or to his old classmate. They are absolutely, royally fucked.

A member of the Eighth Division must agree, because one look at the approaching fleet, and he turns and flees deeper into the city. Panic spreads through the Militia like a disease as another soldier follows, then another as they abandon the East Gate in hopes for safety inside the city. 

“Cowards,” Nezha spits, fury bubbling in his chest next to the fear.

Raban raises his sword at the ready, “Maybe they are the smart ones here.”

Then, with a crash, the East Gate falls.

It doesn’t break apart, it detonates. An explosive shell shatters the structure in a single, deafening blast. And like a broken dam, the Federation Army surges forward, flooding into Sinegard.

Nezha doesn’t allow himself to think, only react. Three steps forward and a thrust of his sword, Nezha kills his second person in his lifetime. Mingzha deserves better company.

It doesn’t take long for Nezha’s second kill to become his third, then his fourth, and then he quickly loses count. Blood sprays across his face. The scent mixed with his sweat stings Nezha’s nostrils, but he keeps going. He has to keep going.

The Dragon pushes him onward, healing his wounds, knitting his torn skin closed before it even has the chance to bleed. 

Compared to Nezhas years of combat training, the foreign soldiers likely were lucky to receive a few weeks of training, and it shows in just how easy they are for Nezha to kill. They are sloppy, swinging wide, screaming when they charge, leaving their flanks wide open for Nezha to strike. But with every one he kills, three more appear in their place. And despite his training, despite the Dragon helping him, Nezha won’t be able to last forever.

The other members of Nezha’s squadron are starting to feel the strain on their bodies too. 

Both Renji and Zhang are backed in a corner together, barely holding their ground. Nezha pivots to help, but a sword slashes through the air by his head, forcing him to turn away from the two second years. He ducks under the arm of the soldier and slices his sword right between his ribs, piercing lung and heart. 

By the time he turns back, it is too late.

A sword goes straight through Zhang’s eye, cutting off his scream. Blood squirts out from the gash as he slumps to the ground besides Renji’s already cooling corpse.

“Fuck,” Nezha shouts, rage threatening to crack his voice. He doesn’t have time to grieve for Jun’s youngest apprentices, as yet another Federation soldier strikes at Nezha with an axe that Nezha has to block. 

Nezha has to hope that Jun was wrong. That the Federation did not prioritize the North Gate for their primary attack, because if this wasn’t the majority of their enemy’s fleet, Nezha can’t imagine how the other gates are surviving. 

Despite his best efforts, Nezha gets pushed further inside the city until he finds himself next to Raban who looks worse for wear. Blood soaks the entire left side of his uniform and one of his eyes is swollen shut. But he is alive and still fighting.

“Told you we were fucked,” Raban croaks out, blocking a sword flying from his left. 

Nezha ducks and guts the soldier lunging from Raban’s blind side, his intestines spilling out on the bloody cobblestone like slick, coiled snakes. 

“I didn’t disagree,” Nezha growls.

Back to back, they fight. Bodies press in. Nezha loses count again. His arms ache. The weight of his sword feels heavier with each swing. He moves through muscle memory, parry and slash, pivot and stab. Raban screams, takes a blow to the shoulder, returns one to the knee. Nezha’s blade jams in a ribcage and he has to rip it free, blood spraying across his face.

Then, Nezha slips.

His boots slide in the pool of intestines spilled at his feet. He crashes onto his back, narrowly missing the sword swinging towards his head, and watches as it instead strikes Raban straight through the heart.

“No!” Nezha cries.

Nezha doesn’t think, letting rage guide him as he strikes up and severs the soldier's arm. His sword clatters on the ground next to the guts and blood. 

Nezha picks up the spare sword with his left hand, hacking behind him at the sound of another approaching soldier. 

He doesn’t even look behind him to see where he struck, staggering back up to his feet. Nezha is the only member of the Militia left standing. He has to keep fighting.

A horn blasts through the air, and Nezha whips his head to the noise.

Niang stands at the threshold, a medic bag strapped to her chest, distress horn held loosely by her side. She was supposed to be away from the thick of combat, safe at the hospital.

“Niang, get the fuck out of here!” Nezha shouts at her. 

A Federation soldier spots Niang off to the side, and stalks over to her, hunger in his eyes as if Niang is a shiny, new, womanly toy to play with. Nezha is too far away to stop him, he can only cry out her name in warning. 

“Niang!” Nezha screams. 

Just as the soldier raises his weapon, Niang bends down, snagging an abandoned sword and strikes up. She spears straight through his pelvis and slices up. Blood showers her face as the soldier drops dead. 

Niang drops the sword, gagging as she takes in the sight in front of her. She stands frozen, until she catches sight of a twitching body in a Militia uniform.

“Raban,” Niang gasps out, running over to him.

“Niang, leave him. He’s gone.” Nezha cries after her, but he can’t follow because more soldiers are suddenly on him. With swords in both of his hands, Nezha strikes high and low, swinging one sword and then the next. 

Bodies hit the ground, and with that opening is when she comes into view.

Nezha’s stomach lurches, as he sees her.

Rin blazes into the scene, determination painted on her face. Her eyes are sharp. Steady. She is the only one to answer their call for help, and yet, with the fierceness and ferocity that she brings with her, Nezha has hope for the first time since the Federation stormed the gate. 

Slicing backwards, Nezha frees himself and fights his way over to Rin. She is not unscathed. Blood pours down from a large gash near her scalp line, coating her hair and brow, nearly blinding her vision. Her steps falter as she sees Raban’s slumped figure in the corner, and Nezha does not have enough time to call out her name in warning as a Federation soldier sneaks up from behind, hitting her back with the hilt of his handle. 

Rin blindly stabs behind herself, gutting the soldier that had hit her. She pulls her sword out of the soldier's abdomen, but not before another figure is on top of her. His shield slams into her sword arm, causing her to lose grip on her only mechanism of defense. 

Only one thought crosses Nezha’s mind. 

Rin.

Stumbling forward, Nezha slashes his blade straight through his back. Clean cut. The soldier gurgles his last words and falls forward. Nezha wishes he made that soldier’s death more painful.

Rin stares up at him, eyes still sharp, but something else flits across them, and Nezha realizes she is just as terrified as he is. He tosses the spare sword he won from the man who killed Raban.

“Nezha,” Rin says, voice thick with gratitude. 

He wants to say more to her, to thank her for coming to their rescue, confess his unspoken feelings, but now is not the time. They are surrounded by enemies, and it is only him and her to protect Sinegard.

“On your left.”

They fall into a familiar formation, back to back. Nezha knows Rin almost as well as he knows himself. He spent the last two years memorizing the way her body moves, the way her feet shift before she launches an attack, the way she prefers to strike from her right, but will switch it up and hit with her left. He swears he can hear the hitch of her breath before she crouches down, striking low. 

It is beautiful. The way they work with one another. In sync, as if they were one.

As they continue to fight, the crowd starts to thin, and Nezha can’t help the hope swell in his chest.

“They’re retreating,” Nezha says, his voice thick with disbelief.

Rin’s body sags next to his, using his shoulder for support. Nezha reaches for her hand, fingers intertwining, and squeezes. 

But what little hope they had vanishes at the approaching figure, massive, mounted, and unstoppable.

The general.

Twice Nezha’s size, horse included, the general laughs at Rin and Nezha, whose hands are clasped together, clinging to their last hope that together they can make it through this battle. 

He charges forward on his warhorse, straight at Rin. Nezha pulls her behind him, bracing himself for impact. 

An impact that never came. 

Fucking Jiang shows up out of thin air, blocking the blow. When Nezha gets a closer look at the Lore Master, he realizes that he is floating in midair.

“What the fuck?” Nezha gasps. 

Jiang speaks clearly for the first time ever. “Call off your men. Or watch me summon horrors not meant for this world.”

Behind Jiang, ribbons of dark shadows swirl as Jiang chants words that Nezha cannot translate. 

The general backs away in fear. “You are supposed to be Sealed!”

“Am I?”

With outstretched arms, darkness opens. Monsters and beasts shadows ripple through the darkness. Animals that should not, do not, exist. Nezha stares, terrified that a scaly, slippery dragon will slip through.

“Rin. Nezha,” Jiang calls them. “Both of you need to run. Now.”

Nezha doesn’t need to be told twice, he holds Rin to his side, and pushes her forward. Away from the general, away from the beasts Jiang is summoning. 

Rin slips her fingers back into Nezha’s hands as she stumbles forward. Her weight gives out on her, and Nezha barely catches her in time before she hits the ground. He slips his arm around her waist, steadying her, dragging her away from danger. 

They won’t make it far with Nezha supporting Rin like this, but he would rather die than abandon Rin. 

Jiang screams behind them, wind swirling around him as the black void bursts open. Nezha looks back in time to watch Jiang slam his staff into the air, everything freezing for a moment around them. 

That is the only warning Nezha needs. 

He pulls Rin down to the ground, and lands on top of her, shielding her just in time for the east wall to crash down. 

Stone slams into Nezha’s back and head, making his vision go black.

Nezha doesn’t even realize he was knocked out until Rin is shaking him.

“You idiot!” Rin cries out, tears streaking her face. “Why did you take the hit? You could have died!”

Nezha tries to shake his head, but his neck refuses to move. “I won’t die,” he croaks out.

Rin cradles his head. Her hands are so warm, Nezha leans into her touch and rests his eyes shut, comforted by her heat.

“Nezha,” Rin begs, “Come on. We have to go, we can’t stay here.”

He tries to move for her, slowly shifting his weight, but every part of his body screams in protest. 

The rubble near the gate shifts, and a large, armored hand claws his way out of the debris.

“Fucking scum. The lot of you,” the general snarls. 

Rin, brave, wild, beautiful Rin stands, arching her sword towards him. Still fighting when the battle is lost. 

Nezha wants to yell at her to stop, to run away, but Rin never backs away from a fight. That is why they even became friends in the first place. Nezha taunted her, goaded her to spar with him in secret, and Rin had to fight him. She had to prove herself. She wouldn’t be Rin if she didn’t fight.

But gods, Nezha wished she would run instead.

The general easily rips her sword out of her hand like it were a stick. He picks her up by her collar and smiles down hungrily at her.

“No!” Nezha shouts. 

Carelessly, the general throws Rin to the ground and turns to Nezha. 

A sinister grin crosses his face, half scraped away from the explosion, burnt flesh clinging to bone. 

The sword pierces Nezha right through the stomach, vibrating inside of him as it slams into the stone beneath his back. For a moment, Nezha’s body is stunned silent, and then white hot pain rips through him. Pins and needles flare down his legs, electrifying every nerve, whitening his vision. Nezha bites his tongue hard to stop himself from screaming out in pain. 

He thinks he hears Rin scream his name, but his head is pounding and he feels like he is submerged fully underwater. 

His body has been here before.

When Nezha was fourteen, he stood on the edge of the Red Cliffs, one foot dangling over the edge, the other firmly on the cliff rock, questioning whether tumbling down to the sea below would end his suffering. He was out on the cliffs for hours, until he made up his mind. 

The grief. The way his mother looked at him like he was a monster. The way his father berated him. Jinzha’s fists. Muzha’s silent treatment. The strange tattoo crawling on his back, whispering in his mind. The pain. It was all too much. 

So Nezha turned, taking one last look at Arlong, the city he loved. The city he called home. The city that took Mingzha from him. And fell backwards off of the Red Cliffs. 

He didn’t regret his decision midair. He welcomed death. 

But then his body hit the jagged rocks below.

His spine shattered first, and then his head busted against the stone. White, hot pain shot throughout his body. It was agonizing. The waves picked up his shattered body, and shoved him under the water. He gulped in the salty sea, burning his lungs as he tried to gasp for air. His limbs no longer worked, no matter how hard Nezha tried to kick his leg, or break the surface with his arm, he couldn’t move. The waves kept slamming his body against the cliff over and over again.

And yet, Nezha remained conscious. 

The Dragon’s laugh rattled around his head, healing him just enough to keep torturing him. 

To this day, Nezha isn’t sure how long his body kept getting swept up and slammed against the cliff.

Nothing lasts. 

That is what was carved into the Red Cliffs by the last faithful minister of the Red Emperor.

Nothing lasts, it seems, except Nezha’s suffering. 

His vision focuses, pulling him to the present, just in time to see the general lift his sword again above his head, ready to make the second blow, but something bright flashes from the corner of Nezha’s vision.

Both the general and Nezha’s focuses are pulled to the blinding light. Fire. At first Nezha thinks that is from one of the remnants of the catapults from outside the wall, launching flaming debris into the city. But it isn’t that. 

It’s Rin.

Rin is on fire, but she isn’t burning. No, she is calling the fire, controlling it, as if it were an extra limb. It pours out of her, from her hands, from her ears, from her mouth. Her eyes are a bright red, glowing in the heat.

It’s terrifying.

It’s magnificent.

Kitay and Venka’s teasing words were terribly incorrect. Whatever feelings Nezha had for Rin, that developed over the course of the last year, were not love.

This. This magnificent display of power, of heat, of celestial divinity. This fire. This fear.

This is love. He is absolutely certain of it. 

“You’re dead! I killed you!” the general shouts, Nezha isn’t sure at who. Rin? Nezha? 

Rin laughs, it sounds like it is ripped out of her from somewhere deep within. “Not me. You didn’t kill me.”

The fire keeps pouring out from Rin, and what once looked like an extension of her now looks like a weapon out of control. 

The general’s body ignites with flames, his screams are cut off when flame engulfs down his throat. But Nezha isn’t watching him, he only has eyes for Rin. 

Rin who lost all control, fire engulfed around her, licking her skin. Her bright red eyes shine not just with the fire, but now also with terror. 

He needs to get to her. To help make it stop. He has the power to control water, he is the only one who can help her. 

But his legs won’t move. The sword severed his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down. He will heal, but the injury is severe enough that even the Dragon needs more time. Time Nezha doesn’t have. 

Instead, Nezha shimmies his arms in front of his body, pulling him forward, crawling across the broken stone, over corpses, towards the fire. Every part of Nezha’s body screams as he moves towards her.

The Federation Army ceases to exist. Either burning to ash or escaping before Rin’s rage could reach them. 

Finally, he reaches her.

She is tremorring, shaking her limbs, crying out loud to herself. “Stop! Please, stop.”

Nezha reaches out, taking her fiery hand and intertwining it with his. The pain is excruciating, but he doesn’t let go.

“Nezha,” Rin whimpers.

“Rin,” Nezha's voice cracks as he tries to say her name. He is so exhausted and hurt, but he tries to help her. He calls within, to the water to put out her flame. 

Please. Nezha begs to the Dragon. 

But the rain never comes. 

He hurts everywhere. Blood pours out of his gut, his arm is engulfed in Rin’s flame, and his head pounds. He can’t make it stop. He can’t save her. And somehow that is what hurts the most.

“I’m sorry, Rin,” Nezha croaks out before his vision goes completely dark and he loses consciousness. 

Chapter Text

“Tiger’s tits! You actually are alive.”

Nezha groans out in response. Everything fucking hurts. His chest feels like it was ripped open and stitched back together with barbed wire, his eyes itch, his back screams. The Dragon curls around his spine, claws sharp. 

His lower half of this body, however, that he can’t feel. 

Slowly blinking his eyes open, Kitay’s blurry face, hovering directly above Nezha’s head, slowly comes into focus. 

“Do you remember anything?” Kitay’s voice asks, laced with concern.

Nezha sucks in a breath, trying to reply, but all that comes out is a dry, guttural cough which makes his throat burn and his chest constrict in pain. 

“Here,” Kitay says, passing him a glass of water. 

Nezha wills his arms forward. They feel heavy like stone and clumsy like a newborn. He can’t control the tremor in his hand as he takes the cold glass from Kitay’s fingers. The water soothes the burning in his throat enough that he can form words on his tongue again.

“Fuck,” Nezha rasps. 

“Oh good,” Kitay sighs, “At least you can still talk.”

“Oh fuck you,” Nezha says with a little more force in his voice. He sets the glass down at the table, and that is when he gets a better look at his left arm.

His entire hand is scarred. The skin is significantly paler than the rest of his body, turned slightly leathery in texture. Further up his arm, the pattern becomes less refined and more of a patchy, eschar black and blistered red. He flips his palm over, and grimaces at the sight of the back of his hand. Five, perfectly outlined fingers burnt into his skin, seared down to the bone, shine in the light. 

Nezha is sure if he were to hold Rin’s hand, the marks would line up perfectly. 

“How long have I been out?” Nezha asks, staring at his hand. 

Kitay pauses, watching Nezha flex and unflex his fingers. “A week.”

A week. 

