[ f i c ] That which never tarnishes | Zeno + Shin-ah
Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona
Characters: Zeno + Shin-ah
Rating: PG
Words: 6,000
Notes: Spoilers for Zeno’s reveal. Exploring the idea of his mind being turned “on” for so long, and how Shin-ah might come the closest to understanding him. And I just wanna talk and wibble at length about these guys, so I welcome any comments.
Sometimes, Zeno scares Shin-ah.
Ironically, it’s his eyes that scare him. It takes Shin-ah a long time to pinpoint both the emotion and the source of it, not able to wrap his mind around the idea of someone else’s eyes being frightening without being cursed or terrifying the way his own are.
Even more confusing is the kind of fright he feels. It reminds him, sharply and painfully, of the fear he felt as he watched Ao deteriorate in front of him, the way his eyes dulled towards the end. He’d taken a peek once, without his mask, and never done it again, frightened by the clarity with which he could see the cloudy threads that had spread over his pupils like a spider’s nest.
The realization comes one night, when the air is heavy and still, layering a film of humidity over Shin-ah’s sweat-dampened forehead. He adjusts his mask when it starts to slip and gathers the last few blocks of firewood under his arm, taking the chance to breathe in the thick evening air and catch a glimpse of the faint fuchsia glow left from the sun finishing its daily hike over the mountains. From atop his head, Ao chatters happily, enjoying the particularly tart berries found in this forest.
“I’ll carry it,” Kija says, already struggling up from the ground where he’d sat a little while before. Shin-ah shakes his head once, and instead offers an arm. Kija takes it, reaching for the firewood immediately, and Shin-ah steps back, shaking his head again. Kija huffs, “You’ve been chopping all day, the least I can do is carry this last batch.”
Kija is frustrated, Shin-ah knows, because he’s still recovering from their latest skirmish and no one has let him help out with anything that doesn’t require sitting. Shin-ah’s been working, little by little, on recognizing when words are necessary, when his gestures aren’t enough to convey his thoughts. The way Kija’s face tightens as Shin-ah starts walking, ignoring Kija’s outstretched hand, lets him know this is one of those times. He licks his lips and says, “You’re tired… I’m not.” Kija looks like he wants to protest that, so he adds, “I want to.”
A breath, filled with the roar of the cicadas clinging to the tree trunks, then Kija sighs and smiles a little, looking at Shin-ah in that way that usually precedes a comment about little brothers. This time, he only puts a hand on Shin-ah’s shoulder and curls his fingers into the fluffy mane that lies there. Ao takes the opportunity to hop onto Kija’s shoulder.
“Thank you. By the way,” Kija says, falling into step next to Shin-ah and stretching his neck to look around, though with the fall of night not much is visible anymore. “Where’s Zeno? I was supposed to fetch both of you for dinner. I assumed he was with you since he hasn’t been around the campsite all day. Not since Yoon shooed him away from the food preparations this morning, at least.”
Shin-ah cocks his head to the side, adjusting the blocks of wood into a more comfortable position in his arms. He realizes, suddenly, that though the day he’d spent chopping firewood could be described as peaceful, looking back he wants to tag the words long and empty to it as well. He doesn’t know if it’s due to the relative solitude of the day or Zeno’s absence specifically. “He was…” He scans the area with his dragon eyes, seeing objects outlined like sharp, detailed sketches, and among them, a small figure in the distance. Something heavy and unwelcome makes itself comfortable in his gut and he frowns. “He is… at a clearing, past the stream…”
The campsite comes into view, a flickering fire keeping the onslaught of shadows away while the smell of roasting meat and herbs settles in the air, accumulated by the lack of breeze. Yoon’s back is to them, stirring the pot suspended over the fire while the others mill about in various states of lazy occupation, fletching arrows or scrubbing at clothes. This is rare downtime, but they’d agreed they needed time to regroup and restock.
“Ah, I can feel him - it’s the stream we passed on the way here, right?”
