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Xiao is an imperfect weapon. A spear that cracks right in the heat of battle. He fails once again and will be burned in the furnace of someone else’s anger, wrought by pain into something more perfect. He should be used to it by now, but Xiao cannot. His hands tremble, and the spear wobbles in his fingers.
The lives of the people Xiao was supposed to protect were cut short because he was too weak to save them. His wounds ache. Blood flows ceaselessly onto the grass, but Xiao feels too numb to notice.
The air is heavy with swirling ash, and every breath cuts into his lungs like a dagger thrust into his chest. Death seeps into his skin, penetrating his body with each rapid breath. Xiao leans on his blood-stained spear, because otherwise he would collapse onto the scorched grass, and this place would become his grave.
It’s selfish and wrong, but he fears Morax’s well-deserved wrath. So he stands here, the wind caressing his wounded body, a moment of calm before the inevitable. But Xiao is weak, so weak – even though a weapon has no right to be weak.
He’s so good at destroying things, but the moment he had to save someone – he couldn’t do it. Xiao deserves to have all the pain of the innocent people he failed to help today seared into his skin with fire, torn out with claws, and lashed out with a whip. But he is so afraid – that feeling he has always kept and suppressed somewhere deep in his consciousness. Morax managed to pull it out somehow, one thread at a time, from the whole tangled knot, with a gentleness to which Xiao, it seems, will never get used to.
Xiao doesn’t want Rex Lapis to be cruel to him, even if he deserves it. Xiao doesn’t know at what point tears begin to stream from his eyes, mixing with the dried blood on his cheeks. He hasn’t allowed himself to cry for decades, for fear of incurring the wrath.
His heart pounds in his chest, beating against his ribs like a bird, frantically and too fast. All his clothes are black with blood and ash, and Xiao stares intently at the embers dancing over what was once a peaceful village. Children used to play in the streets, people sold fruit and pastries, held festivals – perhaps they dreamed of something; perhaps they had desires.
It would have gone on like this if Xiao had been able to protect them. He is boiled alive by guilt and the weight of his karmic debt. Xiao doesn’t know if he’s been standing here for a couple of minutes or a couple of hours – time has melted into a single, indistinguishable mass, and the taste of the minutes that have passed is as nauseating as that of dreams.
Xiao knows that in time the pain will stop being so sharp – it will return to its usual state of dull, never-ending ache, the kind you can get used to and carry on living with.
A shiver runs down his spine – Xiao can’t see it, but he senses someone else’s presence. He drops to his knees and presses his forehead against the ground, even though his whole body protests, his wounds stretching and reopening.
Rex Lapis stands silently behind him, and the uncertainty frightens Xiao.
“This one has breached our contract, my Lord” Xiao wheezes.
“I don’t think that’s the case,” Morax objects. Xiao hears his footsteps and braces himself for the pain. Nothing happens.
“Keep your head up and look at me, Xiao,” he says. There’s still no anger in his voice, but he leaves no room for argument. So Xiao does what he does best – he obeys. It’s an agonizingly long second before he gathers what little strength he has left and meets Rex Lapis’s gaze.
This guilt burns even more intensely inside him, as if oil had been poured on the fire. Xiao had let down the person to whom he owed everything.
“Tell me: did you do everything you could to save them?”
“I… This one doesn’t know,” the answer sounds pathetic even to him. He is so weak that he cannot take the blame and face the punishment he deserves. But the gods have no patience to always be lenient with something as imperfect as he is. No one cherishes a dull spear. It is sharpened.
“This one will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate,” Xiao finally whispers hoarsely. He’s shaking violently and can’t stop it.
Rex Lapis lets out a heavy sigh, and Xiao flinches as if struck, interpreting it as anger. But Morax steps forward and sits down to be at eye level with him.
“I won’t pun-"
“Does that mean this one has breached the contract and…” Xiao bites his tongue and flinches again, like an animal waiting to be kicked in the gut. He wants to whine and beg, but he reminds himself just in time that speaking without permission – let alone interrupting – won’t end well. He’s screwed up again.
“You didn’t breach the contract, Xiao. If you’d deliberately let those people die, believe me, I would have sensed it” Moraks’s hand moves so slowly that Xiao doesn’t flinch when his fingers touch his face. He wants to draw closer, and perhaps he’s doing just that without realizing it. Xiao is too tired to control himself.
“This is a bloody war, and people are dying no matter how hard we try. You can’t save everyone, Xiao. I believe you did everything in your power today.”
It’s all too good to be true – maybe it’s just a stolen dream, and in a couple of minutes Xiao will wake up chained to the floor of his cell. But he wants to bask in this illusion a little longer.
Rex Lapis stands up, and Xiao suppresses the wave of longing welling up in his chest at the loss of that touch.
“It’s time for us to go,” Morax says, holding out his hand. Xiao wants to say it’s unnecessary, but when he tries to stand up, he realizes just how weak he’s become. His legs tremble like those of a newborn chick, and the only way he can keep from falling is to grab the outstretched hand.
Rex Lapis holds him, pulling him upward as he catches him with his other hand. Xiao lets out a stifled sound as Morax calmly lifts him into his arms. He feels ashamed to stain the god’s white robes with blood, but it feels so warm and good in his arms that Xiao feels as though he absolutely needs it.
Xiao is hovering somewhere on the edge of consciousness – he’s exhausted and in pain, but a small part of him, where a glimmer of hope still burns, tells him he doesn’t have to grit his teeth and bottle it all up inside.
That when he falls, someone will be there to pick him up.