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It starts with no warning.
It starts with another tip on the scale, slight but enough to throw her off balance. It starts with a sudden chill on her neck. It starts with a prickle on her back that she can't shake off. It starts with scanning the trees, looking for a figure that can’t be there, because they’re in the middle of nowhere headed to Tikany. It starts with the racing of her heart. It starts with a flicker of flames between her fingers.
It starts with no warning.
It starts with this:
"Rin?"
Rin freezes. She knows that voice.
"Rin."
She knows that voice, but it's not what she expects. When she fantasized about finally facing him again, he was furious. When she fantasized about burning his heart out with her fire, he was always angry, mad, and bitter that he was defeated.
This voice is weak, hopeless, and lost.
Nevertheless, flames come alive in her hand as she whips around and faces him. Emerging from the trees, but something's wrong. It's not the regal, steady step she expects from the heir of the Dragon Republic. His arms are holding his side, doubled over, and his steps stumble forward, seemingly unaware of flames threatening him.
She stares, unmoving and perplexed, more surprised than frightened, brain thrumming with so many questions that she doesn't know how to react. She's frozen till she finally sees blood trickling down and dropping on his path when he limps toward her.
"Nezha."
It's not her thoughts or intentions that propels her forward, but instinct. She takes a step but as soon as she does, her body slightly leans back, hesitates. But Nezha apparently already took it as a good sign as he stumbles forward his last few steps with startling speed and crashes onto Rin's arms before she retracts them.
"Kitay."
He looks up, and he doesn't look as surprised as she expected he would be if she happened to be dragging Nezha's body into their tent.
"Is he—"
"He's breathing, barely conscious though."
Kitay grabs Nezha's legs and helps her lay him down on the floor, face down. Blood is coming from his back and Rin's hand and arms and torso are splattered with it. She tries not to stare; if she doesn't look at it, she can ignore how much blood he already lost. She heaves out a breath as she finally lets go of his weight.
Rin doesn't know how she managed to drag him here or why—because she should've killed him, right? He's weak, injured, weaponless and she could’ve ended this all in one flick of her wrist and a spark of her flames. She should've.
But this isn't how she pictured her victory—she imagined a bloody fight, battle, a war, just between them, clashing together and emerging from the dust, her and her only. This, this is utterly unlike what should've happened. This is the opposite of everything that should happen.
Yet this is what's happening; blood—so much of it already Rin may have assumed his uniform's red if she doesn't know it's blue. She has to rip it off with her knife, terrified the shirt stuck to his body with already dried blood would take a couple of layers of skin with it. Nezha moans as she gently but firmly lifts his arms to pull his broken pieces of his uniform off.
Rin's breath hitches and Kitay curses when they see the wound—she might have been very worried if it wasn't Nezha and the owner of the wound didn't have self healing abilities. Clearly he was shot, but he did a poor job of removing the arrow. He apparently forcefully yanked it out from his back, with no time to carefully study the wound before doing so. The arrow head protrudes from his back, the ripped off shaft still attached, and the cerulean blue of the Dragon on his back curls around it.
Kitay voices her thoughts. "He was running away, otherwise he wouldn't have tried to pull it off so foolishly."
"Because walking, much less running, with it stuck in the back is almost impossible." She winces, remembering her own back injury in the battle of the Red Cliffs. "But why…"
Her voice trails off to nothing, filling the undeniable question in the air that held no answer. The short silence is interrupted by a moan from Nezha.
Nezha's gift from the Dragon is healing, but not painless life. He's clearly suffering, breath coming faster every second, sweat pooling on his back and joining the blood. She places her hand on his back tentatively.
"The arrow head must go."
"We can't do that now, it's bound to get affected—"
"He will be okay. He can heal himself." Rin's more than certain he won’t die from this.
"Fine." Kitay's face looks slightly green. "I'll do it."
"You sure?"
"You can't do it with your left hand, and there's no suitable tool here for the job so me it is." Kitay rolls up his sleeve. "Just, hold him back so he doesn't move."
Rin places her arms at his shoulder blades. “Like this?”
“Yes.” Kitay takes a breath and splashes water onto the wound to clear the blood. Rin feels Nezha's whole body going rigid.
"At least it's just one wound." Kitay's careful fingers tentatively tilt the protruding arrow.
"Fuck," groans a voice.
"Yeah, fuck." Kitay releases the arrow. "Luckily for you, the arrow head isn't lodged between any bones so this will hurt less than you think."
"You think?"
"Shut up and stay still."
Rin can't help but feel the irony in the air. She's been fantasizing about killing him and now she and Kitay are saving him. Is this her life forever, back and forth, back and forth, till she can't tell the difference between the past and the future, can't tell her enemies apart, can't figure out what she really wants? Would everything forever be shifting, unrecognizable?
You'll have Kitay, she tells herself. No matter what, you'll always have Kitay.
"Do it quick," says Nezha. Rin thinks he's gritting his teeth.
"Maybe I'll take my time, just to spite you," Kitay mutters, takes a breath and yanks out the arrow.