Shin-ah nods and deposits the firewood at the edge of the clearing, on top of the pile he’s amassed throughout the day.
“Then I’ll go get him-”
Shin-ah grabs Kija’s arm, gently, mindful of the injury that sits innocently under the cloth. When that gesture doesn’t seem to beget any understanding, he says softly, “I will.”
He leaps away before Kija can say anything else.
The clearing is not far, past a gurgling stream that manages to reflect glints of moonlight through the shrubbery. Shin-ah stops at the edge where the trees thin out, a rocky outcropping making the ground unsuitable for deeper roots. Weedy, tall grasses surround the jagged outcrop where Zeno sits, staring up. He’s not even facing the half-moon, but staring somewhere into the void of blue-black sky spread out above him like an inverted ocean. Out here in the open there is a faint breeze that curls a few strands of hair around Zeno’s face, or at least the portion of it that Shin-ah can see from this angle. The strands catch the rays of light and glow faintly.
Shin-ah is nervous. Despite volunteering, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say, or even how to approach Zeno. All he knows is that something is off, but he hadn’t realized it until he’d scanned for Zeno and found him in the exact position he’d been since mid-morning. Shin-ah usually tries to check on his companions throughout the day, dragging his eyes over the landscape until he’s accounted for each one of them, and he hadn’t thought anything this morning at finding Zeno sitting calmly in the clearing, presumably meditating. He hadn’t thought much about it when he’d checked a few hours later either. Zeno was there, alive, unhurt, his presence flat and unassuming like an undisturbed pond. But now, with the barest glide of a chill creeping up his arms and Zeno so still and unmoving, Shin-ah can only think that it’s wrong for Zeno to be motionless. That the pond wasn’t still so much as it was frozen.
Zeno’s energy is golden, that is a fact. But where Yona has likened it to sunshine, Shin-ah likens it to real gold, like the dragon amulet that Zeno carries so preciously with him. Real gold, which needs the right angle of light in order to shine, and thrown into darkness it lies lifeless like any other metal.
Right now, Zeno’s energy feels miles away in its small, dull presence, as if someone had tossed a thick, heavy sheet over it and condemned it to the shadows. Shin-ah approaches slowly, unsure what to make of the situation. The grass rustles against his knees, cicadas and other insects falling silent before him step by step. He stops a few feet away, well within Zeno’s field of vision even though he can’t quite make out his face through the curtain of hair, waiting for Zeno to notice him.
He’s not sure what to expect - maybe for Zeno to turn and jump a little, greet Shin-ah with a wide smile (one of the fake ones), and then Shin-ah can ask if he’s okay (how can he be?). And Zeno will hopefully say yes and explain why he’s been sitting here all day like this (too still). Maybe it’s an Ouryuu thing.
Even as he hopes, he knows it’s in vain. He wouldn’t have felt that pull, that urgency to come find Zeno, if he hadn’t realized something was wrong from the outset. There’s a lot he doesn’t get about people still, but he knows that Zeno is not always as cheerful as he pretends to be. They’ve seen that side of Zeno once (severed head and muscle fibers threading themselves back into place, eyes so weary, so old), but he doesn’t know if the others realize that it comes out at other moments too, when Zeno thinks no one is looking.
Shin-ah is always looking.
And yet, as he takes the final steps that bring him to face Zeno fully, he feels his breath catch on the verge of an exhale because he’s never seen Zeno like this before. He looks like a marble statue with silver paint poured along his soft, round cheekbones and down the gentle curve of the bridge of his nose, a splatter on his bottom lip and chin. His hair, as full and inviting as Shin-ah’s mane but infinitely softer, has been dipped in that same paint and the tips of his eyelashes glow likewise, obscuring his eyes.
Shin-ah swallows. Despite the situation, the word that comes to mind is beautiful, a word he’s only ever thought to ascribe to Yona until now. His hands twitch with the strange impulse to take off his mask so that he can see all the details of the scene before him, vivid and saturated, with all the gradients of light the night is offering.