Why hasn’t he healed yet? 

Whatever celestial entity Rin called, did that finally make the Dragon go away?

But other parts of his body, the parts not injured by Rin, are healing like normal. Nezha wiggles his toes to prove it to himself. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Nezha comments, frowning. His broken, burnt hand is the only part of him not screaming in agony. Nezha can’t remember the last time he has been injured, but has not felt the pain. It is all so strange to him.

“Enro says it is because she, um,” Kitay grimaces, and quickly corrects himself, “you burnt through your nerves. Full thickness burn.”

Nezha can’t stop staring at his hand. “Huh.”

“He also didn’t think you were going to make it. Thought you were a lost cause. Niang cursed him out for suggesting that,” Kitay snorts.

“Where is she?” The question has been sitting on his tongue since the moment Nezha blinked open his eyes.

“Niang?” Kitay asks, confused. 

Nezha gives him a pointed look. They both knew who he is really asking about. 

“She’s fine. Alive, if that is what you are asking.”

He sags in relief, but alive didn’t mean well. Alive didn’t mean safe. 

“Is she here?” Nezha asks, looking around the hospital wing. Every bed is full. Most of them have white sheets pulled over lumpy forms like tombstones. Was he being kept in a morgue?

Kitay shakes his head. “Enro looked her over and cleared her almost immediately from any injury. They are keeping her in the Rings now.”

“Why?” Nezha asks, unable to keep the confusion out of his voice. Rin doesn’t need to be kept anywhere.

“They don’t know what to do with her,” Kitay sighs, glancing again at Nezha’s burnt hand. “She burnt a good portion of the Federation army alive, and now they are terrified she is going to burn the rest of Sinegard next.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Nezha defends her immediately. She wouldn’t. At least not on purpose. Rin was terrified when they were fighting together, but Nezha remembers why she was so terrified. She couldn’t make it stop. She had no control over the flame. 

Kitay doesn’t say anything, but the twitch of his eyebrow makes Nezha believe that he isn’t so sure that Rin wouldn’t burn down the city either.

“What happened out there?” Kitay asks instead. “There are so many rumors of Rin falling into a frenzied bloodlust, shooting flames out of her eyeballs as the general stabbed her over and over again.” Kitay swallows and lowers his voice, “They say that she’s Speerly.”

Nezha flinches.

It adds up. Her darker skin. Her fire. Her bright red eyes the same color as Altan’s. Despite the facts laid out in front of him, a part of Nezha didn’t want to believe it.

“She didn’t shoot flames out of her eyes, Kitay. Don’t be stupid.”

Kitay’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well she obviously shot flames out of her hands,” he shoots back, gesturing to Nezha’s hand.

Nezha shoves his hand under the blanket.

“Have you seen her?” he asks, voice softer.

“Yeah,” Kitay says, exhaling. “Venka and I were pulling shifts, switching from sitting by your bedside and visiting her.”

Relief washes through Nezha, “So Venka is fine too?”

“Completely unharmed,” Kitay confirms. “They sent her to Golyn Niis yesterday with the Eleventh Division. I join her tomorrow.”

“So you’re leaving too?” Nezha asks.

“I’ve been drafted into the Second. It will be nice to be with Irjah,” Kitay adds as an afterthought. “It doesn't quite feel like I earned the position. They are desperate for soldiers, at this point they’ll take anyone who can stand.”

Kitay winces at his choice of words. “Sorry.”

Venka is gone and Kitay leaves tomorrow. Nezha isn’t going anywhere anytime soon with his entire lower half of his body paralyzed. Sure, he can wiggle his toes, but Nezha can’t shift his legs, let alone bear weight. He hopes that he has control over his bladder, and isn’t looking forward to finding out. 

“So if they need soldiers so badly,” Nezha says slowly, “what are they doing with Rin?”

Kitay shrugs. “No clue.” He stands from his chair, creaking loudly with the shift of his weight. “I was going to head off and visit her next. See if she knows anything.” Kitay’s voice trails off. “Do you want me to pass along any message to her for you?”

Nezha’s mind whirls. What can he even say to her? 

I’m sorry you’re held captive by the same people you saved. 

I should’ve saved you.

I could’ve saved you if I was braver. 

How could you never tell me about your fire?

But he says none of that.

“No,” Nezha mutters, almost to himself. “I have nothing to say to her.”

Kitay leaves for Golyn Niis without saying goodbye.

Everyone else is gone besides Rin, but she is stuck in the Rings and Nezha is stuck in the hospital. So Nezha’s only company is Master Enro who visits once a day to check on Nezha’s progress. 

“This injury should have completely paralyzed you,” Enro says, examining Nezha’s back. He’s seen the tattoo, but thankfully doesn’t ask about it. Must think that Nezha has some crazed obsession with his province. “You are very lucky, Nezha.”

Nezha huffs. This isn’t luck that is healing him.

They do the same routine every day. 

No, Nezha’s sensation to his legs hasn’t returned. Yes, his reflexes are still brisk. No, Nezha can’t lift his leg off the bed. Yes, he has complete movement over his upper extremities. 

Thankfully, and to Nezha’s immense relief, he does have full control over his bowels and bladder. 

Enro taps on the back of Nezha’s heel, watches his toe point and then flex on its own, just like it had every day before then. Enro jots something down in her notes, and Nezha wiggles his toes. He can move them easier than the day before, but he still has a long way to go.

“I am discharging you.”

Nezha frowns. “Have I really been that bad of a patient?”

Enro lets out a low chuckle. “No, Nezha. On the contrary, you have actually been my best patient.”

A low bar, since the majority of Enro’s patients are now corpses under white sheets.

“We are evacuating the city,” Enro clarifies, packing up her satchel. “We bought time with Runin’s stunt, but we won’t survive another attack. Everyone else has already evacuated. Hospital is last. And besides, you have been requested to heal under someone else’s supervision.”

She drops a note on Nezha’s chest. The Dragon emblem wax seal is already broken.

Nezha uses his right hand to pick up the letter, and opens it to see Vaisra’s slanted handwriting. 

Send Nezha to Arlong to heal.

Short and to the point. No personal note. No well wishes. Not even a gods damned signature.  But what did Nezha expect, a tear soaked letter asking how he was?

Nezha isn’t that naive.

“A cart will pick you up and take you south in an hour. We had someone collect your things from under your bed already.” Enro’s mouth quirked into a small smile. “You had a lot of bottles of expensive wine stored away under there too.”

Nezha blanched ever so slightly at that. “Those were medicinal.”

“Don’t worry. Can’t expel you now,” Enro says, tone entirely too light. “There isn’t an academy to expel you from anymore.” 

An hour or so later, Nezha is settled into a cart headed to Arlong. He tries not to be embarrassed about his need to be lifted and carried into his seat, but his cheeks do flush when the two men lifting him into his seat groan with his weight.

It takes 3 days over rough terrain in both buggy and boat before Nezha arrives back in Arlong. The Red Cliffs welcome Nezha first. 

Nothing lasts. 

But so much has changed since Nezha last visited home at sixteen. A naive boy who thought the world was his right because of his last name. He’s grown over the last three years, both physically and mentally. 

Everything has changed, it seems, except Arlong. 

The threat of war has not breached the shores of his city. The city remains exactly the way he left it. A labyrinth of rivers with warm breeze coming off the water. The shipyards are still filled with boats—Jinzha’s project still taking up the most space. Unfinished. The green and blue hues of the city do not bleed red.

And as much as Nezha feels that wave of nostalgia for home, something feels off to him. 

Nezha doesn’t belong in Arlong’s oasis. He should be out in the front lines of a war alongside his classmates. This paradise belongs to a younger version of himself. Not the half-broken soldier who returned with a ruined hand and broken spine.

His boat docks, and the two companions leading Nezha on his journey south hoist Nezha out of his chair and settle him into a wheeled one. At least now he has some mobility on his own.

But Arlong wasn’t built for the disabled. His wheels can’t cross the giant lily pads in the water. The cobblestone is difficult to navigate, so he has to ask for help more often than not. 

Captain Eriden waits for Nezha at the steps of the Yin palace. 

“I see you have somehow arrived in one piece,” Eriden comments dryly. Nezha hasn’t seen him in over three years, and yet he looks exactly the same. Well kept, hair cut short. Eyes hardened and focused. Posture rigid. 

His father’s perfect soldier. No wonder Jinzha is Eriden’s favorite Yin child.

“Can you walk?” Eriden asks, which Nezha thinks is a quite stupid question since he is currently sitting in a wheelchair.

Nezha bows his head in respect instead. “Not yet, sir. I have some movement in my feet, but I cannot support my own weight.”

Eriden tuts under his breath. “I will help escort you to your room then. There you will be treated by the Yin family healer.”

The reason why Nezha is being treated in his bedroom doesn’t evade him. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Eriden wheels Nezha into his bedroom. Dust clings to his shelves and his books he read to study for the Keju. A small, carved wooden boat that Nezha meant to gift to Mingzha for his seventh birthday sits on his shelf next to stacks and stacks of old notes and letters.

No one has stepped foot in Nezha’s room since he left. A small part of Nezha is grateful for that. 

“Your father is away on business. Minmin will bring your dinner up to your bedroom.” 

And with that final note, Eriden shuts Nezha’s door, leaving him entirely alone.

Up in his room, time crawls. His only visitors are the Yin family healer, Dr. Juren Sien, who comes twice a day and Minmin with his meals. 

He does the same tests Enro did, but he also knows Nezha, and he pokes and prods at his back, right at the tattoo. 

“Have you had any seizures or headaches recently, Nezha?” Juren asks during a visit a few weeks into Nezha’s solitude.

He is asking about the Dragon, but no one says its name out loud. No one says what has infected him. Another dirty secret in the Yin family. 

“No,” Nezha answers. The Dragon has continued to remain slumbering away. Its presence is there, Nezha can still feel it, but it isn’t clawing or slithering on his skin. 

Nezha wonders if healing his body is keeping it too exhausted to lash out. 

“You are making good progress in your legs,” the healer says. Nezha can now hold his leg up off the bed against gravity, but the moment any weight or resistance is pushed against his leg, it falls immediately back into the mattress. 

“Not good enough,” Nezha mutters under his breath.

Juren doesn’t comment, used to Nezha’s pessimism and comments at this point. He instead pulls Nezha’s left hand towards him, inspecting the wound.

For all of the progress in healing Nezha’s paralysis, the scar Rin inflicted on Nezha’s hand remains the same. Five fingers burnt down to the bone, forever imprinted.

“Can you feel this?” Juren asks, poking Nezha’s hand with a needle.

“No.”

He lost all sensation in his hand. He still has complete function, not losing any finite dexterity, but he can’t feel anything he touches. 

The healer turns his hand over, tutting, “I am surprised it hasn’t been infected yet. Since the wound goes all the way to the bone.” He pokes the bone with his needle, as if he is testing to see if the bone will suddenly break away today after weeks of stability. “If it ever comes to that, we might have to cut off the hand.”

Nezha yanks his hand back to himself and out of the healer’s grasp.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that then.” Nezha tucks his hand back under the blanket. He doesn’t like other people looking at it.

Juren sighs and starts to pack up his supplies.

“Any updates from my father?” Nezha asks as casually as he can, though desperation curls under his tongue. Locked away in his bedroom, the only news he hears from the Nikan war is from his healer. Minmin brings him his meals, but kitchen gossip isn’t the information he is aching for.

He doesn’t learn much, but even a droplet of information makes Nezha feel more sane. Staring at the blue walls, counting the tiles on the floor and then the ceiling and then the floor again, is making Nezha start to lose his mind. 

His healer shakes his head, “Nothing new. Khurdalain is still the focus. The First and Fifth Divisions are struggling working with the freak squad, but as far as we are aware, the city is still holding strong.”

The Cike are protecting Khurdalain. Great. Nikan is fucked.

In the coming weeks, Nezha’s routine stays the same, but he does heal. A month after a sword pierced Nezha’s spine, he takes his first steps. It takes another week until Nezha feels comfortable to run again, and another week to feel comfortable using a sword.

As soon as his feet touch the ground and support his weight, Nezha doesn’t rest. He is off training, trying to regain the strength he lost on bed rest.

His left hand can hold a sword just fine, which Nezha is grateful for. 

After a long training session, Nezha’s muscles are pleasantly sore. He is finally back to his Sinegard self. It only took one month, twenty-six days, and four hours or so, but who's counting?

Nezha takes the steps up to his bedroom two at a time, eager to rinse off the sweat and grime on his skin. He pushes the door open and freezes at what he sees inside.

Yin Vaisra. 

He’s turned away, back to the door, fingers trailing along the edge of Nezha’s desk as if it belongs to him. He doesn’t even look up as Nezha closes the door.

“Father,” Nezha’s voice comes out more clipped than he intended. He bows as his father turns to face him. When Nezha raises his head, he sees that wooden boat he carved for Mingzha in his father’s hand. 

His whole body stiffens.

“It is filthy here,” Vaisra remarks flatly, dragging a finger through the dust on Nezha’s desk. “You’ve let this place fall to ruin.”

“Sorry,” Nezha bows his head again. He doesn’t give the excuse that his legs hadn’t worked for the last few weeks and cleaning wasn’t his top priority. His father never accepts excuses.

Vaisra sets the wooden boat down on the dusty desk with a soft clack and eyes Nezha, gaze assessing his stance. “I see you can walk again.”

“I have been training again, too.”

Vaisra hums under his breath in approval. Nezha stands a little taller. 

“Hopefully improving your skills so you won’t get stabbed again,” Vaisra adds with a scoff. 

Nezha flinches ever so slightly. He doesn’t mean to, his father doesn’t appreciate dissent. He knows Vaisra sees it too. His father sees everything.

“Your life is not your own, Nezha. You are a Yin first. You represent the entire province of Dragon. You represent me. You have already embarrassed us with your injury, ” Vaisra sneers the word as if he is ashamed to admit his child isn’t invincible. A reminder of failure. “You get stabbed and what happens? Your classmate is the one who takes down the entire Federation Armed Services. All while you lay useless on the ground next to her.” 

Nezha’s breath stutters at his father mentioning Rin. Of course it would come back to Rin. She is everywhere, even here, even now.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Nezha says.

Vaisra raises his hand, “Don’t apologize. Do better.” Vaisra sighs, running his hand down his face, as if Nezha’s entire existence exhausts him. “What do you know about your little classmate? The Speerly?”

Nezha stopped breathing all together. It takes several moments for his brain to tell his lungs to inhale so he could reply to his father. 

“Not much,” Nezha lies. He just hopes his father doesn’t know him well enough to tell.

“Surely you have to know something about her.” Vaisra presses, walking closer to Nezha, and Nezha doesn’t miss the look his father gives his left hand. “Went to school with her for three years, didn’t you? I think Jinzha mentioned she is the one who beat you in your first year in those fighting rings, right?”

Nezha swallows, a bitter taste of bile rising in his throat. “Yes.” 

He hasn’t felt shame about Rin beating him for a while now. So why now with his father bringing it up again does Nezha feel so humiliated?

“Did anyone know she was Speerly?” Vaisra asks.

“No,” Nezha shakes his head. “I don’t even think she knew.” 

“Ah,” Vaisra says. “Secret Speerly then.”

Vaisra walks back towards Nezha’s bed, and that is when Nezha notices the uniform laid out across his sheets. A Seventh Division uniform.

“She is with the other Speerly in Khurdalain. The whole Cike is there.”

This is news to Nezha. He knew Altan and the Cike were in Khurdalain, but Rin being there with them is slightly shocking. It shouldn’t be though, because where else would have Rin gone? The only division that could handle all of Rin’s magnificent power besides the Cike is his father’s division.

“The Cike,” Vaisra starts again, “They are an interesting bunch. There’s Trengsin, the hot-headed Speerly, who for some reason has been made their commander. He has himself a lieutenant who has some interesting rumors floating about him. The other Warlords are curious about him, too. Tsolin has heard that the lieutenant can tell the future, but Tsolin tends to hear lots of false rumors.”

Vaisra smooths out the uniform on the bed.

“I’m sending you to Khurdalain with a fleet from the Seventh Division tomorrow.”

Finally. 

“I will be honored to serve the Seventh Division,” Nezha says, excitement bubbling in his chest. He is healthy, he can fight. He can be useful.  And on top of it all, he will get to see Rin.

His father moves out of the way, letting Nezha pick up his uniform. It is the same color as all of the other divisions, the standard Nikara armor, but a small dragon is embroidered on the back. Nezha picks up the uniform and a pair of black gloves fall out of the folds.

Nezha clenches his left fist hard almost involuntarily. He doesn’t need to ask why they are there.

