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Rienchuu sat cross-legged on the floor, tiny fingers fumbling with the silver ring he’d stolen from Caelus’ nightstand. It was far too big for him, slipping over his knuckles and dangling loosely as he spun it around, watching how the ring shined under the light
"Why do married people wear rings?" Rienchuu asked suddenly, his voice soft but curious, breaking the peaceful silence of their sun-drenched home, "What does it prove?"
Caelus glanced up from where he was folding freshly laundered robes, his fox ears twitching slightly with amusement. His golden eyes softened as he crossed the room, kneeling beside his son, “It shows that they care about each other” he replied, gently plucking the ring from Rienchuu’s small hand and slipping it onto his own finger, where it belonged, “And the ring represents a promise”
Rienchuu tilted his head, thinking hard, "What promise?"
Caelus smiled, the kind that felt warm like sunlight on skin, yet held the weight of something unspoken—fragile and eternal all at once, “The promise made to care about each other forever and ever”
The boy frowned thoughtfully, lips pursed as he mulled over his father’s words. His gaze flickered to the matching ring on Dan Feng’s finger, where the man sat quietly by the window, a book resting on his knee though his sharp, jade-green eyes were trained on them
“What did you and Dad promise?”
Dan Feng’s breath hitched, just slightly—a subtle falter no one but Caelus would’ve noticed. Caelus did. He always did. He reached over, his hand brushing over Dan Feng’s wrist
“We promised to never leave each other's side,” Caelus said softly, fingers curling around Dan Feng’s. “And that we’ll always be together as a family in every universe”
Dan Feng didn’t speak, but his hand tightened around Caelus’, thumb brushing over his knuckles in a silent affirmation. Rienchuu beamed, satisfied with the answer, before scampering off to chase after a paper crane fluttering lazily through the room
Caelus leaned his head against Dan Feng’s shoulder with a quiet sigh, “Think he’ll believe that when he’s older?”
Dan Feng’s voice was a low murmur, steady but tinged with something fragile beneath, “It depends...”
Caelus tilted his head slightly, his fox ears flickering at the softness threaded through Dan Feng’s words. The sunlight filtered through the window, casting gentle patterns over Dan Feng’s features—the sharp lines of his jaw softened by the golden glow, the glint of his jade-green eyes dulled into something warmer, quieter. Caelus studied him for a moment, committing every detail to memory as if afraid it might slip away unnoticed, like sand through his fingers
“Depends on what?” Caelus prompted gently, though part of him already knew the answer
Dan Feng’s gaze lingered on Rienchuu, who was now giggling softly, chasing the drifting paper crane with clumsy little steps, his tiny feet padding against the wooden floor. The crane floated lazily, caught in a current of air from the open window, leading the boy in circles
“On whether we can keep our promise,” Dan Feng whispered at last, his thumb still tracing slow, thoughtful arcs over Caelus’s knuckles. His words weren’t meant to be heavy, but they settled between them like the faint shadow of something distant—too far to touch, yet impossible to ignore
Caelus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned closer into Dan Feng’s side, their shoulders pressed together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle that had always belonged. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and old parchment that always lingered around Dan Feng, grounding himself in the present
“We will,” Caelus murmured eventually, his voice filled with a quiet certainty that didn’t need proof, “We already are”
Dan Feng didn’t argue. He never did when Caelus spoke like that—like his words alone could stitch the fabric of the universe back together if it ever dared to fray
A soft thud interrupted the fragile stillness as Rienchuu toddled back toward them, his little legs wobbling with the effort. Without a word, he climbed clumsily onto the low seat beside them, worming his way between his two fathers with all the determination of a child who knew he was exactly where he belonged. He curled up, his small body pressing against Dan Feng’s side, his head resting heavily on Dan Feng’s arm as sleep began to pull him under
Dan Feng froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the sudden weight. Then, almost imperceptibly, his posture softened. His free hand shifted, adjusting Rienchuu’s tousled hair with the lightest touch, careful not to wake him