But Zeno still hasn’t noticed him.
His face is slack, expressionless, lips slightly parted, staring up at the void as if something is supposed to descend from it, but he’s forgotten what. There’s something else wrong with those eyes, with their glazed, timeless look, and suddenly Shin-ah realizes what it is. Zeno hasn’t blinked.
Not blinking, not moving, is he even…? Panic seizes him and he rushes forward, bringing both hands up to Zeno’s neck, brushing past the thick locks of hair until they’re pressed against Zeno’s skin. His mouth hovers over Zeno’s, stomach rope-tight until he feels it: a slow pulse against his fingertips and warm breath that ghosts over his own lips.
That, at least, seems to awaken Zeno, pupils contracting as he jerks his gaze from the sky. Shin-ah leans back, letting out a shaky breath, lowering his hands reluctantly. Shin-ah’s not much for touch, but he’s oddly unwilling to lose contact with Zeno at the moment.
Zeno blinks up at him slowly, once, twice, as if coming out of a deep, heavy sleep, the kind where dreams and reality get confused for one another. His brows furrow little by little, forming little mounds at the center of his forehead. He opens his mouth, licks his lips once, and says with a molasses-slow voice, as he stares up at Shin-ah, “Who are you?”
Shin-ah feels himself go cold.
Zeno tilts his head, medallion swaying with the motion, and drags his gaze over Shin-ah, from his mask and mane to the guard-less sword at his side, and then up and down his body. He says with sudden recognition, “You’re Seiryuu.” But before relief can sink into Shin-ah, Zeno’s shoulders drop along with his entire face. “But you’re not my Seiryuu.”
Shin-ah doesn't know what to say to that. It hurts, in a strange way that reminds him of Kija when he claimed his chest felt tight, to hear Zeno sound so disappointed to see him, so sad. Shin-ah knows that he’s nothing special, that he’s an anomaly, and that Zeno, with his endless cheer, is beloved by them all. But Zeno always makes him feel… safe. Appreciated. Included. Zeno sleeps with him every night, is always close with fleeting touches or spontaneous hugs, and never demands anything of Shin-ah in return, letting Shin-ah take the time to go at his own pace. Zeno means so much to Shin-ah, but the reverse… Being Seiryuu was never a good thing in Shin-ah’s mind in the first place, as much as the others are trying to convince him otherwise, but now he knows he’s not even the Seiryuu that matters.
That line of thought is thankfully stopped when Zeno reaches out to trace the bottom edge of Shin-ah’s mask. His eyes are still too dull, but now they’re washed over with a sorrow that clings to his entire face and makes his voice sink into the ground. “Do all Seiryuu still hide their beautiful, beautiful eyes?”
Shin-ah suddenly wishes he were Yoon or Jaeha, or even Hak, who always know what to say, and more importantly, how to get to the root of the problem. They would know what to do. He should have at least brought Ao with him. Shin-ah is so useless still, with words and with people, and he sometimes gets overwhelmed with how much he has yet to learn. He doesn’t understand what’s going on with Zeno, much less what to do about it. He rocks back on his feet and hears the responding crunch of leaves, ignores the confusion he feels when someone calls his eyes beautiful.
“Zeno,” Shin-ah starts, and Zeno jumps a little, eyes widening. He drops his hand from Shin-ah’s face.
“Zeno…” he repeats in a whisper. “Ah, that is my name. It’s been so long since I… since Zeno heard it.”
That’s not true, Shin-ah wants to say. I call you that everyday.
Zeno straightens his shoulders, brushes his hair away from his face, and pastes on a wide, toothy smile. For once, it doesn’t reassure Shin-ah at all. There’s something standoffish in the way Zeno folds his hands business-like across his lap and his eyes still look like a window with the candles blown out behind them. “So, Seiryuu. How did you know my name? And what brings you to find Zeno?”