Vaisra doesn’t want people to see Nezha’s failure. Doesn’t want people to think less of the Yin family because of Nezha’s deformed hand. The Yin family is pretty, perfect. And Nezha is just another stain in the perfect canvas Vaisra wants to present to the rest of Nikan. 

A pair of gloves to cover up another part of himself. 

Vaisra is oblivious to Nezha’s inner turmoil, walking over to his bedroom window. The sun is setting below the cliffs, casting a warm glow across the room.  “I am not sending you there just to represent Dragon. I need you to do something for me, Nezha.”

Nezha drops the gloves on the bed. “Yes, sir.”

“I need you to keep an eye on the Thirteenth Division for me,” Vaisra says, eyes cast out on the horizon. “With the Federation invasion, unrest will spread throughout Nikan, and our time for a Republic is drawing near. We will need all of the support we can get when the time comes. I need you to see if they will be willing to fight along our side.”

Nezha freezes. 

This is it. The tipping point of his father finally starting his plan towards a Nikan Republic. Nezha just never expected it to come during the middle of a Muganese invasion. 

“The two Speerlies, they could be helpful. Altan is well known throughout the continent, his power and skill will greatly benefit our cause. And Runin—that’s her name right?” 

Nezha’s mouth is completely dry, but he still manages to nod yes.

“Runin was your classmate, she should be easy for you to get on our side. And the lieutenant, find out what his story is. I have been in contact with Jun Loran who is in Khurdalain representing the Fifth Division. If you learn anything, you will report to him and he can report to me.” 

A large part of Nezha doesn’t want to spy on Rin, let alone tell his father whatever he learned. He spent an entire year with Rin all to himself. He doesn’t want to share her. 

But.

If he can get on his father’s good side. If maybe Vaisra would look at him once without a flicker of disdain… 

“Of course, that is not the only reason I am sending you to Khurdalain of course. The Thirteenth Division is there, yes, but Khurdalain is the final front of protection before Golyn Niis. It is imperative that we protect the port to protect our capitol.”

“Of course, father,” Nezha says, bowing his head ever so slightly. 

“Daji is in Golyn Niis, you know,” Vaisra states in a cool tone. He finally turns his back to the window and faces Nezha head on. “I want you to succeed Nezha, but if Khurdalain falls and Golyn Niis survives, then the people will rally behind Su Daji. So if you fail, you better hope that Golyn Niis does not survive either. For the greater good.”

Nezha’s blood runs cold, the words knocking the air out of Nezha’s lungs.

“But Kitay and Venka are in Golyn Niis.”

“Then you better not lose Khurdalain, Nezha.”

Chapter Text

The hike from Arlong to Khurdalain isn't grueling or overly taxing, but it drags on. 

Nezha walks with a restless energy, every step charged with anticipation. Khurdalain will be a land of opportunity to prove himself. He can show his father that he is a great fighter, a competent strategist, and he gets to be on the front lines, protecting his country. 

And he gets to see Rin again.

Their journey is uneventful. They don't run into any Federation camps, and the small villages they pass are filled with people who offer their support and small amounts of supplies. 

It is late on their third day when they arrive outside the gates of Khurdalain. A gong rings announcing their arrival. The doors remain shut, and Nezha understands the hesitation. If he were on the inside, he’d think twice before letting in an army of three thousand too.

Nezha feels a strange prick, as if he is being watched. 

He lifts his gaze to the top of the wall and sees her. 

Rin.

The last time he saw her, she was engulfed in flame. Now she stands at the top of a wall, two figures beside her. She is staring down at his army, taking in the size, scanning the crowd. 

A grin cracks across her face as his eyes meet hers. Nezha cannot help but to smile back at Rin, his heart leaping at the way her eyes almost glow in the moonlight. He sees her mouth move, saying something Nezha can’t catch, and then she ducks down out of his line of sight. 

Nezha frowns, his heart stuttering in his chest at the loss of Rin. 

He shifts his gaze from the space where Rin abandoned to take in the other figures on the wall. The first is a small girl that Nezha does not recognize, but the bow strapped to her back reminds him of Venka which only causes his heart to ache more.

The other figure standing up on the wall is much taller, broader, and more tense. His eyes are bright red, reminding him of the fire that Rin created at Sinegard. 

Altan Trengsin. 

He looks so different from the last time Nezha saw him, hitting him like a blow.

The last time he saw Altan was at Sinegard, where the older Speerly was treated like a god and carried himself like one. But now?

Now he looks wrecked.

Shaggy hair hangs over sunken eyes. Something akin to mud streaks across one cheek. He’s gaunt, tense, still radiating danger, but dulled around the edges. More man than myth now. More broken than brilliant.

Nezha had never idolized Altan the way others did—Kitay would’ve drunk his piss if Irjah said it contained a drop of his genius—but he had respected him. Or at least, respected his legend.

Now, Nezha just feels the sharp bite of disillusionment.

A low groan pulls his attention back to the gates, opening to let the Seventh Division through. His troops march in, and Nezha sucks in a breath at the sight in front of him. 

Khurdalain is a wreck. 

Haggard civilians and soldiers stumble forward and Nezha’s army enters the city. They are exhausted, weeks of raids and psychological attacks from the Federation made them weary. But as the Seventh Division marches through the gate, a small wave of change ebbed throughout the crowd. 

Hope.

“Welcome to Khurdalain,” Jun says to Nezha. He isn't technically in charge of this collection of troops, but they are his father’s, so Jun directs his welcome to him. “We have space further into the city. There is room for everyone to set up camp.”

“We brought supplies,” the Dragon general cuts in, trying to show some sense of power over these troops. “Bandages, medicines, rice, spices. Where would you like us to place those?”

Jun's face contorts, a flicker of annoyance twinging on his face. “You and your troops can follow me.”

The general nods to the troops pulling the wagons of supplies to follow him. “The rest of you are dismissed. Rest if you can. You will be on first watch tomorrow.”

Jun and the general leave followed closely by the group of troops carrying the supplies. Slowly, the crowd thins, and that is when he sees her. 

Rin bounces on her heels, watching the Seventh Division troops spread out to explore the city. Her eyes flit to various faces, searching for someone. Finally, she looks his way and a wide grin splits across her face. She springs forward, pushing her way through the lingering crowd and flings her arms around Nezha. 

“Kitay said you were never going to walk again,” Rin blurts, her face buries itself into Nezha’s chest.

A laugh escapes his lips, “The extent of my injury was very much exaggerated.” 

He pulls Rin closer, pressing his nose into her hair. Nezha holds himself back from pressing his lips to her forehead, a step too far, but gods he missed her. 

All too soon, they pull apart, and Nezha can get his first real look at Rin since he last saw her all those months ago. She is definitely thinner, her hair longer than when she left it, brushing past her collarbones. It is her eyes that startle him the most. He expected bright, red, angry eyes, but instead her soft, warm brown ones welcome him instead. 

“I missed you,” Nezha admits before he can stop himself. 

Rin looks startled, but then rolls her eyes. “I think you just missed company while you wilted away on your hospital bed. 

“I wasn’t wilting,” Nezha retorts, a grin tugging his lips. 

“Whatever you say,” Rin replies, smiling. It’s been so long since he’s seen her smile like that. 

Nezha catches himself staring, and has to clear his throat and look away. “So, tell me what has been going on here.”

Rin grabs Nezha’s arm and pulls him off to the side, so they are no longer standing in the middle of the road. Then she launches into the tale of her last three months. 

She tells him tales of a canal of Federation ships with supplies burnt to the ground, a fake surrender, saltpeter explosion throughout the streets of Khurdalain murdering hundreds of civilians, fires started by kindling tied to stray dogs tails, and Khurdalain vigilantes fighting other civilians out of fear that they are secretly working for the Federation.

And throughout every single story, one name keeps popping up over and over again. Altan. 

Nezha doesn’t think Rin even realizes just how often she is saying the other Speerly’s name. But in every single story, he is there. And her eyes light up just a little more every time his stupid name escapes her lips.

“Nezha,” a cool voice calls from behind the both of them, pulling them out of Rin’s recounting of Altan stopping a brawl between two Khurdalain civilians. 

Jun stands in the middle of the streets, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he stares at Nezha and Rin. 

“I should go,” Rin says quickly.

Nezha grabs her arm before she can run off, “I will see you later.”

Rin nods and then turns to head further into the city.

Now alone with Jun, Nezha straightens.

“I never understood your sudden friendship with the girl,” Jun says, shaking his head.

Nezha swallows, fighting between wanting to defend Rin and not talk back against his old master. 

“She’s a good fighter, sir,” Nezha says carefully. 

Jun rolls his eyes, but lets it go. “Is your father aware of what’s been happening here in Khurdalain?” 

Nezha shakes his head no, unsure if Vaisra does know or if he just didn’t want to tell him.

Jun sighs and then launches into a similar story that Rin just told him. There is more information about the ongoings of the Ram and Ox warlords and their plans, but at every turn of Jun’s updates, is clear disdain for the Thirteenth Division. 

Like Rin, Jun’s eyes light up every time he mentions Altan’s name, but instead of clear adoration, it is pure vitriol flashing.

It’s Altan’s fault that the Federation brought in the saltpeter. It’s Altan’s fault several buildings caught on fire. It’s Altan’s fault they are losing Khurdalain. 

At least that is what Jun thinks.

“You should get some rest,” Jun says once he finishes. “You will be put to work starting early tomorrow.”

Nezha bows his head at his dismissal.

“Maybe your friendship with Runin is a good thing,” Jun admits, just as Nezha is about to turn to find the Seventh Division’s basecamp. “Maybe it will prevent her from following down his path. Maybe it’ll stop her from going mad like him.”

A week later, Nezha finds himself sitting on the wall with Rin. Both watching the waters, looking out for an approaching Federation fleet. They pulled the early shift up before the sun. But now they are watching the sun rise, casting golden light across the soft waves. 

It’s peaceful. Strange, but nice, being back with Rin. Sometimes, when she teases him just right, it almost feels like they’re back at Sinegard. Like nothing’s changed.

“So have you started screaming at rocks too? Or have you not reached that part of your Cike initiation?” Nezha asks, ripping a piece of what bread in half, offering the other half to Rin. 

She grabs it without hesitation and shoves it into her mouth. “I start doing that in my fourth month with the Cike,” Rin mumbles, crumbs spilling out of her mouth. She swallows and continues, “I still have to master stacking rocks before I can start screaming at them.”

Nezha snorts. Rin laughs at the noise, making Nezha’s chest ache.

“I finally understand why Jiang was making those animal sounds,” Nezha teases. “Preparing you for a lifetime in the Thirteenth.”

Rin playfully shoves Nezha's shoulder. 

“Are you that cold?” Rin asks, reaching towards Nezha’s gloved hand. “It’s barely autumn, why do you need gloves?”

Nezha pulls his hands away from her, crossing his arms, tucking the hands to his chest. Worry seeps into his gut that she might try to pull off his gloves, and he cannot let her see the imprint she left on him.

“It’s part of my uniform,” he says, too quickly.

Rin stops reaching for him, a slight frown forming on her lips. “I didn’t realize you were so special to get your own accessories for your uniform.”

“Warlord son perks,” Nezha says, voice light.

Rin rolls her eyes and turns back to face the water, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. 

Several moments pass in silence, both Rin and Nezha foregoing conversation to finish off their wheat bread. A breeze curls around them, cool against his skin. Rin shivers next to him, and ever so slightly, Nezha scoots closer to her, offering her his warmth.

“I can’t make fire,” Rin admits, almost shamefully. She isn’t looking at Nezha, instead staring out at the vast water, yet Nezha can see the small curl of her lips forming a frown. 

Nezha knows this isn’t true. He saw it with his own two eyes, the flames erupting from Rin, burning people into ash. But maybe, he can convince himself that she isn’t like him. That maybe she doesn’t have to suffer like he does. Maybe it is a good thing she doesn’t have a god in her head giving her unnatural abilities.

“Your eyes aren’t red,” he says instead, reaching out and tapping her temple with the pad of his pointer finger. She looks at him, her warm, brown eyes meeting his own. So lovely. So inviting. 

Rin bolts to her feet, brushing off the crumbs in her lap, snapping the tension building between them. “We should spar.”

“Now?” Nezha asks, blinking up at Rin. She is blocking the sun, a halo forming behind her head. 

“Of course now,” Rin retorts, bouncing on her toes. “What else are we doing? Staring at water?.”

Nezha gestures out to the vast expanse of open water. “We are literally on lookout duty for an invasion that could happen at any moment.”

Rin waves her hand in dismissal. “They probably won’t attack. And if they do, then we will be nice and warmed up for battle.”

“Warmed up,” Nezha repeats back, rolling his eyes, but he is already rising to his feet to meet her. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Coward,” Rin taunts. 

Her grin is absolutely vicious, eyes glinting, eyeing him down like he is her prey. Which he very well might be, but he doesn’t mind if his predator plays with her food.

He slides into his stance just in time to block her first strike. It’s a low hit that Nezha can easily block. But she is quick, already striking again. It takes a few seconds for Nezha to get back into his groove, it’s been months since he last fought anyone, but he soon takes on the offensive position. 

Strike and counter-strike, Nezha and Rin spar. It feels familiar, this back and forth. And for the first time in months, Nezha lets himself forget about the stress of war and just focuses on Rin. 

He has to be careful with where he places his feet, the wall much narrower than the training mat back at Sinegard. That is where Rin has a slight advantage with her smaller feet, and she is aware of it too, angling Nezha closer to the edge with every reckless step she takes. 

And just when Nezha switches his stance, stabilizing himself back on his two feet, Rin leaps at him. 

“Shit—”

Rin crashes into him, knocking the air from his lungs as her full force hits him straight in the gut.. He tries to remain balanced on his feet, but he stumbles and lands flat on his back. Rin falls with him. Instinctively, he grabs her and flips her over his head. Unfortunately, her foot clips his ear on the way down.

“Fuck!” Nezha yelps, clutching the side of his head, his ear ringing. 

Rin tries to scamper to her feet, laughing as she goes, but Nezha reaches forward, grabs her ankle and yanks her back to the ground with him. She lands in a heap on top of him, somehow managing to elbow him directly in the chest. 

“I’m on top,” Rin gloats, grinning down at Nezha in that same vicious smile from earlier. “I believe that means I win.”

“Wrong,” Nezha grits out, wrapping his legs around his waist and flipping them again. Rin ends up halfway dangling off of the wall, her arms flailing to find her balance. 

“Not on top anymore,” Nezha says in delight. “So I win, right?”

“Never,” Rin says, eyes gleaming.

She bucks up, aiming a headbutt at his face, but he pins her down just in time, this time, her body flat on the brick wall. They freeze like that, breathless, pressed too close, his hand still on her hip.

He knows he is staring at her open lips, panting below him, catching her breath, but she is an absolutely stunning sight, and he loves staring at beautiful things.

“Rin.”

A voice cuts through the air, cold and sharp.

They both jolt, jumping apart. Nezha looks up, and Rin cranes her head back to see who called.

Altan. Standing at the base of the wall, arms crossed, gaze burning.

“Shit,” Rin mutters to herself. 

Nezha helps Rin right herself up. She stands and stares down at Altan, and something in her posture throws Nezha for a loop. It is familiar to him, but it looks so foreign on her. She stands as if she fears and respects him. She looks at him the same way Nezha looks at his father. 

Altan glowers at Nezha, and he understands exactly why Rin might fear him. 

“Rin, I need to talk to you,” Altan’s gruff voice cuts through them, widening the space between Rin and Nezha further. “In private.”

Rin nods and climbs down the ladder to meet Altan on the other side of the wall. All without saying goodbye to Nezha.

He doesn’t see Rin until breakfast the next day. She is sitting alone, at the end of the table in the near back. The rest of the Cike is nearby, but an obvious space is separating Rin from the rest of her Division. 

Nezha takes it as an invitation to sit with her.

She doesn’t acknowledge his presence as he sits down, not even looking up when he drops an extra bun he swiped from the meal server down on her plate. He lightly taps his foot against hers, and that is finally what gets her to look up.

Red eyes lift to meet his own. 

They aren’t the same red as Altan’s or the red that shone so bright that cursed day at Sinegard. Instead, they look red for a completely different reason.

“Have you been crying?” Nezha asks, bewildered. 

He hasn’t seen Rin cry in months now, and the last time he did she tears shed from her eyes was when she was so exhausted with the workload Sinegard placed on her when she was severely sleep deprived. She didn’t even cry the day she watched her classmates die. 

“No,” Rin blatantly lies to him. The heel of her hand scrapes across her cheek, rubbing away what was left of her tears.

“Rin,” Nezha scolds. “What happened?”