Caelus watched the scene unfold, his heart swelling with something too big to name. His gaze traced the delicate slope of Rienchuu’s face, the soft rise and fall of his tiny chest as he drifted into peaceful sleep. Then his eyes shifted to Dan Feng—stoic, composed Dan Feng—whose expression had softened into something almost tender, the sharpness dulled by the presence of their son
I hope this never ends, Caelus thought, the words echoing in his mind like a quiet prayer
Because how could it? How could something this perfect, this achingly beautiful, be anything less than eternal? The warmth of Dan Feng’s shoulder against his, the soft weight of Rienchuu nestled between them, the golden light pouring through the windows like the universe itself was trying to cradle them in its arms—surely, this was the kind of moment that stretched beyond time
Caelus reached out, his fingers brushing over Dan Feng’s wrist again. Dan Feng turned slightly, his eyes meeting Caelus’s gaze. No words were exchanged. None were needed
Instead, Caelus smiled—a soft, small thing, but filled with everything he couldn’t say aloud
Dan Feng’s hand found his again, fingers intertwining effortlessly, like they were made to fit
And in that fragile, fleeting stillness, Caelus dared to believe their promise was unbreakable
Even if he didn’t yet realize how easily hearts could shatter
Even if he didn’t know that sometimes, forever wasn’t as long as it should be
But for now, it was enough...
Beneath a sky that forgot our names,
I ink these echoes in borrowed light,
Where time’s brittle spine bends and breaks—
A ledger of love, of loss, of might
The sky wasn’t the same anymore
Where once it had been a vast canvas painted with soft hues of blues and golds, now it was bruised with shades of crimson and gray, choked by the ash and smoke rising from distant fires. The distant sound of battle echoed like a heartbeat—steady, unrelenting, a grim reminder that time was running out
Inside their home, it felt as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Gone was the warmth of lazy mornings filled with Rienchuu’s laughter, replaced now by hurried footsteps, hushed voices, and the bitter metallic scent of fear
Dan Feng’s hands trembled—not from weakness, but from the sheer force it took to not reach out, to not hold Caelus back as he fastened the last of his armor. The gleaming plates caught the flickering light like shards of a broken promise
“You don’t have to do this,” Dan Feng whispered, his voice a low, desperate plea, almost lost beneath the clatter of Caelus adjusting the buckles on his chest plate. His jade-green eyes were sharp, burning with an emotion too vast to contain—anger, fear, love—all tangled together in knots he couldn’t untie
Caelus didn’t look at him at first. His fingers worked with precision, tightening straps, checking the edges of his weapon. But Dan Feng knew him too well. He saw the slight tremor in his hands, the way his fox ears flicked back, betraying the calm facade he wore like armor thicker than steel
“I do,” Caelus replied finally, his voice steady but quieter than usual. He turned, his golden eyes meeting Dan Feng’s with a fire that matched the ones burning outside their home, “This is our home. If I don’t protect it, who will?”
Dan Feng’s jaw clenched, his breath catching in his throat. “Me,” he snapped, stepping forward. “I will.. I’m the Imbibitor Lunae—I was born for this, You… you don’t have to—”
“I was born for this too!” Caelus’s voice rose, sharp and fierce, cutting through the space between them. His chest heaved with the weight of the words, of the war raging not just outside, but inside their hearts. “You think I don’t know the risks? That I haven’t thought about what it means to leave you and Rienchuu behind if something happens?”
Dan Feng’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides
“Then don’t leave,” he whispered, his voice crumbling into something fragile
Caelus’s face softened, the fire dimming into a quiet ache. He stepped closer, closing the space between them until Dan Feng could feel the faint warmth radiating from his armor, cool against his own fevered skin. He reached out, cupping Dan Feng’s face with both hands, his thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his cheekbones, grounding him
“I have to,” Caelus murmured, his voice like a promise and an apology woven into one, “Because if I don’t fight, who will protect the world Rienchuu’s supposed to grow up in?”