“…You told me your name, you’re-”
“No, no,” Zeno cuts in, running his fingers nervously through his hair, teeth clenched into a tight grin. “Zeno wouldn’t have done that. Zeno doesn’t remember that…” He looks around him, catches sight of the distant mountains, a dark, dull violet that nonetheless stands stark against the blackness of the night, and murmurs, “South of the Kai border…” then in a louder voice says, “This area isn’t safe. Marauders come by at night to pillage the villages that don’t get directly caught up in the war. So thank you for coming all this way, but Zeno will be off now. If you wish to talk to Zeno, come back tomorrow at noon.”
And just like that, Zeno springs up, dusts his clothes, adjusts his headband, and shakes his hand in what was likely meant to be a jaunty wave but comes off as more of a jerky twitch. The he turns and hops off the rock, and all of Shin-ah’s internal organs contract as if they’d gotten whiplash from the spike in his pulse.
He leaps, landing right in front of Zeno and blocking his path. Enough- he’s stood by motionless, wordless, for too long.
“No,” he says, and grabs Zeno’s shoulder. He doesn’t mean to do it roughly, but panic flares in Zeno’s eyes and when he tries to twist out of the hold Shin-ah grabs the other shoulder too, digging his fingers in when Zeno struggles more. “Stop,” he says, and adds in a softer voice, “Please don’t leave.”
Zeno’s eyes are narrow and dangerous, and Shin-ah never thought he’d be on the receiving end of that battle-worn gaze. “What is it you want?”
Shin-ah means to say, to take you back to our group, to figure out what’s wrong, but what ends up coming out of his mouth is, “Why don’t you remember me?”
His throat is tight for some reason- he can’t control the way his voice cracks a little at the end.
Everything stands still like a coin on its edge, even the cicadas pause all at once, and then all the fight drains out of Zeno’s body. He suddenly looks very sad and tired, like a flower left to wilt in the corner, as he looks up at Shin-ah and says, “Should I?”
“Yes.” Shin-ah forces himself to talk through the noose cinched tight around his ribs and throat, hoping that one of the things he says is the right one. “You’re with us. With Yona.” Zeno jerks a little at her name. “Kija -Hakuryuu- says Yona is the one we’ve been waiting for. You… you came to us and joined us, the four dragon brothers.” Zeno’s eyes are progressively getting wider, the moon reflected sharply in them, and Shin-ah continues. “Hiryuu came back, and that’s why you’re with us.”
Zeno opens his mouth, sways lightly, closes it, then opens it again. “Hiryuu is back? But… Zeno has been alone for so long…”
Shin-ah shakes his head forcefully, his mane swinging roughly behind him. “Not anymore.” He ducks his head a little and mumbles, “We’re family.” He’s still figuring out what that means, but he believes Kija when he says it. “You- you sleep with me at night.”
He’s still holding on to Zeno’s shoulders, though he’s forced himself to loosen his grip. Even through the many layers of cloth he can feel how thin and knobby they are and it has always amazed him to see how much strength, how much life is packed into his small body. Like Yoon. Like Yona. This Zeno with the candles blown out behind his eyes unsettles him, and he’s not letting go until the Zeno he knows comes back.
He repeats it in his head, over and over, come back, and Zeno is staring at him as if he can see through the mask and straight into Shin-ah’s mind, summoned by the thought alone. It makes goosebumps break out over his skin, running all the way to his fingertips where he’s sure Zeno can feel the spasm. The breeze has died, leaving them at a standstill with the evening chill, the grass, and the sky. The cicadas have resumed their patient, steady melody around them. Shin-ah will be as patient as they are, because he sees the cobwebs clearing from Zeno’s eyes the way they never did for Ao. Zeno’s gaze has turned speculative, touching upon Shin-ah’s face, his hands, his sword, but this time he looks like he’s solving a puzzle piece by piece. Shin-ah has to remind himself to breathe under the scrutiny.