Her frown deepens as she looks away, forcing a bite of the bun Nezha gave her down her throat.

“Was it Altan?” He can’t help but ask. He hasn’t seen her since Altan stole her away from him, so if she is upset, it has to be from him.

She turns her head, not answering him, instead focusing down the table at the rest of the Cike members. That is when he sees the bruises blooming above the collar of her uniform. Purple fingerprints, stark against the skin of her neck.

His stomach lurches. Nezha doesn’t remember wringing his hands around her neck when they sparred on top of the wall, but he must have gotten carried away.

“Was it me?” he asks, panicked, reaching forward to brush her collarbone in an apology. 

Rin lurches away from his touch, slapping his hand away. 

That’s when Nezha realizes it isn’t his hands imprinted on Rin’s skin. 

It is Altan’s.

Fury burns through his veins, searing and sharp.

“Rin, what the fuck?” Nezha hisses, his gloved hand aching to brush her skin to soothe her pain. “You’re just going to let him do that to you? You literally kicked my ass for less, several times!”

She still won’t meet his eyes. “Altan’s different.”

Everything runs cold, the words hitting him like ice.

“No shit he’s different,” Nezha says, jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”

Rin scoffs. “You would have loved to hurt me our entire first year of Sinegard. You just never had the chance.”

“You’re right,” Nezha seethes, “I wanted to hurt you our first year, back then I didn’t think of you as a person. Back when I didn’t care about you.”

Hurt flashes across her face that quickly warps into fury. “Glad to know I am a human being to you now. What was I before? An animal? Or just dirt beneath your stupidly polished shoes?”

“Rin, no,” he says, wincing. “You know I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Do I?” Rin retorts, scoffing. “And what exactly are you implying?”

That Altan doesn’t see you as a person, so he doesn’t treat you like one.

He swallows his words down. “Nothing, I am not implying anything.”

“Whatever,” Rin mutters, tearing off another piece of bread. “Just let me eat in peace.”

“Is that what you want?” Nezha asks, “To be left alone to drown in your own pity?”

Rin clenches her jaw, looking Nezha directly in the eye. “Yes,” she says, sticking up her chin in defiance. “Altan doesn’t want me talking with you, anyway.”

Of course he doesn’t. And of course Rin obeys him.

He stands, abandoning his tray. Nezha isn’t that hungry anyway. 

It has to be stupidity. Or anger. Or some volatile mix of the two that brings Nezha to where he is now.

Standing outside of the Thirteenth Division’s commander’s office, hand hovering, debating whether to do the polite thing and knock or to just barge in. 

He knocks. Not out of respect, Altan doesn’t deserve that, but because Altan outranks him. Technically. And it is the proper thing to do. 

The door swings open just enough for Altan’s body to fit through the frame, blocking Nezha’s view from the rest of the office.

“What do you want?” Altan asks, voice tight and cold.

Begrudgingly, Nezha has to look up to meet Altan’s red eyes. “I am here for matters concerning the Seventh Division.”

It’s not incorrect, per say. His father did want him to keep an eye on the Cike, see where their alliances truly lie. It might just not be the only reason why he is at Altan’s door.

Altan’s corners of his mouth lift in an acidic smile. “For the Seventh,” Altan echoes, dripping sarcasm.

Nezha knows he doesn’t believe him, but Altan widens the door, allowing Nezha to step inside. The door shuts with a click behind Nezha, essentially locking him in the small closet that Altan transformed into his office. 

“So,” Altan starts, crossing in front of Nezha to stand in front of his desk. “What does Yin Vaisra want with my freak squad?”

Nezha keeps his face neutral, ignoring the insult— his insult he said once or twice, and never in front of Rin—and the pointed jab at his father’s interest in the Cike. He isn’t sure how Altan knows either one of those details. 

“The Seventh Division," Nezha corrects with a clipped formality, “wants nothing more than the safety of Nikan citizens, and the only way to ensure that is through unity between the Divisions. I am here to—” Nezha swallows down his discontent, “create a relationship between the Seventh and Thirteenth Divisions, for the greater good of our nation.”

Altan’s bright, red eyes bore into Nezha’s, fire-forged and unflinching. They’re shaped just like Rin’s, but there’s no warmth in them. Only heat, the kind that scorches. 

“The Thirteenth doesn’t believe in alliances, and the other Divisions definitely don’t want to align themselves with us,” Altan says sharply. “That has never been more evident over these last few months.”

“Things can be different now.” Nezha retorts. “If it is Jun or the other Warlords you have issues with, I can get them to work with you.” 

Altan laughs. A harsh, humorless sound. “Gods, you’re an idiot. All that Sinegard education, and you still don’t get it. Is it the privilege? Growing up as the Dragon Warlord’s golden boy that made you this naïve?”

Nezha takes an angry step forward, “Don’t insult my intelligence when we went to the exact same school, Trengsin,” Nezha snarls. “And out of the two of us, I am the only one here who is using their education for good. You are making stupid and rash decisions, getting others hurt in the process. It was your idea to give out the saltpeter to the civilians, wasn’t it?”

Altan’s hands curl around the wood of his chair, knuckles turning white. “You know nothing. You weren’t here.”

“Oh, I know plenty,” Nezha sneers. “Stories and rumors are running wild of how you’ve gone mad, and I think it’s because it is the first time you aren’t adored. You think I was spoiled, but you were treated like a god at Sinegard. Every master adored you, and now you don’t have that blind adoration. People are finally seeing through your facade, Altan. And now that no one’s kneeling, you’re losing your mind.”

Nezha leans across the desk, breathing hard, close enough to feel the heat radiating off Altan’s skin. 

“You’re spiraling. And you're dragging Rin and the rest of your freak squad down with you,” Nezha says, spit flying in anger.

Altan’s eyes narrow, burning brighter. Then, disturbingly, his expression shifts, fury twisting into something far uglier, crueler. A grin spreads slowly across his face

“That is where you are wrong, Yin. I do have that blind adoration.” Altan says, his grin widening. “I have it from Rin.”

Altan tilts his head to a small table in the corner of the room where something gold glistens in the light. A small, golden chain of a necklace broken in two pieces. It takes a moment for Nezha to recognize it, but Nezha’s heart skips a beat when he does. 

It is the necklace he gifted Rin well over a year ago during the Summer Festival. Back when the only thing Nezha worried about was if Rin really accepted his apology and if they could truly be friends. Over the course of their third year at Sinegard, Nezha would occasionally catch the glint of gold around her neck, a pleasant reminder that she accepted his gift. 

And now it sits, broken on Altan’s desk. 

Altan must have ripped it from Rin’s neck the same moment he choked her. 

The Dragon hisses in Nezha’s head. Destroy him.

Nezha launches himself at Altan, knocking him to the ground. He manages to get one good hit in before he is flipped on his back. Altan’s fist comes flying down, hitting Nezha’s face. The cracking sound of his nose shattering rattles in his brain, the pain is white-hot, ringing in his ears. 

But through the haze, he hears shouts coming from outside the office.

Altan hears them too, jumping off of Nezha and bolting out the door. 

Nezha uses his gloves to wipe away the blood pouring out his nose. He sucks in a deep breath, and sets his nose straight and runs out after Altan. By the time he catches up to the Speerly, his nose is healed.

But his fury hasn’t.

Altan runs straight to Jun, “You send your little spy to distract me while you evacuate without giving me notice?”

Jun watches Nezha run up to them and shakes his head, “This isn’t me. They’re running from something.”

Members of both the Cike and Nezha’s division join the three of them. Rin silently joins them too, somewhat hidden behind the man with the giant rake. Nezha finds her immediately and confirms that the only necklace around her neck are the string of bruises Altan gave her.

“What’s happening?” Altan demands, grabbing the arm of an older woman fleeing the city.

“A chimei!” 

Rin volunteers herself to help stop the beast, and Nezha immediately follows, much to Altan’s displeasure. 

Together, they climb up on a wall, and run across the low flat roofs to avoid the stampede of people escaping the beast. Nezha jumps down to an alley below, and offers a hand up to help Rin down from the wall which she ignores, jumping down beside him in a soft thud.

“What exactly is a chimei?” he asks, jogging to keep pace.

“Didn’t you read the bestiaries?” Rin glances at him. “It has many different shapes and forms, because it collects faces from its victims. It can imitate people you care about.”

“How does that make it dangerous?”

Rin shoots him a glare over her shoulder. “You’d be fine stabbing something with your mother’s face?”

He doesn’t answer, because the truth is he probably would not with as much hesitation as he should. 

They reach the parts of the city that have been completely emptied. It is eerie how still and calm it is down here compared to the absolute chaos from the stampede of citizens he just came from. It should have put Nezha on high alert when they found that small girl all alone crying for her older sister.

It was stupid for Nezha to fall for it, but she was so small, with round, tear-stained cheeks. He wanted to help her find her family, ensure her safety. 

She reminded him so much of Mingzha, Nezha shouldn’t have been surprised when she shapeshifts into his dead little brother.

“ Dìdi,” a gasp escapes Nezha’s lips as his little brother who has haunted Nezha for the last several years stands in front of him. 

“Nezha,” Mingzha says, a lopsided toothy grin curls across his face. “I missed you!” He is missing one of his front baby teeth, so the words come out in a light lisp. Mingzha glances at the sword in Nezha’s hand and takes a small, frightened step backwards.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Nezha says, immediately dropping his weapon to his side. “I don’t want to scare you. 

“I was so scared that day in the grotto,” Mingzha says, lip bobbling. “I thought I was safe because I was with you.”

Somewhere, deep inside of him, dark laughter rumbles, but Nezha barely senses it. He is entirely too focused on his little brother. He takes a step forward, reaching out trying to comfort his scared sibling.

Then a hand yanks him back by the collar.

“It’s not real, Nezha!” Rin’s voice cuts through the fog like a blade. And the illusion falls apart. 

It’s not Mingzha that stands in front of him, but a great beast with long limbs and thick fur. Its eyes, a vicious red, turn to Rin as its next victim.

“Kesegi?” Rin gasps softly. 

The name is vaguely familiar to Nezha, someone obviously of importance to Rin, the way she falters and retreats at the new face the chimei shapeshifted into. 

He can’t let the beast trick Rin like it tricked him so easily, he refuses to let it get close. He takes his sword in his hand and leaps onto the back of the monster, striking its back. The steel reverberates, as if it hit solid stone instead of the flesh of a monster. He lifts his arm again, this time aiming for its face.

“Nezha, no!” Rin cries out, blocking his attempt to kill the monster. “Don’t hurt him!”

“Rin, this isn’t Kesegi!” Nezha reminds her, steadying her.

But she’s not looking at him. Her gaze stays locked on the chimei’s face, her expression crumbling, guilt pooling in her eyes. 

“I am so sorry for leaving you with them,” she whispers. “I should have been a better sister.”

Everything suddenly clicks into place. Rin only ever brought up Kesegi once, when they were both drunk at the end of their second year, and that is why his name was familiar. It was a name she never brought up again, and the shame shining on Rin’s face must be the reason why. 

The chimei does wonders on playing with older sibling guilt.

“Rin!” Nezha shouts in warning. The chimei opens its jaw wide, releasing a feral, inhumane screech right before it charges at her.

She flings herself to the ground, nearly avoiding the monster’s teeth. The chimei crouches, ready to pounce again, but Nezha lunges himself on its back before it can attack Rin. 

Using his full body weight, Nezha blindly stabs again, hitting the monster’s collarbone, missing its face entirely. The chimei shakes and shimmies its body, trying to launch Nezha off itself. It turns to face Nezha, shifting into a face of pure disappointment.

“ Father?” 

Lord Vaisra grins a twisted smile, before Nezha is flung into the air, smacking his head against a stone wall. 

By the time he comes to, Rin stands directly in front of him, blocking the chimei from getting any closer. He scrambles to his feet, head pounding. 

Rin doesn’t look at him, keeping her focus on the chimei in front of her, but she does reach a hand behind her, stopping Nezha from coming any closer. She didn’t need to stop him though, when Nezha sees the face that the chimei shaped for him this time around, he doesn’t dare take another step forward.

“I don’t love you,” Rin says strongly. “And I can kill anything.”

And then she launches herself at the monster, torch in one hand, Nezha’s sword in her other. She cuts and slashes at the monster with the sharp sword, dark blood oozing from its skin. The flames ignite its fur ablaze, sending smoke signals into the night sky. 

She smashes the blunt end of the torch into the chimei’s face, chipping away bone and causing its cheek to cave in. It looks grotesque, inhuman. Blood streaks down its face as Rin goes for its red eyes next, gouging them into pulp.

Nezha can only watch in fascinated horror as Rin slaughters a beastly version of herself.

Rin climbs off of the monster once it twitches one last time, twists her body and dry-heaves onto the ground beside them.

Nezha is there in an instant, pulling hair off of her neck. 

“Thanks,” Rin mutters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Nezha says, guiding Rin towards the wall where they can both sit down. Nezha slides down first, pulling her down with him. He angles both of their bodies so they can’t see the Chimei’s corpse. He doesn’t want to look at it again in case it still looks like Rin. “I should have known the little girl wasn’t real. I should have—” 

“Don’t” Rin says, shaking her head, silencing him. 

So Nezha doesn’t say anything. He understands that she doesn’t want to talk about what just happened. Whatever Rin went through, it wasn’t cathartic, he can tell her mind is still reeling from murdering someone she supposedly didn’t love. 

He doesn’t dare ask who it was, but he knows it wasn’t Kesegi.

“Are you hurt?” Nezha asks instead. 

Rin takes a moment to survey her body before shaking her head no. “Not hurt.” She pauses for a moment, before continuing. “Not physically, anyway.”

“Psychologically fucked up?” he offers.

That earns him a broken laugh. “Yeah,” Rin confirms. “That.”

They sit in silence for a moment. “Was it Mingzha?” Rin asks after a while.

Nezha’s wince at her question must be the only confirmation Rin needs. She presses her thigh into his own, grounding him. It gives him the confidence to ask her a question.

“Do you miss him? Kesegi?”

Rin tilts her head, pondering Nezha’s question. “I do,” she slowly says after a beat, “but I don't think about him all that often.” She chews on her bottom lip, a tick that Nezha has started to pick up on. “I didn’t write to him once all throughout my time at Sinegard, and I left him with his parents. Probably makes me a shitty older sister. Something that monster probably loved reminding me of.”

Nezha lets out a quiet breath. “Well you already know I will never win any awards for being the best older brother.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Nezha asks, voice dropping. “We both neglected our siblings. I just did it well enough for him to get killed.”

“Why are you so sure you killed Mingzha?”

Nezha laughs shortly, “Because he was my responsibility to watch, and I failed him.” 

He turns to face Rin, and what he sees makes him stop short. She’s looking at him—really looking—with something open and raw in her expression. Not pity. Not judgment. Just quiet understanding. The kind that makes it impossible to keep lying. He is so close to her he can see a faint scar above her eyebrow beneath her hair sticking to her forehead. Absent-mindedly, Nezha reaches forward, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

He trusts her, so completely, so fully. She saved him countless times now, and now, alone, on the blood-soaked streets of Khurdalain after slaying a beast together, Nezha feels comfortable to tell her another story of a completely different beast.

“Can I tell you how Mingzha died?”

Rin’s eyes widen slightly, and she nods, reaching forward and interlacing her fingers with his without hesitation. 

The story spills from his mouth like water flooding out of a broken dam. From his father’s cloak to the sound of Mingzha’s jewelry clinking as he ran down to the grotto. 

“The water began to ripple,” Nezha says, the only sound is his quiet voice, but he swears he can hear the sound of water dripping somewhere off in the distance. “And that is when it burst forward.”

“It?” Rin asks, interrupting for the first time.

He opens and shuts his mouth, unsure how to proceed. The air feels heavier now, thick with memory and shame. 

“Can I show you something?” Nezha asks, reaching for the hem of his uniform top.

Rin nods, and Nezha pulls himself away from her, turning his back to her.

Slowly, with unsteady hands, Nezha pulls off his shirt, exposing his biggest secret to Rin.

He can feel it, the way her breath catches when she sees it. The Dragon, carved into his skin like a curse. Its coils slither along his spine, burning. It doesn’t want to be seen. Doesn’t want her gaze. 

Rin’s soft fingers brush his skin and it is all too much. Nezha yanks down his shirt and slides himself next to her, back against the wall, hidden again from view.

“Dragon,” Rin says softly.

“Yeah,” the word stumbles out of him. “It ripped apart Mingzha, tearing him limb from limb. And then it dragged me down underwater. Claiming me. Owning me.” Nezha shudders at the memory. “It is always there, in my head. I can’t escape it.”