Dan Feng swallowed hard, his heart screaming, I don’t care about the world—I care about you. But he didn’t say it. He couldn’t
Instead, he exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against Caelus’s, their breaths mingling in the fragile space between them. “Then promise me something”
Caelus’s eyes fluttered shut, “Anything”
“Get Rienchuu to safety first,” Dan Feng whispered, his fingers curling around the fabric of Caelus’s sleeve, holding on like it was the only thing keeping him from shattering. “Before you come back to me—get him somewhere safe”
Caelus didn’t hesitate. He nodded, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Dan Feng’s forehead, then to his lips—an anchor, a memory, something to carry with him into the chaos
“I promise”
The words settled between them like fragile glass—whole for now, but so easily broken
Rienchuu appeared in the doorway, clutching a little paper crane, his small face pale and confused, sensing the tension but too young to understand. Caelus turned, his expression softening as he approached their son, kneeling to meet him at eye level
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing Rienchuu’s hair back gently, “We’re going on a little adventure, okay? Just you and me. We’re going somewhere safe”
Rienchuu’s lip wobbled, “But what about Daddy?”
Caelus forced a smile, even as his heart cracked. “Daddy will catch up soon. He’s just… he has to finish something first”
Dan Feng stood silently, his chest burning with every breath, as he watched Caelus lift their son into his arms, holding him close as if trying to memorize the shape of him. He turned to Dan Feng one last time, their eyes locking
Don’t make me let you go, Dan Feng thought, but he nodded anyway, his pride crumbling under the weight of love
Caelus smiled faintly—brave, stubborn, beautiful—and then he was gone, disappearing into the smoke and the sound of distant thunder
Dan Feng stood in the doorway long after, his fingers still curled around the empty space where Caelus’s hand had been
The promise hung in the air
I promise.
But promises were easy to make
Harder to keep
I carved my heart in fragile stone,
Etched vows within the marrow’s thread,
But stone will crack, and threads unwind,
When shadows bloom, and words fall dead
The battlefield was a cacophony of chaos—metal clashing against metal, the acrid stench of blood mingling with smoke, and the earth itself trembling under the weight of war. The sky had turned an unforgiving shade of gray, the clouds bloated with ash, blotting out the sun as if the heavens themselves mourned the lives being torn apart below
Dan Feng moved like a force of nature, his waves an extension of his will, slicing through enemy ranks with precision and fury. His jade-green eyes were sharp, unyielding, burning with a singular focus, stay close to Caelus
Amidst the chaos, a deafening explosion of energy erupted—an enemy’s desperation given form. The blast forced Dan Feng back, dust and debris clouding his vision. When it cleared, Caelus was gone
Panic didn’t suit Dan Feng. It was foreign, like armor that didn’t fit. But the moment he realized Caelus was no longer beside him, it gripped him like a vice. He didn’t hesitate—couldn’t. Cutting down the enemy in his path with brutal efficiency, he carved through the battlefield, his heart pounding louder than the war drums, louder than the screams
Please be okay. Please be okay.
He atlast found him behind a jagged outcrop of stone, partially hidden from the raging battle
Caelus was crumpled on the ground, his once-vibrant armor stained dark with blood. A spear pierced clean through his chest, the metal glinting mockingly in the dim light. His fox ears twitched weakly, a faint, trembling movement that almost broke Dan Feng more than the sight of the wound itself
“Caelus!"
Dan Feng’s voice tore from his throat, raw and ragged, as he dropped to his knees beside him. His hands, steady even in battle, trembled as they hovered over the spear, unsure whether to pull it out or leave it—knowing either choice wouldn’t matter
Caelus’ golden eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, dull and glassy but still holding that familiar warmth. A weak smile tugged at the corner of his lips
“Hey… you found me,” Caelus rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth
Dan Feng’s heart shattered
“I’m here,” he whispered, cradling Caelus’s face with shaking hands, his fingers stained red. “I’m here..”
Caelus’s breath hitched, a wet, gurgling sound that made Dan Feng’s stomach twist, “Guess… I didn’t follow orders very well, huh?”