The only warning he gets is a little gasp swallowed up by the night. Then Zeno launches himself at Shin-ah, the movement so abrupt that Shin-ah fails to catch his balance in time and they both topple to the ground, crushing all the grasses and plants beneath them.
Shin-ah grunts and sits up, shifting away from the rock digging into his back. Tries to say something, but Zeno’s arms are too tight around his neck for him to do more than grunt again and twist his head in an attempt to loosen the discomfort and get some air. He stops when Zeno squeezes even tighter, burrowing his nose into Shin-ah’s neck.
“Shin-ah,” Zeno breathes, a soft exhale that curls around his ear and makes him shiver for reasons that don’t seem entirely related to the relief that perks up cautiously inside him. Zeno’s hands trail down Shin-ah’s shoulders and chest, slowly, wonderingly, as he settles back to sit in the circle of Shin-ah’s legs while Shin-ah coughs and rubs his neck. This time, Zeno’s gaze is soft as he traces the curve of Shin-ah’s jaw with careful fingers and circles back to touch the corner of his mouth, where Shin-ah is vaguely aware of muscles determined to point down. “I made you upset… I’m sorry. It wasn’t Zeno’s intention.”
Shin-ah still doesn’t trust himself to breathe properly and his voice comes out as hesitant as he feels. “You… you remember now?”
Zeno scratches the back of his head and laughs a bit, though it looks more like a grimace to Shin-ah. “In a sense… I remember everyone. But I’m still not sure when I am… Can you help?”
Shin-ah stares. “What… does that mean?”
Zeno bites his lip and hums, reaching for one of Shin-ah’s necklaces and fiddling with the beads and bones strung through it. “How long had I been out, before you found me?”
Shin-ah watches Zeno’s fingers slide the beads of his necklace back and forth and tries not to think about the coldness he’d felt when he’d found Zeno frozen like a winter lake. “Since morning.”
Zeno sighs. “To think Zeno is this disoriented after only a day… Zeno has spent decades without moving. One time I think it was over two hundred years - Zeno isn’t too sure when he slipped into it.” At Shin-ah’s horrified noise, Zeno laughs, and it sounds so dismissive, like Shin-ah’s worried about taking the last riceball at dinner. “No, no, it’s nothing serious. You could say he was just… hibernating. Zeno doesn’t need food or water or sleep, remember?”
Shin-ah knows that, the way he knows there is an infinite number of stars in the sky, but it doesn’t make it any easier to understand what infinity is.
“It wasn’t until some farmer or soldier would rouse me that I’d come back to the present, and it sometimes took Zeno weeks to readjust to the passage of time. They thought Zeno was crazy. I suppose they weren’t wrong.”
Shin-ah thinks about it for a moment, tilts his head and lets the counterpoint of cicada whirs and beads sink into him. A millipede is trudging up his sleeve with single-minded perseverance and hard as he tries, Shin-ah can’t focus on it. He doesn’t like the idea of Zeno lying somewhere for years and years, not eating or drinking, relying on some magic that Shin-ah still doesn’t fully understand to keep him alive. He imagines storms soaking him and sun burning him, and did no animals ever harm him? He imagines Zeno waking up and being demanded explanations he couldn’t give- did anyone help him? Did Zeno even tell them what was wrong? Did he simply hide it as he pieced things back together on his own?
A thought strikes Shin-ah like an iron bar to the head, mind blanking and spreading the numbness to the rest of his body. He flashes back to some of his worst moments, curled up in the darkness of his cave while deep, silent sobs wracked through him and he questioned the meaning of his existence and whether it would always be this lonely. Shin-ah was alone for a long, long time between Ao’s death and Yona’s entrance into his life. To think that Zeno -and here, Shin-ah’s chest contracts so sharply he can’t breathe for a second- Zeno was alone for so much longer, hundreds and hundreds of years, maybe even thousands, Shin-ah can’t even begin to imagine-
Hands are suddenly cupping Shin-ah’s face. He dimly registers the clinking of beads falling against each other and Zeno’s thumbs firmly brushing his cheeks, nudging under the mask to wipe away the wetness there.