Nezha's body arches and Rin has to throw her entire body weight on him to stop his movements, but the arrow's already free. Blood pools out with the free arrow head, splattering on Kitay's folded knees and gushing down Nezha’s side. He shudders under Rin’s arms, heaves, then all of a sudden, his back visibly relaxes and he slumps down, silent.
Kitay studies the arrow tip that has been embedded in Nezha's back a moment ago, looks up and nods as he meets her eyes. Hesperian made. She had suspicions, but the confirmation twists something inside her.
"Is he out?"
Rin bends down.
"He's unconscious."
"I'll have a look around," says Kitay, pouring water over his hands to wash out the blood. "Make sure no one's suspecting anything."
"I can do that."
"No, I need air anyway." He glances at Nezha's still form. "Just, don't kill him, alright? Not yet."
"I won't."
Kitay gives her a look.
"I won't."
He reaches over, squeezes her hand once briefly, then leaves. And it's just her and Nezha in the tent.
Rin tries looking away first; she busies herself by washing the blood off her hands as well. Tries to scrub the blood off her clothes and only half succeeds. Gathers up the mess on the floor made by Nezha’s torn uniform. Controls her breathing to stop the ridiculous racing of her heart.
When she finds nothing else to occupy her, she tries to focus on the pattern of blood scattered on the floor, occasional insects crawling, tries conjuring small flames to overshadow everything else. She has her knees locked to her chest, trying to stay as far away from him as possible.
“Are you going to kill me?”
Rin swears she almost literally jumps out of her seat, fire bursting into sparks from her hand.
He’s barely opening his eyes, but his head is turned toward her.
“Depends,” she says. “Why are you here?”
“Didn’t know where else,” he mumbles. She waits, but a couple of moments pass by and Rin realizes he’s gotten back into sleep once more.
That fucks up her method of trying to ignore his presence. Now she can’t tear her gaze away from him. He seems okay, minus the exhaustion. His back is already healing, wounds still there but the blood has stopped.
She finds her fingers going lightly across his bare back, over the ups and downs of his muscles. She has seen his Dragon tattoo twice before, one when he first summoned his god and second when he told her of his story. Yet this feels like the first time she truly sees it. Studies the pattern with no distraction of thrashing Nezha or the horror of his story. The silver and cerulean blue color swirming, almost shimmering beneath his skin. She involuntarily shudders as she traces the shape down his back, the delicate details of Arlong’s Dragon.
His skin bears no flaws except for the now-healing wound and in the lower part of it, the sword wound he received back in their first battle. The first time they fought on the same side, the first time Rin realized how well they worked together, and the first time she feared she lost him.
Rin knows she promised Kitay, and her logical self knows it is more sensible…
However.
Her knife slowly slides from her belt. Her left hand is clumsy and it makes more noise than she would've preferred but Nezha doesn't stir. The grip when she makes a fist around the handle shakes. In anticipation, she tells herself.
Just a few moments ago, she gently lifted his arms to take the uniform off his body without causing him discomfort. Now she's attempting to sink her blade on his back. The point lightly hovers above his spine, less than a breath away.
Nezha can heal, but would he be able to heal if the blade is permanently stuck on his back? If the blade pierces his heart, and stays? If it stays lodged between his spine, would it be able to snap itself back to its place?
Only one way to find out.
Now you would know how it feels.
Bring it down. Bring it down, she chants to herself. Because this is so easy, this is childishly easy, it’s an opportunity on a silver platter handed to her. Because she’s done so much harder things in life. She’s blown up a fucking island, for god’s sake.
She can bring the knife down. Sink it through his spine and pierce his heart. Give a twist for extra measure. Rin searches her mind for the hatred, the feeling of absolute murder she harbored when she saw him as they escaped Arlong. Because it is there, it should be there, it should be here.
When the blade doesn’t move, the Dragon seems to hiss at her, laugh at her, undulating movements too real, too real, taunting her, mocking her.
Her hand lowers to her side. Shame floods her. Shame and repulse and confusion all clatter and combust inside her in mere seconds, but she still can't lift her hand again.
"Rin?"
The knife clatters from her hand, dropping to the floor. The sound echoes against her eardrums, too loud in the silent small tent, ricocheting and coming back to her, mirrors her turmoil.
Rin isn't sure she's breathing. She can't hear her own breath as she freezes, waiting for what would happen next, unsure how she'll react.
But nothing happens; nothing unfolds. Rin slowly registers time slipping and ticking by and Nezha hasn’t moved a muscle. Cautious, she peers down at his face. No, he's not awake, he's still gone from the world, unconscious, and he has mumbled her name in his sleep.
Her feet retreat, one step at a time till she collapses in the corner. This time she doesn’t bother trying to tear her gaze away. Her eyes are glued to him, because when were they not? In every battle field, his presence was one of the first things she made sure was still there and intact and whole.
She cannot fathom how much time has passed when Kitay renters the tent.
"Everyone's silent, miraculously. I don't think anyone saw you." He stops when he sees her. "Rin, are you alright?"
"Yes." The voice comes out cracked and she has to clear her throat. "Yes. I'm okay."
She avoids his gaze but she knows he's not buying her bluff. He, however, lets it slide.
"Alright then," he says. "Let's see why he's here."