“Don’t,” Dan Feng choked out, his vision blurring with tears he couldn’t afford, “Don’t say a word. You’re going to be fine. Just—just hold on”
But Caelus’s hand—trembling, blood-slicked—reached up, brushing weakly against Dan Feng’s cheek. His touch was feather-light, as if he were already slipping away
“You… always looked so serious,” Caelus whispered, a faint laugh caught between pain. “But you… have the softest eyes… when you’re worried”
Dan Feng let out a broken sob, pressing his forehead against Caelus’s, his tears mixing with the blood on his skin
“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking like brittle glass. “Please.. We promised—we promised to never leave each other’s side”
Caelus’s breathing grew shallower, his smile fading into something fragile, something fleeting, “I’m sorry… I couldn’t keep it”
“No,” Dan Feng’s voice was a desperate whisper, shaking his head as if denial alone could change fate. “No, no, no…”
Caelus’s eyes drifted toward the sky, unfocused, as if searching for something beyond Dan Feng’s reach. His fingers tightened slightly around Dan Feng’s hand—one last squeeze, one last fragment of strength
“Tell Rienchuu… I love him,” Caelus breathed out, his voice barely audible, “Tell him… I tried… to come home from an.. Epic battle.. hm?”
And then, with a final exhale, his hand went limp
Dan Feng didn’t realize he was screaming until his throat felt raw, until his voice broke under the weight of grief too vast to contain. He pulled Caelus’s body close, clutching him as if he could will life back into him, rocking back and forth as the battle raged on around them, irrelevant now
The world felt quieter somehow, even with the sounds of war—because the one voice Dan Feng needed to hear was gone
Their promise shattered, like glass underfoot
To you, beloved—fox of flame,
Whose laughter stitched the dawn anew,
Forgive the breach, the hollow ache,
For I could not keep the world from you.
The door creaked open with a sound that felt too small for the weight it carried
Dan Feng stepped through, his silhouette dark against the broken light of dusk. His robes, once regal and pristine, were soaked in blood—some not his own, but too much of it belonging to the man cradled in his arms. Caelus’ body hung limp, his once-vibrant features pale and still, a cruel contrast to the warmth he used to radiate
Their home, once filled with laughter and light, was a shadow of what it had been. The walls were cracked, dust settling where framed memories used to hang. The roof sagged, letting in shafts of dying sunlight that painted everything in sickly gold. But Dan Feng didn’t see any of it
His steps were heavy, mechanical. The world outside had gone silent, but inside his head, there was nothing but noise—screams, echoes of Caelus’s final breath, the phantom warmth of his last touch
“Dad!”
A small figure dashed from the corner of the ruined hallway—Rienchuu. His small legs carried him quickly, his face lighting up with relief upon seeing Dan Feng. Without hesitation, he threw his arms around Dan Feng’s leg, clinging tightly
But then he froze
His little hands came away sticky with blood. The sharp, metallic scent hit him all at once. Slowly, he looked up
Dan Feng didn’t meet his gaze. His eyes were empty, void of the warmth Rienchuu had always known. Cold, distant—like he was looking through him, not at him
Rienchuu staggered back, his face crumpling with confusion and fear
“D… Dad?” his voice wavered, “What’s… what’s wrong? Why is there—why are you—”
But Dan Feng said nothing
Without a glance, he walked past his son, each step leaving faint crimson footprints on the fractured floor. Rienchuu stood frozen for a moment, then hurried after him, his small feet padding quickly to catch up
Dan Feng entered the bedroom—the place that had been their sanctuary, filled with whispered conversations, sleepy mornings, and quiet love. Now it felt like a tomb
He laid Caelus gently on the bed, brushing a strand of silver hair from his face as if he might wake. His fingers lingered, trembling slightly, then stilled
Rienchuu hovered in the doorway, his small hands clenched into fists, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths
“Dad…” he whispered, stepping closer, “Is… is Papa okay?”
Dan Feng didn’t respond
“Dad?” Rienchuu’s voice grew louder, desperate, cracking under the weight of fear. He took another hesitant step forward, “Why isn't he awake? What’s wrong with Papa?”