He hadn’t realized he was crying.
“No, no, no. Don’t think about it, please. Don’t go getting all sad over Zeno.”
Zeno’s face is grim, lips pressed into a thin line as if that will keep their trembling under control. When he presses his forehead against Shin-ah’s, Shin-ah can imagine it to be as warm as the hands pressed against his cheeks.
“Zeno’s happy, I promise, to have someone cry for him, but he doesn’t want to see Seiryuu’s pretty face like that.” His voice warbles a little, like it's coming from underwater.
Shin-ah scrubs his nose, sniffs once, and then nods. Zeno leans back and beams, and Shin-ah is taken aback by how bright the smile is, even with the strain apparent underneath. Zeno’s hand leaves a trail of heat down Shin-ah’s arm, like warm broth on a cold night, and then he takes Shin-ah’s hand and gets to his feet.
“Let’s go back,” he says, smiling, and Shin-ah wants to smile back, because the softness is back, the gentle warmth. Even though it’s still small and flickers erratically, there is a candle shining in his eyes again, and Shin-ah can handle that.
But Shin-ah doesn’t budge when Zeno tugs his hand. He shakes his head and says, “We can’t.”
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“…You needed my help, didn’t you?” Zeno’s grip falters. “Do you remember when you are?”
Zeno looks at Shin-ah closely for a moment, though what he can see through the mask is beyond him, and then plops down on the ground with a sigh. A grasshopper leaps away, wings buzzing.
“Not yet. But Zeno didn’t want to upset you more.”
Shin-ah huffs in an approximation of the noise Hak makes when Yona says something like that. Zeno gives him a strange look though, so he likely didn’t get it right.
“I don’t mind,” he clarifies, picking the millipede off from where it has made it all the way up to his shoulder. He holds it in front of a blade of grass until it finally catches on and crawls onto it. Zeno watches him and laughs a little and this time it sounds honest.
“All right, then. Well, for starters, what year is it?”
Shin-ah stares. “… I don’t know.” He’s never heard anyone mention years before, or at least, not the current one. Maybe they should go back to the others for this…
Zeno’s mouth drops open. “You don’t know the year?” Shin-ah ducks his head behind his knees and Zeno hurriedly pats his shoulder. “Ah, no, it’s okay, Zeno understands! Well, who’s the current emperor, then?”
This, at least, Shin-ah does know. “Soo-won. But… before that was King Il.”
Zeno puffs his cheeks out and screws his eyes shut, scrubbing his head until his hair is a ruffled mess of glowing strands atop his head. He sighs and says, “And before that?”
Shin-ah has to think hard about this. That was over ten years ago, but he vaguely remembers Ao mentioning… “Emperor Joo-Nam.”
The answer only seems to upset Zeno, muscles shifting in his face like fast-moving clouds. He sighs and thunks his head against the ground.
Shin-ah watches the millipede crawl from the tip of one leaf to another. “If you remember all of us… why does the when matter?”
Zeno blinks, and with the way the moonlight is pooled in his eyes it reminds Shin-ah of fireflies winking off and on. The answer takes some time to come. “It’s… have you ever told a story…” His eyes flick over to Shin-ah’s face and he hums. “Have you ever heard, maybe an old man or woman, tell a story? And they spend half the story trying to remember when it happened?” And here, Zeno starts to imitate an old man, breathy and wavy. Shin-ah’s lips quirk despite themselves. “‘Was it the 5th year of the emperor’s reign? No, that was before that good harvest we had, so it must have been a few years later’.” He laughs, “When Zeno was very little, he used to think it was funny that they would spend so much time figuring that out, when the important part was the story, you know?”
Zeno’s voice drops abruptly, and when nothing else is forthcoming, Shin-ah nods to show his attention. Zeno lays his hands over his stomach, and Shin-ah notes the way the thin, pale fingers interlock like a winding river. They’re fingers that certainly don’t look like they’ve done much, but in truth they’ve borne more and touched more than Shin-ah will in his entire life.