Rin scoots closer to him, pressing her shoulder against his own. 

“It won’t let me go,” he whispers. “It’s why I survived. I should’ve died at Sinegard. That general should’ve killed me. I should’ve bled out when we fought in the first-year tournament. But the Dragon—” His voice breaks. “It always heals me. Brings me back. And it hurts. It never stops hurting.”

“Well I am glad that you didn’t die,” Rin confesses, resting her head against his shoulder.

And for the first time, Nezha is glad that maybe the Dragon did save him, because with Rin, right now, he could stay here forever. With her, it doesn’t hurt.

He almost tells her this. 

Almost.

“You should tell Altan,” Rin murmurs, stroking his arm in some odd sense of comfort.

Nezha flinches.

“You want me to tell Altan?” Nezha spits out his name as if it were a slur.

Rin frowns, “He could help you with this.”

“Help me?” Nezha shouts, pulling his arm out of Rin’s grasp. “Help me how? Like he is helping you? Call the fire for me, Rin, if Altan Trengsin is that helpful.”

Hurt flashes across Rin’s face. 

“Oh fuck you!” She cries, and Nezha is thankful that this part of Khurdalain is only occupied by corpses and them so no one can overhear her. 

“Tell me, Rin,” Nezha starts, too heated to stop. He told her this in confidence, and now she wants him to go run off to the rest of the freak show and their fucking Speerly leader. “When I go tell Altan, will he give me a necklace of bruises to match yours when I can’t call water on his command?”

Rin bolts up to her feet. “You are a fucking asshole, Yin Nezha,” she says, cursing his name. She turns to head up the cobbled pathway alone.

Nezha stands too, trembling, but he’s not sure with what—rage, grief, fear. “You better not fucking tell Trengsin about any of this!” Nezha shouts after her.

She whips around to face him, still separated by fifty feet or so. “What I tell my commander is none of the seventh division's business.” 

And she walks away, deep into the labyrinth of Khurdalain. Too scared to stop her. 

Too much of a coward to apologize.

Chapter Text

“So the monster is dead?” Jun asks once Nezha gathers himself and makes it back to base camp. 

After Rin stormed away, he spent an embarrassing amount of time sulking, cursing both Rin and Altan’s name in the empty streets of Khurdalain. He also vomited out the contents of his stomach at some time between his tirades, but that is besides the point. 

He feels stupid — embarrassed really — f or trusting Rin, for trusting someone with the most intimate part of himself. And the Dragon makes him feel only worse. Its cruel laugh reverberates in his head, feeding off of Nezha’s misery, making Nezha spiral further and further into desolation.

He hates her. 

At least that is what the Dragon wants him to believe. Because Fang Runin is a magnificent, ferocious being that somehow brings out the worst and the best in Nezha. She is everything to him. And she abandoned him after he exposed the worst of him to her. Choosing Altan over him. 

It is sickening because he loves her. 

But isn’t that what love is? Giving someone everything that could possibly break you, and then trusting them that they won’t. And he was too blinded to realize that maybe he shouldn’t have trusted Rin.

“It’s dead,” Nezha confirms, his voice thick. 

Jun nods, “Good.” 

He walks around the room and stands behind his desk, creating distance between the two. In this environment, Jun is a general, a representative of the Tiger Warlord, and Nezha is here representing the Dragon Warlord. They are equals. Yet, Jun still treats Nezha as if they were still student and master. 

“Did you kill it?” 

Nezha sucks in a sharp breath, “It was a team effort.”

Jun clicks his tongue, a noise of slight disappointment.  “We will send a team tomorrow morning to clean up the mess. Hopefully we can get the citizens back in their homes by the end of the night.”

It goes unsaid, but Nezha knows that Jun wants the citizens back in their homes so they can give the camps back to the soldiers. Jun doesn’t like sharing space with those he sees beneath him.

“I can help,” Nezha says. “With the clean up efforts, that is.”

Jun lifts an eyebrow. “You were scheduled to be on morning watch with Runin tomorrow.”

Nezha involuntarily winces. 

“I feel as though it would be more beneficial to both our cause and the people of Khurdalain, that I help clean up the mess I helped create,” Nezha says slowly, as if he is trying to convince both him and Jun that this is the true reason why he wants to be anywhere else besides on watch. 

Jun stares at Nezha, expression unreadable, but he slowly nods. “I can get one of the Fifth Division soldiers to take your spot. One of them missed cooking duty last week, and I was still trying to find a proper punishment.”

Rin is going to eat that poor soldier alive tomorrow morning.

“Where were you yesterday evening before the attack?” Jun asks. 

Nezha freezes. “What do you mean?”

Jun takes a seat behind the desk, “I mean you weren’t with the other members of the Seventh Division at your camp . I sent some of my men to find you. Instead, I find you running in after Trengsin, coming from the exact same direction he was running from.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nezha awkwardly clears his throat. “I was talking with Altan, trying to see if he and his squadron would be more amenable to working with our divisions. Alas, he was not.”

Jun snorts. “I am sure that worked well in your favor. I am surprised you didn’t leave his office with a broken nose.”

Nezha doesn’t admit that he did have his nose broken, it just healed before anyone would notice. 

“Did Altan hint at any of his future plans with the Cike?” Jun prods. “They have been very difficult to work with, and I just want to be as prepared as possible for one of his future foolish tactics.”

“No, Sir,” Nezha shakes his head. “I don’t know anything.”

Disappointment flashes across Jun’s eyes. “If you hear anything, do let me know.” He runs his fingers through his hair. Nezha had never seen his old master look so unkempt. His usual short, militaristic hair had grown out, and the circles underneath his eyes have only gotten darker. 

“I reached out to your father,” Jun says, voice calm and collected. 

Nezha stands a little straighter. 

“We are losing too many troops down at the beach to protect the warehouse. While the warehouse is important to maintain—too many of our exports are kept there—we are beginning to see too many lives lost to protect goods. He suggested we move the troops inland, away from the beach.”

Jun sighs, staring up at the ceiling to collect himself. “To properly do that, I need the Thirteenth’s approval as well. I was hoping you could tell your little friend to pass along the message for me, but it appears you won’t be seeing her tomorrow morning like I originally planned.”

Nezha resists the urge to roll his eyes. Jun wants to talk to Altan as little as Nezha wants to talk to Rin right now.

“It might be better for everyone here in Khurdalain as a whole,” Nezha says hesitantly, “If you were the one to update Trengsin about my father’s wishes.”

Jun stares through Nezha with a hardened glare. But he slightly nods his head, surrendering to the idea that he should be in direct communication with the other commanding officer instead of relaying important information through others.

“Fine,” Jun says finally. “I’ll update Trengsin. You are dismissed.”

In the morning light, Khurdalain looks even worse for wear.

In the cover of nightfall, corpses were nothing more than dark, shadowy figures, but now in the cruel clarity of dawn, Nezha can really look at them. His breakfast threatens to come back up the closer he looks. 

All that remains are mangled body parts with their faces completely ripped off. Family members struggle to identify their loved ones because every recognizable feature was stolen by the chimei. 

Nezha is assigned to line up the rotting corpses. The other members of the Seventh Division are assigned the same role, complaining under their breath the entire time about the smell, the filth of dried blood, or the cries of grief from the citizens as they recognize a body.

The stench is revolting, but Nezha says nothing. He focuses on his work, on the next body, the next stone to move, his mind narrowing to a single thought: keep going.

He finds himself down a narrow side street, where a slab of marble has collapsed over a small body. Sweat trickles down Nezha’s back as he lifts a large piece of marble off of the boy. His chest is completely caved in, but his face remains relatively unblemished. The chimei likely didn't even touch the boy, instead his death was caused by falling stone. 

“Kai!” A young voice calls out from behind Nezha. 

A scrawny boy — not much larger than the corpse at Nezha’s feet — runs forward, nearly slamming his body into Nezha.

“Whoa,” Nezha says, grabbing the boy’s shoulders to stabilize him. 

He ignores Nezha, wrenching free and collapsing in the rubble. “Kai,” the boy says, much softer this time. With shaky hands, he reaches forward and brushes dirt off of the corspe’s —Kai’s—body. 

Looking closer, Nezha can see the resemblance between the two boys. The same shade of hair, the same round cheeks, the same arch of their eyebrows. 

“Hey,” Nezha says, his voice soft. He crouches next to the older brother who is openly sobbing. “What’s your name?”

“Kazuo,” the boy sniffles. Kazuo wipes his nose with the sleeve of his tunic. “Mi Kazuo.”

“Kazuo,” Nezha repeats gently, “Was Kai your brother?”

Kazuo nods, and the tears come harder now. “I was supposed to stay with him. I was supposed to protect him. But I… I lost him in the crowd, and now—” His words dissolve into sobs.

He collapses onto his brother’s cold body, clutching his shirt like he can still hold him here somehow, sobs wracking his entire body. 

Nezha understands the guilt flooding through Kazuo’s body, so deeply, so personally. If he closes his eyes, he is brought back to that grotto. He shakes off the feeling before the Dragon can pull him further deeper into a spiral. 

“Where are your parents?” Nezha asks quietly. 

“D-dead,” Kazuo stutters, voice muffled by his little brother’s shirt that Kazuo is still desperately clinging onto.

Fuck. 

“I am so sorry, Kazuo.”

“My father died last month in the explosions,” Kazuo says, voice so small. He finally looks up at Nezha. “The monster got my mom. She told me to take Kai and run, and I failed her.” 

More tears spill out of Kazuo’s eyes. “I watched it rip her apart before I got me and Kai away. And then I lost him in the crowd. I hoped that maybe he—.”

The rest of Kazuo’s sentence is cut off with more sobs. 

Nezha reaches forward, placing his hands on both of Kazuo’s shoulders, offering a small amount of comfort.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he says firmly, though his own voice feels hollow.

Kazuo doesn’t answer.

After a long silence, the boy finally asks, “Do you know what they will do with his body? There wasn’t anything left of my mother to bury. And I don’t want them… to just throw him away.”

Honestly, Nezha wasn’t entirely sure what they planned to do with the bodies. He doesn’t want to tell the young boy the truth, that the mass graves built just outside the city limits have become increasingly full. That bodies are being burned or dumped by the dozens just to keep up.

“Is there something you wanted to do with his body?” Nezha asks the younger boy.

Slowly, he nods. “Kai loved the sea.”

Nezha is able to find a plank of wood that could fit Kai’s small body, and with the help of Kazuo, they carry him away from the ruined streets, away from the cries and the stench to a quiet bay where the morning sun glitters over the calm water. They set Kai’s body in the water with a small splash, and with a gentle push, Nezha sends his body floating out to sea. 

The water is still. Kai’s body floats in one spot, near the shore line. It would be easy for anyone, friend or foe, to pluck the body off the water. 

Nezha knows he shouldn’t, but he feels bad for Kazuo, staring at his brother’s corpse and watching it sink into the shallow water. An improper burial. So he closes his eyes, inviting it in. Just barely opening the door. 

The Dragon smiles, clawing through the crack into Nezha’s mind. 

It stirs, just enough to guide the current for Kai’s body to safely float out on the water, past the Muganese ships, out into the vast openness. 

Beside him, Kazuo stares after his brother, tears streaming silently down his face.

“You know his death isn’t your fault,” Nezha says quietly. “It is the monster’s fault. Not yours.”

The words are thick on Nezha’s tongue. Sticky. Heavy. The words felt disingenuous coming from his mouth when he just used his monster to help bury a body.  

His head pounds for the next few days. The Dragon is thrilled that Nezha gave it a small form of power back, and has not shut up since.

Pathetic. Mine. Pretty. Coward.

The words echo in Nezha’s head over and over again, but there is nothing Nezha can do to stop it. He continues on as if nothing is wrong. 

At some point when Nezha was helping bury bodies, a new figure appeared in Khurdalain. Altan’s mysterious lieutenant—Chaghan, Nezha learns is his name—that Vaisra wanted Nezha to learn all about shows up one day outside the gates of Khurdalain, and Altan swoops in dramatically rescuing him from the clutches of the Federation army. 

The other members from the divisions talk. Chaghan is weird. Unnatural. And from the small glimpses that Nezha catches of the pale man, he can’t help but agree.

He would ask Rin about him, but she is avoiding him as much as he is avoiding her.

She times her meals so she never eats at the same time as the Seventh Division. He doesn’t see her around the camps. And when Nezha finally ends up back at the barricade preparing for a joint assault between the Thirteenth and Seventh Divisions, Rin is nowhere to be found. 

Instead, there’s a tall figure leaning casually on a nine-pronged rake, waiting for him.

“You and little Rin in a lover’s quarrel?” the man asks, a smug grin tugging his lips. He extends a hand forward, “Baji.”

“I know who you are,” Nezha mutters, but accepts his hand, shaking it. He doesn’t feel the need to offer his name. He scowls as he realizes exactly what Baji just said. “Also, not in a lover’s quarrel.”

Baji laughs, low and obnoxious. “Funny. That is exactly what Rin said too after she nearly begged me to take this position for her instead. So I am not quite sure I believe either one of you.”

Nezha’s frown deepens. He knew she was avoiding him, but that doesn’t mean the confirmation doesn’t sting. 

He peaks his head over the barricade down at the masses below. 

Nezha wanted to cut the main Federation encampment in two with the Seventh Division’s soldiers. Jun and the other warlords turned up their nose at the idea and Nezha still isn’t quite sure how the Seventh’s general got Altan to agree to this plan. The Seventh is trying to surround the Federation army, but the organized plan quickly falls apart once they realize how much of Khurdalain the Muganese have acquired throughout the siege.

Now the Seventh Division is dispersed low on the ground, fighting off the advancing Federation soldiers who also have climbed onto the flat roofs of the one story buildings below.

An arrow whizzes past Nezha’s cheek, close enough to feel the wind of it. He ducks back just in time to avoid being struck. 

“Shit bomb?” Baji offers, holding up a small, tarry lump that reeks of sulfur and rot.

Nezha recoils, pinching his nose shut. “Gods, whose shit is that?” 

Baji’s laugh booms through the barricade. “Most likely Ramsa’s,” Baji nods his head back behind him where the Cike’s pyrotechnician is stationed, “But I find it is probably better to not ask where he collects his supplies from. Though I do know he stole the firepowder from your camp’s supply tent, so thank you for that.” 

Baji lights the bomb and throws it over the barricade. 

Nezha gags at the foul stench curling through the air.

“Let’s hope that the Federation’s  biggest weakness is the smell of shit because in that case, we’ve already won,” Nezha says through clenched teeth. 

Baji grins wider. “I see why Rin puts up with you.” A massive explosion erupts below them followed by cries of disgust. “Or at least, used to put up with you. What did you do to piss her off?”

Nezha crosses his arms. “How do you know she wasn’t the one who did something?”

“You bring up a valid point. Rin does seem like the type to be in the wrong,” Baji says easily, already lighting another bomb. “What did she do? Beat you while you two were sparring? Qara said that Altan was pissed that he caught you two sparring on the wall. Or…” His eyes gleam mischievously. “Did she tease you about those gloves you’re always wearing? Or your hair?” He plucks a loose strand that’s fallen from Nezha’s bun.

Nezha slaps Baji’s hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, it was the hair,” Baji snickers, shaking his head. “Don’t let Rin get to you. We’ve all seen her hair. Yours is much nicer.”

Nezha lets out a low sigh, deciding it would be best to ignore Baji than allowing him to further goad him. 

Unfortunately for him, Baji doesn’t seem to like silence. 

“How did you end up here anyway?” Baji asks. “You’d think the Dragon Warlord’s precious son wouldn’t be rotting away on the front lines.”

Nezha is really starting to get annoyed with Baji, wishing that Rin was here instead, despite his grievances with her right now.

“What is it with you and your freak squad needing to make so much noise?” Nezha sharply asks. “The big one screams at rocks. The little one makes explosions follow wherever he goes. And you,” Nezha says curtly, “never stop talking.”

“I fail to see the problem.”

Nezha glares.

“It’s a very big problem,” he bites out. “If you’re hiding from the enemy, subtlety is kind of important.”

Baji just shrugs. “I summon the fighting spirit of a very angry boar. I don’t know how to be subtle.” Baji throws another shit bomb over the edge of the barricade for emphasis. 

Below them, fire suddenly roars to life. But this isn’t coming from one of the shit bombs, instead Altan circling the encampment, flames flying from his fists. He alone is doing the majority of the work holding off the Federation army, but it nearly isn’t enough. The sound of metal clashing with metal rings throughout the night, but the noise doesn’t drown out the sound of flesh cutting open from soldiers from both sides. 