Dan Feng finally spoke, his voice low and hollow
“Leave us alone.”
The words hit like a slap. Cold. Final
Rienchuu’s face crumpled, tears welling in his wide eyes. But he didn’t listen. He couldn’t. His heart screamed louder than the fear gripping him
He ran forward, throwing himself at Dan Feng, wrapping his arms around his waist despite the blood, despite the coldness radiating from him
“No!” Rienchuu sobbed, burying his face against Dan Feng’s side. “I don’t want to! I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want to leave Papa! Please—please, what’s wrong? What’s wrong with papa?!”
Dan Feng didn’t move
His hands remained on Caelus, gently adjusting the folds of his robes as if perfection could somehow undo death. His gaze never shifted from his husband’s face, as if Rienchuu’s cries were echoes from a distant world
Rienchuu’s sobs grew louder, his small body shaking
“Please, Dad…” His voice was hoarse, broken, muffled against blood-soaked fabric, “Don’t ignore me… I’m scared…”
But Dan Feng’s silence was an abyss
Rienchuu eventually slid to his knees, still clutching Dan Feng’s robes, his tears soaking into crimson stains. His sobs grew softer, fragile, like the last flicker of a dying flame
Dan Feng remained frozen
The only thing that moved was his hand, brushing through Caelus’s hair one last time, as if trying to memorize the texture, the feeling—because memory was all he had left
And to the child of dawn’s first breath,
Whose eyes bore galaxies unknown,
I left too soon, a withered leaf,
A name engraved, yet not a home.
The house hadn’t changed much in the past five years. The walls still held faint marks where Caelus had once measured Rienchuu’s height with a proud smile. The corners still gathered dust no matter how often Rienchuu cleaned. But somehow, despite everything staying the same, the house felt… emptier
Rienchuu had learned early on that grief had a way of stealing things quietly. Not just people—but warmth, color, laughter. It seeped into the walls, settled into the silence, and grew heavier with each passing day
After Caelus’ death, Dan Feng had withered like a flower left out in the frost. The father Rienchuu remembered—the one with gentle hands and rare, quiet smiles—faded into someone else entirely. A man made of sharp edges and distant stares, his jade-green eyes dulled by something Rienchuu couldn’t fix, no matter how hard he tried
At first, Rienchuu tried to bridge the gap
He’d tug at Dan Feng’s sleeves, asking questions with a hopeful grin, trying to remind him of the boy who used to sit cross-legged on the floor, spinning rings too big for his fingers. He’d draw pictures of their family—him, Papa, and Dad holding hands under a bright sun—and leave them on Dan Feng’s desk
But the drawings piled up, untouched. The questions went unanswered
Eventually, Rienchuu stopped asking
He learned how to make breakfast on his own. He trained himself with a wooden staff, mimicking the moves he’d seen soldiers practice, the way his papa had once shown him. He grew into his father’s silence, because what was the point of words if no one listened?
