Chapter Text
Soot and ash settles. The subtle warmth of everything and the chill of nothing at all. Choking sobs of an anguished ghost go unheard, and hot tears go unseen. Blood drips from the sides of what was once a bright white altar, and sitting on it, a mound of unrecognizable flesh. The pitter patter of thick red droplets reaching the once clean floors of the now burnt temple is somehow louder than the wind outside–louder than His Highness’ own marbled thoughts. His own voice echoes in his head, or what used to be his head.
Help me. It hurts…it hurts . Why can’t I die?
He can feel himself healing around the blade that keeps him pinned to the pedestal. It’ll take days, maybe weeks, before he’s back to his senses–back to suffering.
“ I want to save the common people, ” he had said, once upon a time. “ There is nothing wrong with saving people. Why would the heavens condemn me for doing the right thing? ” He was young and drunk on ambition. The unhealthy want of being right. He doesn’t regret what he’d done that day–he’d do it again without being asked to.
“ Body in the abyss, heart in paradise, ” he whispered, sprinkling dirt over the makeshift grave. He’d consecrated the soil for this ghost, even though it had devoured many before now. He had thought everyone deserved a peaceful parting–he still believes this. He would do this again, too, if it meant saving the suffering soul.
“ If you do not know how to live on anymore, then live for me, ” he said. “ I have no answer to the question you asked. However, if you do not know the meaning of your life, then make me that meaning, and use me as your reason to live. ” How presumptuous. Of all the things he’d ever said, this one he regrets the most. Would he say it again? To the boy with bandages wrapped around his frail head? He fears he would.
He could’ve been cruel, if he wanted to be.
Once healed, His Highness blinks his eyes open. His limbs feel as if they’re lead, and the sword that had stabbed him a hundred times over now rests strapped to his waist with the silk band used to bind his hands together before. If anyone had seen him, the first thing they’d notice is the lack of mirth in His Highness’ eyes. If anyone had seen him, they’d know his everyday smile would never come back the same.
If anyone had seen him, they’d see the shell of what was once an ambitious prince.
But no one saw him. No one ever did. Did anyone even know his name?
Ringing is all he hears as he descends the mountain, wearing the tattered robes that had been left for him in the remains. His feet are almost too heavy to lift, his head is almost too muddled to think properly, and his eyes are almost too blurred with tears to see. The wind almost knocked him over a couple of times. He almost trips over multiple overgrown roots. He almost collapses to his knees with thoughts of giving up.
Almost, almost, almost .
He’s almost happy to return to the shack his parents have been waiting for him in. And, oh, they were waiting. Hanging, swinging, creaking, waiting. He stands in the open entrance as he stares, their feet level with his eyes. Hanging, swinging, creaking.
The sound that rumbles from his throat is terrifying, really. His Highness falls to his knees with a thud. He’s suddenly hot and itchy. Grief ravishes every part of his being, leaving him short of breath. He feels small in this bubble he’s been forced into. Quarantined from the rest of the world, from the normalcy that he can no longer find.
Where was his servant, his right hand man, his best friend? Where had he gone? Did he know that the King and Queen of Xianle have been reduced to…to…
“I…I really don’t know…I’m…Why did I follow you all this time?”
Oh…right.
“Then stop following.”
He had told him to go. Even as he whimpers and shivers, no one is here to console him. His Highness is now utterly alone, cursed to this fate for a millenia. His own voice echoes in his mind:
Help me, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts . It hurts . Can’t I die too?