Altan’s fire illuminates the night sky, making this fight a lot easier than what it could have been in the pitch darkness. With Altan’s light, Nezha sees Rin down the barricade, closer than Nezha would prefer to the action. She too is throwing bombs over the edge, her sword strapped to her side, but the Federation army is slinking closer and closer to her post. 

Stupid. Why does she always have to be right there in danger?

An arrow buries itself in Nezha’s left shoulder.

“Fuck!” he gasps, ducking back behind the wall. The wound has already started knitting itself closed by the time he yanks the arrow free, but his pride stings more than the flesh.

“What’s that?” Baji asks tensely, leaning over his shoulder.

“It’s a fucking arrow, what does it look like?” Nezha snarls.

“Not your arrow, dumbass,” Baji says, jerking his chin toward the battlefield. “ That. ”

Nezha follows his gaze and freezes. 

A slow moving, yellow-green fog crawls forward. It is a giant wall, thick, obstructing view of the battlefield. At first, that is what Nezha thought it was for, making it harder to see and fight against the Federation. 

Then he heard the first screams. 

Guttural, horrifying noises escape from his men caught in the haze. The gas is poisonous, and it is melting, burning people from the inside out.

“Fuck,” Baji curses, snapping Nezha out of his frozen fear. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

Baji turns on his heels and sprints the opposite direction, hurdling over a wall where Ramsa is stationed. “Get up!” He yanks Ramsa’s arm, pulling him away from the approaching fog.

“My bombs!” Ramsa shrieks.

“Leave your godsdamned shit bombs!” Baji snaps. “You can take a dump later and make more. Move!”

Soon they are out of earshot, but Nezha doesn’t follow them. Instead, he is jumping over the ledge down closer to the fog, one thought on his mind.

“Rin!”

After everything, he can’t abandon her.

Militia men stampede away from the fog. There is no organization in their escape, just away from the poison. Nezha tries to fight through the chaos, but it is near impossible to fight against the fleeing current. 

Nezha pulls himself up on top of a wall, and frantically searches for her. She is just so small that Nezha worries he will never find her in this madness.

From beyond the fog, an arrow flies forward, barely missing Nezha’s head.

“Rin!” Nezha cries out again, desperate. 

If the Federation soldiers are firing off arrows in the fog, that means they don’t need to run. They have protection against the poison, and they are picking off Nikan soldiers one by one. Toying with them. 

Gods, Nezha hopes that they didn’t manage to get to her yet. 

A burst of flame erupts into the night sky, painting it a hellish orange. Altan.

The fog glows in the firelight, expanding all the way back to the shoreline. If only Nezha could see the source of the gas, then maybe he could destroy it. But he doesn’t have time to make it stop. He has to find Rin. 

Another flame shoots into the air, and that is when Nezha finally spots her. She is sprinting towards the trees, away from the gas, away from Nezha. 

An arrow clips her cheek and she stumbles, falling hard. Nezha fights his way through the crowd, now much thinner. He swings his legs over the last barricade and lands on soft dirt. The gas continues to crawl closer, almost nearing Rin. 

Another arrow flies and strikes Rin in the calf. Blood pours out of her wound as she tries to stagger to a stand, but her right leg collapses underneath her weight.

Nezha isn’t going to make it in time to grab her before the Federation soldiers reach her.

“Rin!” Nezha shouts, and this time, Rin hears him. 

Looking up, Rin meets Nezha’s eyes. Half of her face is covered in blood from where the first arrow struck her cheek. Her eyes widen in fear.

"Nezha!" Rin's voice cracks on the second syllable of his name, calling out to him in warning as the fog almost reaches her. “No!”

He ignores her warning. He will find a way to save her. He has to find a way to save her.

Let me in, little one. 

Nezha’s feet slip in the mud, but he keeps pushing himself forward. But it is not enough as he watches the yellow fog engulf Rin. Her screams of agony echo throughout the marsh, making Nezha’s heart skip a beat.

He knows this is the only way to save Rin, so he does what he promised himself he would never do.

Nezha lets the Dragon in.

The small crack of a door that Nezha left open for the Dragon to help bury Kai’s body was nothing to the crash of the Dragon breaking down the entire wall into Nezha’s mind, a tidal wave of violence. Nezha can see Rin’s mouth moving, but can’t hear her over the roar in his mind, the Dragon finally clawing free. 

Mine. Mine. Mine.

A crack of thunder echoes above him, breaking through the noise. The sky opens, and for a moment, everything is absolutely still, before the rain pours down. 

It is absolutely blinding, thick droplets of water pour down making the ground slick beneath his feet, but the gas starts to dissipate. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, and Nezha whips around, face to face with a Federation soldier wearing a mask covering his face. 

"Nezha!" Rin's voice cries out, closer this time.

No . Gods no . He can survive the fog, he can survive whatever torture the Federation camps planned for him. But he couldn’t survive them capturing Rin, too. 

Nezha elbows the Federation soldier holding him, causing him to slacken his grip. It is enough for Nezha to roll free, hitting the ground hard. 

Nezha claws the ground pulling him closer to the place he last heard Rin's cry. Blood pounds through his head, the Dragon laughing manically. Mud slides between his fingers as he forces himself back to his feet, closing in to Rin’s form, now obstructed by his rainstorm. 

Strong hands pull on his shoulders. 

"No," Nezha begged. "No."

The Federation soldiers came back for him, taking him away, right when he was so close to saving her. 

"Nezha." This voice was much deeper than he expected. "I’ve got her, go.”

Altan.

Altan surges forward, and scoops Rin up, cradling her close to his chest as if she weighed nothing. She whimpers something that sounds so close to Nezha’s name, that Nezha had to have imagined it. 

Nezha drags himself behind the two. Something burns within his chest as he watches Altan carrying Rin. He is so grateful she is alive, and yet. 

Once under the safety of the tree line, Nezha collapses in a heap on the ground, gasping for air. Nezha is used to pain, but this was a whole new world of hurt. His head feels like it is going to explode, while his lungs feel on fire. 

It laughs at him.

The rain still pounds around them, the trees only barely stopping the storm, and Nezha can’t make it stop.

Everything hurts. It won’t stop hurting. No matter how much Nezha claws at his head, his back. He wants to die. Anything to make this stop. 

"Fuck, Nezha!" Rin collapses on the ground next to him, her knees pressing into his arm. Her hands brush over him — his chest, his arms — searching for signs of injury. But what hurts him the most isn’t any physical wound. It’s his head pounding, a god violently assaulting his mind, finally finally gaining control.  

Nezha looks up at her through thick lashes and reaches up to move a piece of her hair that is plastered to her blood soaked face. His hands fall to her cheek, where she still continues to bleed. 

"Rin," Nezha manages to choke out before his entire world begins to spin, his vision going white.

“Opium!” Rin shouts out to anyone who is nearby. “I need opium!” 

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” Nezha chants. “Hit me! Kill me, kill me, kill me !”

Rin is the only one who can make it stop. She silenced it all those years ago in the fighting pit. Only Rin can stop Nezha’s misery.

“Nezha, no,” Rin cries out, voice too soft, too far away. 

I want you all to myself. Mine. Mine. Mine. Come to me completely. Mine. Mine. Mine. 

Her warm arms wrap around him, but Nezha can’t settle into her comfort. His body thrashes as it crawls, exploring every crevice of Nezha’s body that he blocked from it over the last seven years.  

Nezha rips off his gloves. He needs his fingernails to claw at his back. Maybe this time he can carve the Dragon out with his fingers. This time will be different.

“Stop it!” Rin snaps, catching his wrists. Her grip is iron, even as she’s shaking.

The rain continues to pound down, fiercer and stronger than before. Water pools around them, soaking through their uniforms. Nezha can’t make it stop. He wants it to stop. 

“Stop,” Nezha moans. “Stop!”

“Nezha,” Rin gasps, holding his left hand in his. Her wet skin touches his, one hand firmly grasping his wrist, the other lightly stroking a pattern on his palm.

And through the pain, Nezha realizes what she is looking at. His burnt hand, imprinted with Rin’s handprint.

“No,” Nezha chants, trying to rip his hand free, away from her. “No!”

“Here,” a gruff voice says above him.

“Nezha,” Rin says softly. “Look at me. I need you to look at me.”

He can’t. He won’t. He can’t bear to see the disappointment —the hurt— in Rin’s eyes for hiding this from her. 

A strong hand grips his jaw, covering his mouth completely, and forcing him up into a seated position. Nezha thrashes his body, trying to throw off the person holding him steady, but they are so much stronger than him.

“Inhale, Nezha.”

Don’t do it. Stay mine. You’re mine. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose, inhaling an all too familiar sickly sweet scent. 

Opium. 

Nezha braves to open his eyes and meets the bright red eyes of Altan Trengsin before everything goes slack. 

The rain finally stops. And so does Nezha’s breathing. 

Chapter Text

“Fuck me,” Nezha groans, his voice coming out scratchy and strained.  

Cracking open his eyes, Nezha finds himself in an unfamiliar tent. Not that the tents at Khurdalain look all that different, but this is far from the comfort of his own familiar bed. Three small cots are squeezed into this tent, taking up the majority of the space. What little space is left is taken over by stacks of bandages, wooden splints, and a small garden in the back corner growing what appears to be poppy plants.

This is the Cike’s medical tent.  

Pushing up on his elbows, Nezha slowly sits. The blood rushes from his head, making the room start to tilt on its axis. Nausea twists in his gut, and Nezha takes slow, deep breaths to stop himself from vomiting all over the cot. 

The opening flap of the tent flings open, and Altan, of all people, ducks into the room. He stands, taking up more space than what should be possible for someone barely taller than Nezha himself. 

“You’re awake,” Altan says, voice clipped. 

“Unfortunately,” Nezha responds, his throat still feeling like gravel. 

Altan lips crack into a small grin. “It appears we agree on something,” Altan says, walking over to Nezha’s cot, towering over him. Nezha knows he is doing it to show dominance, but Nezha fears that if he tries to stand too, he might pass out. 

Altan’s arms cross, staring down at Nezha as if he is one of Irjah’s strategy puzzles where the solution involves sacrificing half of a squadron. Confusion, frustration, and disappointment all wrapped in one look. 

“You’re a shaman,” Altan says finally. 

Nezha winces at the accusation. “No, I’m not.”

Anger flashes across Altan’s face, and before Nezha can blink, Altan’s fiery red eyes meet his own. He is bending forward over the cot, caging Nezha in. “I am not stupid, Yin,” Altan says, his breath hot on Nezha’s face. “I know what I saw. And no matter how much you deny it and Rin refuses to talk about it, you called a god.”

Nezha pulls back, but refuses to not meet Altan’s eyes. He won’t be intimidated by him, no matter how much Altan’s behavior reminds him of Jinzha. 

“I am not a shaman,” Nezha repeats, each word punctuated sharply.

A sting erupts across Nezha’s cheek and it takes a second to register that Altan just slapped him. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Altan hisses between clenched teeth. “I was there in the storm you created. A storm you couldn’t control until I got you high enough to silence your god. So either you are a shitty shaman who doesn’t know the simple basics about how to control yourself or that was the first time you called upon a god which would make you a fucking idiot!” 

Nezha sucks in a stuttering breath. If he didn’t already feel like absolute shit, he might have fought back, but that was a losing battle waiting to happen, so Nezha bears Altan’s cruel words.

“So,” Altan continues hotly, “which one is it? Are you a shitty shaman or a fucking idiot?”

“Neither,” Nezha says curtly. 

Altan straightens, rolling his shoulders back. “Pathetic,” he spits, shaking his head. “Two shamans from the same Sinegard class and they both are helplessly pathetic.”

Nezha clenches his jaw in fury. 

“It isn't pathetic to not want to be insane,” Nezha hisses, rising to his feet. The room spins just slightly, but Nezha powers on. “I don’t want it. I never wanted this monster slithering around in my mind. You and your freak squad are all going mad because you sold your mind to the Pantheon. I was bought.”

If Nezha didn’t feel so heated, he might find humor in the situation that the reason he was so furious with Rin was that she suggested he tell Altan about the Dragon, and here he was, doing the one thing he never intended to do. 

Altan stares, a small, malicious smile curling on his face. “Whether you asked for it or not, you have shamanic power. Me and my freak squad are leaving for Golyn Niis, and because you’re a freak too, you can come along.” 

“Here.” Altan drops something on the cot next to Nezha and it takes him a second to recognize what it is. 

His gloves. 

“She already saw your scar, but you can put those back on and pretend she didn’t, just like you can pretend you aren’t linked to a god.”

Nezha picks them up and finds they are still damp from the rainstorm, filthy, covered in mud, but still, Nezha slides them on. 

Altan clicks his tongue and lets out a humorous laugh. “We leave in an hour.”

A few hours later, Nezha finds himself squashed between a barrel and a large man, that Nezha learns is named Suni, on a small river sampan. Normally, the creak of wood and lap of water against the boat would soothe him. Tonight, however, the boat feels like a coffin. His knees jam against his chest, every muscle cramping, until dry land sounds like paradise.

They are making good time up the river with the help of the one who lives in a barrel. Altan glances back, eyes sharp and pointed, a silent order for Nezha to add his own power to speed their journey to Golyn Niis. Nezha doesn’t even try. Exhaustion seeping out of every part of himself.

Instead, he leans forward, letting his right hand trail in the cool water, focusing on the way the water breaks and ripples at his touch. It gives him something to focus on instead of Jun’s confusion when Nezha told him that he is joining the Cike on a mission to Golyn Niis. Something besides Altan whispering all of Nezha’s secrets to Chaghan on the frontmost boat. Something besides Rin sitting in the boat behind him, somehow both too close and too far away from Nezha all at once.

They haven't had an opportunity to talk since Nezha joined the Cike, too many other people to broach a subject Nezha wanted to keep a secret. 

There is a pit of dread that sits in Nezha like a heavy stone the moment Altan told him the Cike were going to Golyn Niis. The dread only sinks deeper when Nezha watches Rin, chin resting on her knees, bottom lip stuck between her teeth, staring out blankly at the river.

She looks so small and terrified.

So unlike herself. 

The Federation found the mountain pass and cut straight through Nikan to Golyn Niis. Every single thing Nezha did while he was in Khurdalain was absolutely worthless. They were played and fell for the bait all too easily. 

He failed.

His father’s words before Nezha was sent to Khurdalain pound in his head over and over again like a cold mantra.

If you fail, you better hope that Golyn Niis does not survive either. For the greater good.

Nezha wants his father to be incorrect, that Golyn Niis can survive and still somehow his Republic can prevail. He wants to believe there’s another path forward. 

It takes a week of poor, cramped sleep in a tiny boat with little food to find out that there isn't one.

His hand trails through the current, seeking the calming powers of the water, when he pulls it up slick and red. 

“The fuck?” 

Rin’s boat crashes into his just as Ramsa calls out, “There is something in the water!”

Bodies. Hundreds of corpses. Thick in the water, bloated, filling the river like grotesque driftwood. A dam, making it impossible to push further up the river by boat.

Everyone stumbles out of their respective sampans all the way to the gates of Golyn Niis. 

Nezha won’t—can’t—look at the bodies. Every single corpse is another twist in the knife that is lodged in his heart. 

The gates of Golyn Niis resist their push, but Suni forces them open with a splintering crack. A wave of carrion stench rolls out, thick and choking.

And that is when he sees just how awful the damage to the capital city is.

Even the Dragon is shocked into silence.

He feels Rin at this side, her warmth his only source of comfort. He feels her shaking next to him, and without a single thought, he reaches out, catching her hand.

Her fingers intertwine with his, tightly holding on, overlapping perfectly with the outline from the last time they held hands. Her grip is ruthlessly strong, turning Nezha’s hand white, but he doesn’t dare let go. Rin is steadying him just as much as he is her.

“Go,” Altan’s voice cracks through the stillness, “Find survivors.”

Together, Rin and Nezha surge forward on an already lost mission. Whatever life that survived this massacre was not a life worth living. 

They make it down a stretch of land when Rin suddenly stops, forcing Nezha into a stuttered stop next to her. 

“No,” Rin cries out so softly, Nezha isn’t sure that she even knew she said anything. “No, no, no.” She collapses to the ground, finally letting go of Nezha’s hand, and picks up a shredded red flag, embroidered with the Second Division’s emblem. 

“Kitay,” Rin whispers.

Something inside Nezha shatters. 

His two best friends from his childhood were here during the massacre. Every corpse that Nezha stepped over could have been Kitay or Venka, and that thought alone makes Nezha empty the contents of his stomach on the cobblestone. 