By the time he was thirteen, Rienchuu had grown taller, his face leaner, his expressions subdued. His eyes, once bright with curiosity, now held the same distant gleam as Dan Feng’s—except his carried a quiet understanding
He understood now
Dan Feng wasn’t really living anymore. He was just… existing
And Rienchuu had learned how to exist alongside him
When Rienchuu came home that day, sweat dripping from his temple after hours of training, the door creaked open like always. The house greeted him with the same oppressive quiet, the kind that settled in his chest like a stone
He toed off his worn boots, fingers brushing against a scar on his palm—a faded memory of training too hard, too fast. Papa would’ve scolded him for that. Dan Feng hadn’t even noticed
Rienchuu moved on autopilot, expecting the usual, cold tea left forgotten on the table, maybe Dan Feng sitting by the window, staring at nothing
But today was different
His footsteps slowed when he saw it—a small box on the table. Neatly placed. A letter beside it, the familiar handwriting delicate and precise
Something inside him stilled
For a moment, he didn’t move. The house felt heavier than ever, the walls pressing in. Then his legs carried him forward, each step an echo in the hollow space that used to be a home
The envelope read, For Rienchuu
His heart clenched
His fingers trembled as he picked it up. But instead of opening it, he glanced down the hallway, his breath caught in his throat
The bedroom door was slightly ajar
Rienchuu’s feet moved on their own, the letter crumpling slightly in his grip. He pushed the door open
And there, lying peacefully on the bed, was his father.. Dan Feng
His father was dressed in ceremonial robes, the same ones Rienchuu had seen in old portraits of him and Caelus. His long hair was neatly brushed, cascading over his shoulders like silk. His face was calm, almost serene, a stark contrast to the haunted emptiness he’d worn for years
The bottle of poison sat on the bedside table
Rienchuu didn’t cry—not at first. His mind refused to catch up with what his heart already knew
Father was gone
Gone
His knees hit the floor before the grief did, the letter falling from his hand, the ink smudged by trembling fingers
For Rienchuu
My dear Rienchuu,
I am sorry
There is no more hope left in me, no grand words to soften the cruelty of this. I have carried the weight of my grief like armor, but even armor cracks. I thought I could be strong for you, but I have failed—not just as your father, but as the man who promised to never leave
I miss him, I miss your Father every day. Every breath without him has been a hollow echo, and I am tired of the emptiness. I have nothing left to give, Rienchuu. Not to this world. Not even to you, though you deserved so much more from me
This is not your fault. It was never your fault. You were the light I couldn’t reach, even when it was right in front of me. I hope, one day, you’ll understand. Or maybe you won’t. I don’t expect forgiveness. I only hope you find the strength I could not
In the box are our rings—the promise we made to for eachother. It was meant to be forever, but we broke that promise long ago when I let my grief steal me from you. Maybe now, I can keep it in some small way
I love you, Rienchuu. I always have. I just didn’t know how to show it without him
Be better than me. Live, Fly like the cranes. Be strong in your own way, Be alive for us.
We love you
Rienchuu read the letter in silence. No tears. Just the sharp, crushing ache of emptiness
When he opened the box and saw the silver ring—familiar, tarnished, a symbol of promises made and broken—something inside him shattered
He clutched it to his chest, his body folding in on itself as he sank to the floor beside the empty bed. The echoes of his family’s laughter haunted the hollow spaces of his heart, a melody long forgotten
And for the first time in five years, Rienchuu wept
Love was the promise—
But promise is glass,
Clear in its beauty,
Fragile to pass.
Time had been both a thief and a reluctant companion to Rienchuu
The years had carved lines into his face, not just from age but from the weight of grief etched deep into his soul. His hair, once a tousled mess of soft strands his papa used to ruffle, had grown long and tied neatly at the back—more out of habit than vanity. His eyes, sharp and golden like Caelus’, carried the shadows of memories he could never escape
He had lived through more days than he ever thought he would. Some days, he forgot to count. Others, the ache of absence was the only thing that reminded him he was still alive
The house he grew up in had long been left behind, abandoned like the echoes of laughter that once filled it. He traveled often, not out of desire, but because staying in one place felt like suffocating under the weight of ghosts. He fought when he needed to, worked when he could, and existed when he had no other choice
But he never forgot
His father’s rings hung from a thin cord around his neck, resting against his chest—a silent, constant reminder of promises made and broken
It was an ordinary day when it happened
Rienchuu had been at the market, bartering with a vendor over the price of rice. The sun was warm, casting golden streaks across the bustling streets of the Luofu, the air filled with voices layered atop one another—merchants shouting, children laughing, life moving on like it always did
Until it didn’t
A group of children ran past him, their voices high with excitement
"It’s them!" one of them shouted, pointing down the street, "It's the new Imbibitor Lunae and his companions!"