“But it’s important,” Zeno says finally, eyes fixed firmly on the moon that shines generously above them. “Who we are, our sense of self, is determined by two things. Merely existing is not enough. We need time, and others. Your understanding of who you are is developed by how others view you, and how you compare to others. It’s also developed by the flow of time, and the experiences you gather naturally as time passes. But it's not enough to know that something happened, because who you are today is not who you were yesterday. So the same event will not be the same experience, it won’t mean the same thing, if it occurs at different points in your life.” Zeno stops and turns his head to look at Shin-ah, somber face still shining and silver. “In that sense, our lives are like that necklace. It wouldn’t be the same necklace if the beads were in a different order, would it?”
Merely existing is not enough. Shin-ah shivers. How many times had Shin-ah felt those words - never actually thought them, but carried their weight around like a low-running fever he couldn’t dispel?
He lets the wonder brought on by Zeno’s words sink and settle in his mind like dust, lining the feelings he has harbored all these years, and all the new ones he’s encountering now that he has others to form his self. He looks at Zeno now with new understanding, as someone who merely existed for centuries without the proper flow of time just as Shin-ah merely existed without the presence of others.
"I understand," he says finally. Zeno seems startled by the sudden noise, or maybe the words themselves, as if he had not considered up until that moment that maybe Shin-ah could indeed understand. "Some," Shin-ah adds, suddenly self-conscious.
"You do, don't you," Zeno says after a long moment, eyes softening. Something pulls Shin-ah to uncurl from his position and crawl over to Zeno. Lying down next to him feels as natural as it does when they go to sleep, Zeno tucked into the curve of Shin-ah's larger body.
"I can't help you remember."
Zeno reaches over to squeeze Shin-ah's arm and then leaves it there, warmth leeching from skin through cloth and into Shin-ah.
"It's okay. Zeno is working through it right now. He'll get there. There is no war in this area anymore, is there?"
Shin-ah confirms it with a short grunt.
"Hmm... so we're past Emperor Sun's time... which means sometime after that I stayed at that village south of here, in the Earth Tribe...I think.” Zeno's voice peters out into short mumbles that tangle over each other and sometimes contradict, like water splashing over uneven rocks. Shin-ah can only catch some of it. Zeno mentions random people and places, never by name, and Shin-ah wonders if he even remembers them.
They lay in the clearing for what feels like hours, Shin-ah listening to the unsteady cacophony of Zeno's murmurs and the occasional owl that joins the harmony of the cicadas. The air has thinned into a cool, slick breeze that whispers through the leaves, but between Shin-ah's mane and Zeno's nearly constant surge of warmth, it barely reaches him, attempting to slip gracelessly in the gap under his mask.
They both feel it at once, and when Shin-ah thinks about it, he’s surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Jaeha’s presence zooms towards them, followed by a thump that ripples through the ground as he lands. They both raise their heads towards him.
“What, were you two just stargazing?” The tone is light, but there’s an inquiry somewhere in there. Jaeha isn’t the type to pry, after all. Except when he is. Jaeha is probably the nosiest of them, but has two modes of expressing it: feigned nonchalance, or intrusively obsessive. Shin-ah is still pretty much terrified of the second mode.
Shin-ah looks at Zeno, not sure how to explain, but Zeno sits up and smiles star-bright. Shin-ah is glad his mask hides his staring. How does he do it? He would have never guessed that just a little while ago those same lips had been twisted with frustration.
“It’s just such a beautiful night, isn’t it? Zeno lost track of time.”
Jaeha tilts his head, clearly not convinced. “We went ahead and ate without you since it seemed you were… occupied. Kija was worried.”
That’s right, they could feel it, couldn’t they? They’d probably been able to sense that something was off. It’s not always clear how their link works - presence is one thing, a marker of location, but sometimes other things bleed through as well. And sometimes they don’t.