With a bolt, Rin stands, running forward through the desolate streets of Golyn Niis, sobbing for her best friend. And gods, Nezha is an optimist at heart, he knows it is highly unlikely they will find Kitay alive, but he needs him to be. 

“Venka,” Nezha croaks out. If Rin is shouting for Kitay, it needs to be his job to find Venka.

Find her alive. 

“VENKA!” 

He runs until his lungs burn, shouting her name into the charred silence. The ruins offer nothing but echoes. And finally, a faint, raw cry slips from a small shed.

“In here.”

Nezha stops in his tracks, heart hammering against his ribs. He turns to the source of the sound, his pulse roaring in his ears, and calls out again. “Venka?” 

“Nezha?”

Nezha’s entire world stops. His feet feel like heavy stones that Nezha struggles to find the strength to move forward. With a shaky hand, Nezha pushes open the door. 

“Mei mei” The gasp escapes before he can stop it.

There on the filthy floor, hunched over, dirt caking her naked skin, wrists chained above her head—the only thing holding her up—lies Venka.

“Shit,” Nezha curses under his breath, rushing forward to her. He slips off his outermost layer of clothing and slips it over her shaking shoulders. 

Venka looks up and meets Nezha’s eyes, and there is a sadness, an anger, in them that Nezha has never seen before. “Get me out of these things?” She rasps, rattling her manacles. 

“Of course,” Nezha says, looking around. “Is there a key or…?” 

“We weren't exactly let out, so no,” Venka says vehemently, each word sharpened to a blade.

“Right,” Nezha says. He takes out his sword and swings at the chain above Venka’s head. Steel rings against iron, again and again, until the link finally shatters, releasing Venka who crumples to the floor.

“Ven,” Nezha says, dropping to the floor with her. He reaches out to embrace her, but stops before he actually does. “I-. Can I hug you?”

A flash of anguish crosses her face, instantly scorched away by rage. She shoves Nezha’s arms away. “I was raped, Nezha. I am not broken. I am not fragile. You don't need to coddle me.”

Venka staggers upright, rubbing her raw wrists until the skin reddens. She pulls Nezha’s outer coat tighter around her body, searching the ground, rifling through the debris with quick, violent movements. Wrinkling her nose, she finds a pair of pants and yanks them on. The pants are too long on her, the waist too big. She takes a step forward, but trips on the extra length.

“Fuck this. Fuck everthing!” she kicks at the hem, voice shaking with fury, before rolling the cuffs in rough, angry twists. “They can starve, they can rot, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Venka survived horrors at Golyn Niis, Nezha can see that, but she looks so close to finally shattering that a too large pair of pants might be her final breaking point. Her whole body vibrates, more like a drawn bow than a person.

“Ven, how do you want to do this?” Nezha asks softly, arms open as he takes a small step forward. “Do you want to talk? Cry? Fight?”

“I want to kill them all,” Venka hisses through clenched teeth. “I want them all to suffer like they made me suffer. Like they made all those other helpless women suffer.”

Venka swings at Nezha, and he lets her hit him.

He expected this.

He will let her fight, kick, scratch, hell, he will let her kill him if it would make Venka feel better. 

“Fuck!” Venka cries out, elbowing Nezha. She is so much smaller, thinner, from the last time he saw her, it would not take much to overpower Venka if Nezha wanted to. 

The thought nearly makes him vomit again.

“Fight back!” Venka snarls, pounding her fists into Nezha’s chest. “Fight back! Fight back!” Each strike lands like a spark thrown from a forge. But the fire sputters. Her fists soften, the words lose heat, until at last she crumples. 

He holds her close, so similar to all of those times they got drunk alone in his father’s wine cellar, mocking Jinzha or laughing at their tutors. Life seemed so hopeful, so light back then. They were brilliant, a son and daughter of high respecting Nikarians. They had so much hope for their future that was laid out for them on a silver platter. They were the elite, the hunters.

Oh, how quickly they became the prey.

“I hate them,” Venka’s voice comes out, barely above a whisper, after what could have been hours. 

“I do too,” Nezha agrees with her.

“They wanted to break me. Called me pretty, “ Venka says as if the word is a slur, pressing her face further into Nezha’s shoulder, “They called me pretty in that filthy language of theirs and then vowed to make me hideous because they got to do whatever they wanted since they owned me now.”

Nezha’s blood turns cold at her words. Two words chant over and over in his head.

You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine. 

He pulls Venka closer, blocking out the hiss of the Dragon.

The door slowly creaks open above them, revealing two shadowed figures, and Nezha panics, blindly reaching for a weapon to defend him and Venka. 

“Venka,” the short one cries out, and that is when Nezha blinks and realizes it is Kitay and Rin. 

With shaky feet, Nezha rises. He offers his hand to Venka, who surprisingly, takes it, and pulls her to a stand. 

Rin lunges forward, colliding into Venka, pulling her into an embrace. 

Nezha catches Kitay’s eye and a silent understanding passes between them. They leave Rin and Venka alone, because whatever source of comfort Nezha can offer to his mei mei, he will never be able to provide that same perspective and solace that Rin can in a situation like this.

Outside the shed, Nezha claps Kitay on the back. 

“It’s good to see you,” Nezha says, the world alive passing silently between them.

“You too,” Kitay says, leading Nezha away from the shed. “Why are you here?”

Kitay asks, not because he wants to know why Nezha is in Golyn Niis, but rather why he is here with the Cike.

Nezha is not going to give him that truth.

“Khurdalain was a lost cause,” Nezha says evenly, “The Cike had a lead to come here, so I followed.”

“Followed Rin,” Kitay says, almost accusatory. 

“What happened?” Nezha asks, changing the subject away from Rin.

Kitay sighs, running a hand through his curly hair, tugging at the locks. “We were doomed before the Federation even knocked on the gate.”

Kitay and Nezha walk on a broken path north to the outskirts of the city. The buildings grow in size and spread out. The nicer the houses get, the less destruction Nezha finds on their path. It is as if the Federation army recognized the luxury and didn’t want to destroy it all, probably lavishing in it themselves. 

And as they walk, Kitay tells Nezha, in horrifying detail, exactly what transpired in Golyn Niis. His voice remains steady, never quivering, he recites it like he is reciting one of the classics they learned for the Keju. 

The chimei, the acid fog, none of what Nezha faced in Khurdalain compares to what Kitay and Venka went through, and Kitay’s eidetic memory will forever hold on to every savage transgression. 

“They aren’t human. Can’t be human,” Kitay says, throat raw. “Human’s shouldn’t be able to do this to other men.”

“They are human though,” Nezha says finally. “And they did this to their fellow men.”

That truth hangs over them, heavy and hard. 

Nezha stops, arriving at his destination. He didn’t set out to come here, but his feet automatically took him down this path. 

In the middle of the elite district, sits one of his family’s homes. Nezha didn’t visit often, preferring Arlong and Sinegard, but Golyn Niis is in Dragon Province and his father needs a place to stay when he is in the capital city. It didn’t come away unscathed. Windows shattered in, the front door flung wide open, falling off its hinges. 

“We will need a place to stay,” Nezha clarifies. “I am going to check if it is clear.” 

Kitay wordlessly follows him inside. Glass crunches under their shoes with each step. 

Inside, furniture lies gutted and slashed beyond recognition. A faint smell of urine hits him as he turns a corner, and Nezha wouldn’t be surprised if they used the couch as a toilet. 

Down the hall, a family portrait hangs crooked, held on the wall by a single nail. Both his mother and sister’s faces have been torn out of the portrait, the rip taking half of Nezha’s face with it. Smeared feces covers his father and brother’s faces. The only untouched part of the portrait is the corner where Mingzha was painted over in black shortly after his death.

“I hope you aren’t superstitious,” Kitay mutters, “Otherwise this looks very foreboding.”

“Eating shit would be good for Jinzha,” says Nezha dryly. 

A laugh escapes Kitay’s lips. It is short, a bark pulled from his throat, but it is the first pleasant sound Nezha has heard since getting on that sampan to Golyn Niis. Nezha revels in that sound.

Nezha stops outside his bedroom door, taking in a stuttering, calming breath. He might vomit if he finds a corpse lying in his bed.

But, inside, no dead body awaits him, only the wreckage of a childhood memory. Muddy bootprints are stomped into the carpet. Drawers hang open, empty, his old clothes likely taken with the Federation army.  

They go through each room, confirming that if death occurred here, the Federation army had long disposed of its evidence. 

“We should stay here,” Nezha says, closing his parent’s bedroom door. “It’s as good a base as any while we search the rest of the city.”

The next weeks are spent searching the city for signs of life. 

Other homes near the Yin family house are cleared out, providing space for the survivors to stay if they had nowhere else to go. As each day passes, Nezha and Kitay go house to house, door to door finding less and less people alive. 

The suffering is endless, bone-deep, and Nezha has no name for the heaviness that lodges behind his ribs as he digs through ruins. The city feels hollowed out, like a carcass scavenged and picked clean from by hungry vultures. 

Every other member of the Cike, besides Altan, helps Nezha sift through the rubble. Nezha doesn’t dare ask where their commander has holed up, he tries not to care. But he can’t help notice whenever he can’t find Rin, he often cannot find Altan either. 

He hardly sees Rin most days, and at night, she chooses to sleep with the other members of the Cike instead with him, Venka, and Kitay in his childhood bedroom. They don’t sleep far away, only a thin wooden door separates them, but it might as well be a wall of iron. 

It isn’t quite avoidance, but something unspoken presses tighter each time their eyes meet. They haven’t really talked since Khurdalain, and the silence between them has begun to take on weight of its own.

Rin chose the Cike. Rin chose Altan and not her school friends. 

Deep down, Nezha understands the duty she feels to her commander. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t irk Nezha though.

It is nearing midnight, and Nezha cannot sleep. He dug through Jinzha’s bedroom, until he found an old bottle of wine hidden underneath a floorboard. He thought about offering some to Kitay and Venka, but they both called it an early night. 

He sits on a cracked stone bench, the air cool and sharp with the scent of damp earth. The stars stretch above, endless and bright, mocking the ruin below. The wine is sour, biting his tongue, but it warms him enough to keep drinking. 

“Can I join you?” A soft voice asks from somewhere behind him, making him jump.

Rin stands strong, chin up, but arms crossed, closing herself off. The moonlight cascades flickers of silver across her face.

“Yes, of course,” Nezha says, almost too quickly, scooting over to make room for her.

She reaches over him, snatching the bottle of wine out of his hand. “How did you manage to find this?” She asks, sniffing the bottle to make sure it is actually drinkable before taking a sip herself.

“My brother is good for few things,” Nezha says wryly, “And one of those is hiding alcohol from our parents.”

Rin’s lips pucker as the alcohol touches her tongue. “I think your parents let him have this one on purpose.”

“You know,” Nezha teases, “I didn’t exactly offer to share.”

Rolling her eyes, Rin pushes back. “Why am I not surprised that the family that has three houses in Nikan likes to hoard their wealth.”

“Four.”

“Hmm?” Rin asks, taking another swig of Nezha’s wine.

“We have four houses,” Nezha corrects. “Sinegard, Golyn Niis, Arlong, and we have a coastal house my father likes to visit in Snake Province. That one is my sister’s favorite.”

“And you?” Rin asks, “Which palace is your favorite?”

“Arlong,” Nezha answers without missing a beat. “It is full of color, surrounded by water and cliffs. We have so many shipyards filled with premium craftsmanship and beautiful plants that can only grow because they are protected from the wind—”

He hears himself rambling, words spilling like the wine, so he stops, catching the words in the back of his throat. How could he think of such beauty when surrounded by such destitute?

“I would’ve liked to show you sometime,” Nezha says, voice thick. “Maybe once all of this is over.”

Rin’s mouth drops slightly, her cheeks pink in the moonlight. Her lips, stained red from the wine, look impossibly soft.

The sight fogs his thoughts. The wine hums in his blood, and all he can think is how those lips would taste if he leaned in. The idea is dizzying and dangerous. 

Rin shakes her head, pulling away from the magnetic force. “We need to end the war soon. What the Federation did—” Rin swallows, collecting herself, “We need all of the help we can get to destroy them. Altan has an idea that will work.”

A bucket of ice cold water pours over Nezha at the thought of Altan. 

“We had three divisions working here and that wasn’t enough brain power to prevent a genocide. What is Altan’s brilliant idea that even they couldn’t come up with?”

“I can’t tell you,” Rin says, twisting her fingers in her lap. “But Kitay also knows that Altan has a plan, so if Kitay tells you to run, I need you to follow him.” 

What the fuck?

Nezha turns to face her completely, staring straight into those warm, inviting eyes. He reaches out, wrapping his hands around both of her shoulders. “Rin, I need you to tell me what you are about to do. Is Altan forcing you to do something?” 

Instead of answering, Rin looks down at his hands.

“You aren’t wearing your gloves,” She comments, taking his left hand in her own, staring down at the imprint she left on him. 

His bone shines in the moonlight. He can’t hide from her now, and, if he were honest with himself, he is not sure if he has ever been to hide from her ever. She lightly traces her fingers over his scars, tickling his skin, making his heart pound out of his chest. She could run her fingers up, right over his pulse, and feel just how much she is affecting him right now. 

“Does it hurt?” Rin asks, squeezing his hand, looking at Nezha in a way that makes him want to look away from her.

Nezha doesn’t trust his own voice, so he shakes his head no.

A small frown forms on Rin’s lips, like she doesn’t believe him. She opens her mouth, words forming an apology that Nezha doesn’t want to hear.

“It’s not your fault,” Nezha says before Rin can speak. 

“You hid it from me.”

“I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

Rin exhales, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You think I pity you? After everything? Gods, Nezha.”

“I think you see too much,” he replies.

They fall into a quieter rhythm then, passing the bottle back and forth. They don’t speak, just basking in each other’s company. Something about it sits heavy on Nezha’s chest, a feeling he can’t quite place. They aren’t those same people that found solace in a hidden combat room deep in the basements of Sinegard, but between sips of wine, Nezha likes to pretend that they are. 

Nezha wakes the next morning feeling lighter than he has in weeks.  

When Nezha steps into the main room, the air is taut. The Cike sits scattered and tense.  He counts faces. Something’s wrong.

“Where’s Rin?” he asks.

Baji and Ramsa trade uneasy looks. Baji finally exhales, shoulders slumping.

 “Gone,” he says quietly. “She left with Altan at dawn.”

Chapter Text

Gone. 

“Gone where?” Nezha asks, trying to keep his voice steady even as his pulse spikes.

“Altan said we weren’t supposed to tell him—ow! What did you hit me for?” Ramsa yelps, rubbing the back of his head where Baji smacked him. 

“We were commanded to not tell him,” Baji snaps, glaring at Ramsa, “You think we were allowed to tell him that we weren’t allowed to tell him.”

Ramsa shrugs, indignant, “Well Altan didn’t tell me to not do that.”

“Idiot,” Baji mutters under his breath. 

“Are they coming back?” Nezha asks, hating how desperate his voice sounds, how raw it feels scraping out of his throat.

Every pair of eyes looks somewhere else besides Nezha, avoiding answering his question, and that is when the realization creeps in that Rin’s not only left, but left him.

A hollow ache settles in his chest, as familiar as the scrape of claws against his spine. Nezha should have stopped keeping score years ago, stopped tallying every instance where he was not first choice. His father favored Jinzha, his mother favored Mingzha, and when he died, she chose hating Nezha over loving him. He was second behind Kitay in every important exam. Second behind Rin in the fighting pits. 

It was stupid to think that this time it would be different. Foolish to think Rin would choose Nezha over Altan. 

Fuck the fact that they spent a year alone together in the basements of Sinegard learning every single tick about the other, trading secrets and bruises. Fuck every battle they fought side by side against the Federation. Rin is the only person Nezha trusted to share his deepest secret, and then she ran off with the only other person who knows how much the Dragon haunts Nezha. 

The heat in the sitting room is getting to him, the silence suffocating, and Nezha can no longer bear it. He shoulders past Suni and out the back door, breath heavy with bitterness. 

Outside, the air is cool and sharp, smelling faintly of ash and crushed flowers. Shattered pots litter the ground, and he nearly trips over one before collapsing onto the cracked stone bench—the same one he’d shared wine with Rin last night. 

He should have realized then she was saying goodbye. 

Stupid. He is so fucking stupid.

Footsteps stomp up behind him, stepping on every piece of shattered glass. Whoever followed him isn’t trying to sneak up on him. 

“If it makes you feel better, we weren’t told until yesterday that they were leaving,” Baji says.

Nezha huffs out a humorless laugh. “No, it doesn’t make me feel better that your commander ran off on a secret mission and didn’t bother telling his own division until he was halfway gone.”