Rienchuu didn’t think much of it at first. He’d heard whispers—rumors about a man who had awakened the powers of the Imbibitor Lunae, someone who had become something more, someone the universe seemed to watch with bated breath. He’d dismissed it as just another story in a world full of them
But then he looked
And the world tilted on its axis
Down the street, amidst a small gathering of curious onlookers, stood a man with raven-black hair tied loosely, long strands framing a face Rienchuu thought he’d buried in memory. His posture was rigid, poised with the quiet grace of someone both lost and found. His jade-green eyes—sharp, distant, and familiar—swept over the crowd with the same gaze Rienchuu had once tried to catch when he was a boy desperate for his father’s attention
Dan Feng
No—not Dan Feng
But…
His heart lurched painfully, as if the years between them collapsed into nothing
Rienchuu’s feet moved before his mind could catch up, weaving through the crowd until he was close enough to see the faint scar near the man’s temple, the way his hand rested instinctively over his chest—where a ring used to be
But it wasn’t just him
Next to him stood another figure, laughing at something the others said, his voice bright and clear. His golden eyes shimmered under the sunlight, his features delicate and fox-like, his smile easy and wide—too familiar
Caelus.?
Or someone who wore his face
Rienchuu stopped dead in his tracks, the air leaving his lungs all at once. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, fingers curling into fists as his heart raced with something between grief and disbelief
They looked the same
Exactly the same
But different.
No rings. No recognition in their eyes when they passed him. Just two strangers with faces carved from the past
Rienchuu didn’t call out. He couldn’t
His throat felt tight, the words lost somewhere between his ribs, trapped by the ghosts he carried. He watched as they walked past him, laughing with companions he didn’t know, their steps light and unburdened by the years that had crushed him
They were alive
And yet, they weren’t
Rienchuu stood there long after they were gone, his groceries forgotten at his feet. His chest ached—not the sharp sting of fresh grief, but the dull, familiar throb of an old wound torn open
His fingers brushed against the ring beneath his shirt, feeling the cool metal against his skin
They kept their promise
"We’ll always be together as a family in every universe"
But they don't remember
Rienchuu’s vision blurred, though no tears fell. He’d run out of those years ago
And yet, for the first time in a long time, he felt something else—something fragile and terrifying
Hope
Maybe this wasn’t the end of their story after all
If echoes linger where voices fade,
Let this be the ember I leave behind:
Not all who vanish are truly gone,
And not all broken hearts stay confined.
The message arrived just past midday, a curious note slid under their hotel door, written in elegant, flowing script,
Meet me at the central tea house, for a cup of tea —old acquaintance
Dan Heng looked at the note for a moment, his gaze sharp, calculating. He read it twice, then once more, his mind picking at the edges of its mysterious tone. He didn’t like it. The anonymity felt strange, a thread of unease tugging at him. They were busy, after all—he had responsibilities, missions, tasks that needed attention
But…
Caelus was looking over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with that characteristic curiosity he wore so well, and as always, his gentle insistence won out
“It might be interesting,” Caelus said, his voice light and carefree, the same way it always sounded when he was coaxing Dan Heng into something outside his usual routine, “It’s just tea. You can always leave if it doesn’t feel right”
Dan Heng exhaled, his fingers brushing over the edge of the note once more. He didn’t like the idea of meeting strangers. Not when he had too many responsibilities to consider. But… there was something about the message that made him want to follow it. A pull. He couldn’t explain it
“Alright,” he finally agreed, tucking the note into his coat pocket, “But we leave if anything feels off”
Caelus smiled brightly, never one to worry about what was to come. They made their way to the central tea house, the familiar scent of oolong and jasmine wafting through the air as they stepped inside. It was a bustling place, as it always was, filled with patrons enjoying the warm atmosphere. But as they stepped through the doors, Dan Heng immediately noticed the absence of the usual noise. It was quieter than it should have been, an odd stillness to the room
And then they saw him
At the back, seated alone at a table with a delicate tea set laid out before him, was a man
His back was straight, posture perfect, his hands resting calmly atop the table as if waiting. The moment Dan Heng’s gaze landed on him, a strange sensation washed over him—a mix of recognition and unfamiliarity
The man’s hair was dark, tied to the back, and his eyes shone golden with an intensity that seemed far too familiar. He was staring directly at them, a soft smile on his lips, though his gaze seemed far more knowing than a stranger’s should be
He stood as they approached, his movements cautious but soft, as though he were someone who had lived many lives before. The moment their eyes met, Dan Heng’s heart skipped a beat, a strange, painful sense of nostalgia clawing at his chest
“Greetings,” the man greeted, his voice warm, but distant—almost as if they had known each other long ago, “Please, sit”
Dan Heng hesitated for only a moment, his mind running through possibilities. This was a meeting arranged by someone who knew something he didn’t. And yet… there was a strange familiarity that unsettled him
Caelus, always the more trusting one, sat down without hesitation, smiling warmly as he settled across from the stranger. Dan Heng followed, his instincts telling him to stay on edge, to not let his guard down
“I’m sure you must be wondering why I asked to meet you here,” the man began, his voice smooth and almost lyrical. There was an ethereal quality to him, something timeless, like someone who had witnessed centuries pass. His gaze softened as he spoke, as if this was an old conversation in a life long gone. “But I’ll start simply. My name is Rienchuu”
Dan Heng’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The name sounded faintly familiar, like an echo of a memory he could never quite place. He said nothing, though, merely nodding in acknowledgment
Rienchuu continued, speaking in a calm, almost detached manner, “I’ve heard of you—of your exploits. The things you’ve done to protect this place, this world. And it is with gratitude that I offer you this gift”
He reached for a small box on the table, the wood finely polished, intricate patterns carved into its surface. He opened it slowly, revealing two rings, their silver sheen catching the light in a way that made them look almost sacred
“These rings,” Rienchuu said quietly, “are symbols of a promise, a connection that transcends time. A gift of remembrance”
Dan Heng’s gaze lingered on the rings, his heart giving a heavy lurch. He couldn’t explain it—something about them felt like it had belonged to him once, that they were meant for him, as if he had known them long before now
Rienchuu placed the box in front of them, his eyes shifting between Dan Heng and Caelus. “Please,” he said gently, “wear them. Wear them on your ring finger, as a symbol of what you’ve done for us, for all of us”
Caelus smiled and took one of the rings from the box, sliding it onto his finger without hesitation. Dan Heng, on the other hand, hesitated, his mind clouded by confusion. But something urged him, something whispered at the back of his mind. With a deep breath, he picked up the second ring and slipped it onto his own finger
There was a moment of silence
And then Rienchuu stood, his eyes softened with a mixture of sadness and something else—regret, perhaps, or longing. “I hope you have a long and happy life,” he said quietly. “For what is to come… the future may hold many things. But know that I will always be grateful for what you did”
Dan Heng said nothing in response. He couldn’t. The weight of the rings on his finger, the strange pull of memories that didn’t belong to him, left him feeling like he was caught between two worlds. A part of him was overwhelmed by the odd sense of loss, while another part was full of an inexplicable comfort
As they left the tea house, the air outside cool against their skin, Dan Heng couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed—that in a moment, everything had shifted, though he couldn’t say why
"I'm just exhausted.." Dan Heng muttered to himself, though Caelus heard it
"What?" Caelus poked, raising an eyebrow to Dan Heng
"Ah.. nothing, let's go back to the hotel" He brushed Caelus off, already walking forward. Leaving Caelus behind
"Ah hey! Wait up!"
Rienchuu watched as the two of them left, his heart heavy with a bittersweet sense of fulfillment. He had done what he had promised himself to do. He had given them the rings. He had spoken the words
He hadn’t told them everything—about who he really was, about the promises that spanned across lifetimes, about the family they had once been. But it didn’t matter
He couldn’t
All he could do now was watch them from afar, wishing them a life of peace, free from the burdens of the past
And perhaps, in another world, in another lifetime, they would remember
But for now, he had given them what they needed. He had given them their gift of gratitude
With a sigh, he whispered into the quiet air, the words only meant for himself,
“Goodbye, Dad.. Papa.. I wish you both a true happy future where you both can live together in peace.."
End .