A loud clanging noise echoes from behind him, which makes Nezha finally look at Baji who has grabbed another bench, one of the few still standing upright, and drags it across the stone, knocking over a potted fern before dropping it beside Nezha with a crash.

“I am sure there was a much gentler way to handle that,” Nezha says dryly. 

Baji waves his hand, “Half of the shit here is broken anyway.” He steps over the bench and sits down opposite of Nezha, stretching his legs out in front of him, sprawling with a casual dominance, taking up more space than should be physically possible. 

How is it that everyone in the Cike is so massive?

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Baji says after a beat. “Whether Altan told us three weeks ago or not at all. He was always going to go.” There’s a bite to his tone, a weary sort of resentment buried underneath his words.

“He didn’t have to drag Rin along with him,” Nezha mutters under his breath.

Baji breaks out into a smug grin. “So what is it? Are you upset that Altan didn’t let us into his plans or that it was Rin who followed him?”

“He should have told us,” Nezha starts hotly, “You heard Kitay’s account of Golyn Niis. This could have been prevented if the warlords worked together. Instead, they all went off on their own and now thousands of people are dead.”

Baji scoffs. “And what, you think Khurdalain was any different? The warlords didn’t listen to Altan then. So I don’t find it all that surprising after all of this,” Baji gestures broadly to the scorched yard, the broken walls, the silence, “Altan decided to fuck off alone.”

Nezha clenches his jaw. Of course he’s right. That only makes it worse. “The Seventh Division worked with him,” he says tightly.

Baji snorts. “No, you tolerated working with him because Rin was there. He sure as hell didn’t tolerate you. Honestly, I’m shocked he let you tag along to Golyn Niis in the first place.” 

“He invited me,” Nezha mutters.

Baji gives him a look, half pity, half disbelief, but says nothing. The words hang between them, heavy and uncomfortable, like smoke that refuses to clear. Nezha exhales through his nose, the tension in his chest coiling tighter. Nezha is slowly realizing why Altan invited, never out of courtesy, but a way to use him. Use the Dragon. 

Just like he is using Rin right now. 

Nezha rubs his hands together, trying to shake the thought off. He pauses, recounting the faces he saw in his family’s house that morning, coming up two short. “Did Chaghan and his sister go with Rin and Altan?” 

“No,” Baji’s face darkens, “Altan apparently had another mission for them.”

“Let me guess,” Nezha says sharply, “He didn’t tell you that either.”

Baji doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The silence is enough.

There has been something that has been bugging Nezha, ratting around in his chest, a missing piece of the puzzle, ever since Nezha was invited to Golyn Niis in the first place. “How did the Cike even know that Golyn Niis was in danger? Sure, it was the obvious conclusion to come to after Khurdalain, but this felt different. Altan knew something.”

Baji scrunches his nose, twisting his hands awkwardly in his lap. “Chaghan has a way of knowing things, seeing things. It is one of the reasons why Chaghan is Altan’s second in command.”

The information buzzes inside Nezha. His father had an interest in Chaghan, he was one of the reasons he was sent to Khurdalain in the first place. He needs to know more “But how?”

“How does Altan call fire? How does Aratsha live in a barrel?” Baji shrugs, “It is one of Chaghan’s Hinterland voodoo things. Hexigrams, he calls them.”

“Hexigrams?” Nezha repeats, prompting.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it in action,” Baji says, his voice casual but his eyes wary. “Altan gets them monthly from Chaghan, apparently. Gets pulled into the Pantheon, comes back with weird, cryptic clues about the future. I think it’s driving them both even more fucking insane.”

Baji winces the moment the words leave his mouth, realizing how much he’s said. A tense silence stretches between them—thin, fragile, and humming with things better left unsaid.

“So what’s next?” Nezha asks, breaking the silence. 

“You know I am not supposed to tell you,” Baji sighs. “Look, we—the Cike—appreciate you opening your home to us, but this is where we got to separate.”

Nezha knew it was coming. The Cike were going to leave too, without telling him where they are going.

Rin left him, and now he is going to lose every connection to her too. 

That abandonment settles deep within him, a cruel familiarity of being left behind again. The ache of watching people walk away, with disgust carved on their face, and never learning on how to make them stay.

Nezha corners Venka and Kitay the moment he steps inside, pulling them both into his old bedroom.

“The Cike is leaving,” Nezha blurts, his voice rough. “They’re going after Rin and Altan. Soon.”

“A Hesperian would have been able to figure that one out, Nezha,” Venka says, crossing her arms. 

Nezha ignores her jab and turns to Kitay who is hovering near Nezha’s old bookshelf, “Kitay, you know something. Rin told me that if you tell us to run, we run. What do you know?”

Kitay’s eyes widen, and runs both of his fingers through his hair, tugging hard on the curls. “I tried to convince her it was a stupid idea—”

“You could have told me!” Nezha snaps, cutting him off, not caring that he was the one who asked Kitay to explain in the first place. His voice cracks, too loud in the small space. “Together, we could have convinced her to stay!”

Kitay’s eyes flick behind him toward Venka, catching her eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. Nezha doesn’t need to hear it. He already knows what is not being said out loud. 

Rin was always going to choose Altan. 

“She explained shamanism to me,” Kitay continues quietly, ignoring Nezha. “How there are gods in the Pantheon that call to people here, and that is how she can control the fire. There are others, besides the Cike, locked away in a mountain. She thinks Altan can convince them to fight for us.”

Venka’s reaction is immediate, sharp. “What the fuck?”

“Is she mad?” Nezha’s voice rises with hers, anger and fear mixing like oil and flame.

“She trusts Altan,” Kitay says firmly this time.

Nezha scoffs, “Well she shouldn’t!”

Another look shared passes between Kitay and Venka. It’s the kind of silent exchange that makes Nezha feel like an outsider in his own room.

“Look,” Venka says, “Ignoring Nezha’s jealousy, he does have a point. This plan to get a bunch of freaks with gods in their heads to fight the Federation sounds insane, and after being around the Cike for the last few weeks, I know this is an insane plan.”

“Well what are we supposed to do?” Kitay asks desperately, pacing the length of the room. “They are hours ahead of us, we will never catch up to stop them, and the Cike won’t let us follow them.”

The three of them stand there in silence for a moment. Just three survivors surrounded by the remnants of Nezha’s boyhood. It feels achingly familiar. The way they huddle together in a loose triangle, just like the times they studied for the Keju together. Back when their biggest worry was how to memorize all twenty-seven of Nikan’s classic literature. 

Now, the air is thick with the smell of rot and blood instead of ink and ambition. 

A weight settles heavy in Nezha’s chest as the only real solution surfaces, bitter and inevitable. “No,” he says finally, shaking his head. “They won’t let me follow them.”

“And what are you supposed to do?” Venka whispers, “Nezha I won’t just abandon you here while we hunt down Rin.”

“I’ll be fine,” Nezha reassures her, forcing a smile though his throat feels tight. Kitay and Venka aren’t abandoning him, even if a small part of him feels like they are. “I’ll go back to Arlong. Update my father about the happenings in Golyn Niis.”

Kitay frowns, “It’s clearly not safe for you to travel alone. Venka should go with you, and I’ll join the Cike.”

Nezha looks between them. He expects Venka to argue, to fight Kitay’s logic with her usual sharp tongue. Instead, her mouth just tightens, and after a long pause, she nods. 

He swallows hard. “We’ll find each other after,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “All of us. We’ll find each other again.”

Kitay escapes with the Cike at some point in the middle of the night, leaving Venka and Nezha alone. 

“Absolutely no point to stay here any longer,” Venka says, slinging a half filled pack over her shoulder. They didn’t have much to bring with them, half a can of dried rice, one change of spare clothes each, and two bottles filled with rainwater collected during the last storm a few nights ago. 

The walk from Golyn Niis to Arlong should have taken a week and a half. It took longer. They had to backtrack, weaving through forested ridges to avoid a small Federation camp stationed near the main road. Between the two of them, they could have fought off a dozen men—but any more than that, and they’d risk being caught, or worse.

Venka falling sick halfway through didn’t speed up the process.

“That rice is contaminated,” Venka spits out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her skin pale and slick with sweat.

“Here. Drink,” Nezha hands over his bottle of water, “It’s not the rice that’s contaminated, otherwise I would be vomiting in every bush we pass too.”

Venka pushes the bottle away, “I am not drinking the last of our water. I’m fine.”

“You haven’t kept anything down in two days,” Nezha pressed, crouching beside her. The concern cracked through his voice. “Ven, You’re dehydrated. Please, just drink.”

Venka chews on her cracked bottom lip, ready to fight him further, but her strength falters before her temper does, finally relents. She takes the water from Nezha’s hand. “If you die from dehydration, Nezha, I am not carrying your body back. You can rot for all I care.”

“I won’t die,” Nezha rolls his eyes. “We are just over a day’s trip out from Arlong, and besides, it might rain soon.” There isn’t a single cloud in the sky to block the sun beating down on their necks, but Nezha will make it rain if he has to.

The Dragon is becoming louder and louder with every step Venka and Nezha take closer to Arlong. He used to be so good at blocking it out, dealing with the pain, but something has changed throughout the war. Nezha can’t seem to ignore its cries, its pleas, its hunger. 

It makes the Rin shaped hole in his chest ache harder.

By the time the waters of Arlong come into view, the horizon rippling gold under the morning sun, Nezha could barely tell if the burning in his lungs was exhaustion or relief. 

Home. 

The wind off the water suffocates Nezha’s lungs, tightening his throat. The warmth of the sun harshly hits his face, forming beads of sweat running down his neck, underneath his uniform. He used to love the warmth, the light breeze, but this welcome back felt hostile. 

Nezha walks Venka to the Sring family home, buying food and water from a market stall on the way. 

“If my father is home, I am sneaking out tonight and sleeping at your place,” Venka says, mouth full of dumplings. 

“Funny,” Nezha says, managing a tight smile, “I was going to say the same thing.”

Nezha takes the long way back to the Yin household, stopping by shipyards, appreciating the lack of progress made on Jinzha’s pet-project. He hops on the lilypads, over the rivers, to the back entrance of his estate.

He doesn’t mean to avoid his father, but Nezha will delay the inevitable anger as long as he can. But eventually, his feet take his reluctant body to the large wooden door outside his father’s office. Nezha sucks in a deep, steadying breath, raises his fist, counts to ten, and knocks.

“Come in,” Yin Vaisra’s cold voice calls from the other side of the door.

“Father,” Nezha bows his head in greeting.

“Nezha,” Vaisra says, looking up from a stack of papers on his desk, brows lifting slightly a hint of surprise in his tone. “Here I thought you had died.”

Nezha bit back the sting of it. He wasn’t sure which hurt more, the words or the mild disappointment in his father’s tone that Nezha isn’t dead. 

“No, sir,” Nezha says apologetically. 

“Excuse me for believing such a terrible thing,” his father says shortly, “I got reports you disappeared from Khurdalain, the only logical explanation of why you would leave the Seventh Division would have been capture or death.” 

Nezha clicks his jaw, sucking in a breath, holding himself back from wincing. “No, sir,” Nezha repeats pathetically, “But I was following your orders. Khurdalain was lost, and there was only so little I could do for the people there. For the Seventh Division. So I followed your commands to  keep an eye on the Thirteenth Division. I figured it would be the best use of my skills.”

Vaisra’s jaw ticks, ever so slightly. To anyone else, it would have gone unnoticed, but Nezha had spent his entire life studying his father’s face for scraps of approval.

“And what,” Vaisra said, voice measured, “did you learn from your time with Daji’s freak squad?”

“Chaghan, Trengsin’s second in command,” Nezha clarifies when his father raises an eyebrow at the first name basis, “The rumors that he can tell the future are not unfounded. He was the reason the Cike knew there was something wrong with Golyn Niis.” 

Vaisra tilts his head, intrigued. “How?”

Nezha turns his head to the door, ensuring that it was closed behind him once he entered his father’s office. He doesn’t need his mother walking by, overhearing—what she considers—sacrilegious discussions.

“I don’t quite understand it,” Nezha admits, “But it’s Hinterlandian. Involving Hexigrams and the Pantheon.”

The Dragon smiles at the mention of the Pantheon, slithering, clawing at Nezha’s back. His father frowns, tearing at Nezha’s chest.

“Intersting,” Vaisra says finally, breaking the tense silence. “It will be something I keep in mind.”

Nezha bows his head deep again. It isn’t a thanks. It isn’t gratitude. But it is as close as Nezha will ever get from his father.

“And, do tell me, what was wrong with Golyn Niis?” Vaisra asks. 

Nezha snaps his head up, meeting his father’s eyes for the very first time at this meeting. There is something dark settled in his father’s gaze that unsettles Nezha. “You don’t know?” He asks in disbelief?

Every single instance from the smell of rotten flesh, the bodies separated from their heads, to Irjah’s execution, Nezha tells his father. The only details he leaves out is the extent of Venka’s torture. 

“Daji abandoned Golyn Niis?” Vaisra asks, a small smile tugging on his lips. 

Nezha’s brain halts and he blinks a few times. 

“Kitay had to hide under a pile of dead bodies for days to survive,” Nezha grits out, jaw clenched, “Venka, she, Venka—” Nezha trails off, unable to speak of her horrors. “Golyn Niis is in Dragon. Those are our people too. And all you care about is Empress Daji”

“And you abandoned your people in Khurdalain, Nezha,” Vaisra says, coldly. “So you don’t get to tell me about abandoning our people.” 

Nezha flinches as if he were slapped. He has been hit by his father before, but it was always his words that stung worse.

Nezha bites back his defense of himself on the tip of his tongue. His father doesn’t want to hear excuses. He also doesn’t want to hear apologies. So instead, Nezha bows his head.

Vaisra sighs above him, “Did you learn anything else useful with your time with the Thirteenth Division?”

“Trengsin has started to crack,” Nezha replies quickly, desperately trying to provide something useful to his father. “I think between Khurdalain and Golyn Niis, his faith in the empress is fading. He’s desperate.”

“Do you think that desperation will lead him to assisting the Republic?” Vaisra asks. 

“No,” Nezha answers truthfully. “He won’t listen to directions. He won’t obey. Won’t follow. But he won’t work for Daji either.”

Vaisra clicks his tongue, “And what about the other Speerly?”

It kills Nezha to admit the truth. 

“She won’t follow us. She will follow Altan.”

“How disappointing.” Vaisra taps his fingers along his desk, and then pulls a letter out from the stack of papers. “It appears Jun Loren’s comments on the relationship between you and Runin were far exaggerated. 

Vaisra’s eyes flit to the door, a silent dismissal. 

His father ignores Nezha, but tasks others in his command to keep Nezha busy. 

Letters arrive multiple times a day with updates on the ongoings of Nikan, carried in by servants and messengers who refuse to meet Nezha’s gaze. The war moved on without him. His only updates came from half-overheard conversations and intercepted documents, their seals broken by candlelight in the privacy of his quarters.

Rumors float about the Federation advancing to the southern provinces, overtaking Rooster and Boar. From the few instances where Nezha sees his father, he does not appear too upset that neighboring provinces are being raided. 

Nezha catches Vaisra grinning down at a letter that when Nezha sneaks into his office later to steal, learns that there was a massive fire in Snake province near a Federation basecamp.  

At dawn, Eriden appears in Nezha’s doorway, “Walk me through everything.”

So Nezha goes day-by-day on his time away from his first step in Khurdalain soil to the moment he arrived back in Arlong. It takes hours, and despite Nezha trying to gloss over details pertaining to Rin, Eriden pries further at every mention of her name, pulling information out of Nezha like he is pulling teeth. 

Nezha can only give so much of her up. 

By mid-afternoon, Nezha is finally dismissed, and he escapes down to the shipyard, taking a shortcut down to the Sring estate. Guilt gnaws at him, he has not seen Venka since their return to Arlong.

He ducks around a corner and jumps across a canal. Nezha is only a block away from Venka’s home when something in the air explodes. 

The ground shakes beneath Nezha’s feet, nearly knocking him off balance, throwing him back into the river. The water ripples, splashing on to the stone. And just as quickly as the trembling started, it stops.

Everything stills. The water, the breeze, even the Dragon with its constant, crawling presence, silences itself. 

And that is when Nezha knows something terrible is off. 

The light shifts. The afternoon sky dimmed as if a shadow had crossed the sun, turning the air thick and gray. Using the back of his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Nezha squints, scanning the horizon. 

Far to the distant northeast, a column of fire and ash clawed its way into the sky, rising higher and higher until it swallowed the clouds. The plume twisted, a pillar of smoke stretching toward the heavens.

His stomach lurches, and he knows.

“Rin, what did you do?”