“We’re fine, aren’t we, Seiryuu?”
Shin-ah nods, because that’s clearly what Zeno wants him to say. Zeno’s already on his feet, brushing leaves and twigs off his long coat, so Shin-ah follows suit. Jaeha looks at them a moment longer and just sighs and shakes his head good-naturedly. He turns and starts walking back towards the forest. Zeno wastes no time in starting up the chatter, rubbing his belly and trotting cheerfully behind Jaeha.
“Aaah, Zeno is so hungry! He can’t wait to see what Yoon made for dinner!”
“I hope you like cold leftovers.”
“Cold?” A groan of dismay. “I mean… any food is good food, but…”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before indulging in a bout of stargazing.”
“Have some pity, Ryokuryuu…”
Shin-ah trails behind, listening to the banter and watching Zeno carefully though there is nothing for him to see, at least not from behind or even from his voice. The moonlight breaks into tangles as they pass from the clearing back into the woods, turning the figures in front of him into a scribbled black and white painting. When the trail narrows to a single file between the crowded trunks of a clump of young firs, he reaches out to catch Zeno’s hand, letting Jaeha pull ahead.
Zeno looks back, eyebrows arched in surprise, and Shin-ah squeezes once, gently. He thought Zeno to be indestructible, in more ways that just physically, and this unexpected glimpse of the vulnerabilities he's been hiding still has his stomach tight with worry, for all that Zeno seems fine. The cobwebs that clouded Ao’s eyes are still too close for comfort, visible in the corners of Zeno’s eyes that the candlelight still can’t quite reach.
Zeno hears his unspoken question and smiles in answer, and his smile is so dazzling that Shin-ah can only stare in awe.
“Zeno's fine. He's sorted most of it out.” He squeezes Shin-ah’s hand back and his smile softens, going from noon-bright sun to a late afternoon glow. “Thank you, Shin-ah.”
As Zeno begins walking again, twining his fingers with Shin-ah’s and pulling him along, it occurs to him that gold is valuable precisely because it cannot tarnish, no matter how long it’s left uncared for.
Characters: Zeno + Shin-ah
Rating: PG
Words: 6,000
Notes: Spoilers for Zeno’s reveal. Exploring the idea of his mind being turned “on” for so long, and how Shin-ah might come the closest to understanding him. And I just wanna talk and wibble at length about these guys, so I welcome any comments.
Sometimes, Zeno scares Shin-ah.
Ironically, it’s his eyes that scare him. It takes Shin-ah a long time to pinpoint both the emotion and the source of it, not able to wrap his mind around the idea of someone else’s eyes being frightening without being cursed or terrifying the way his own are.
Even more confusing is the kind of fright he feels. It reminds him, sharply and painfully, of the fear he felt as he watched Ao deteriorate in front of him, the way his eyes dulled towards the end. He’d taken a peek once, without his mask, and never done it again, frightened by the clarity with which he could see the cloudy threads that had spread over his pupils like a spider’s nest.
The realization comes one night, when the air is heavy and still, layering a film of humidity over Shin-ah’s sweat-dampened forehead. He adjusts his mask when it starts to slip and gathers the last few blocks of firewood under his arm, taking the chance to breathe in the thick evening air and catch a glimpse of the faint fuchsia glow left from the sun finishing its daily hike over the mountains. From atop his head, Ao chatters happily, enjoying the particularly tart berries found in this forest.
“I’ll carry it,” Kija says, already struggling up from the ground where he’d sat a little while before. Shin-ah shakes his head once, and instead offers an arm. Kija takes it, reaching for the firewood immediately, and Shin-ah steps back, shaking his head again. Kija huffs, “You’ve been chopping all day, the least I can do is carry this last batch.”
Kija is frustrated, Shin-ah knows, because he’s still recovering from their latest skirmish and no one has let him help out with anything that doesn’t require sitting. Shin-ah’s been working, little by little, on recognizing when words are necessary, when his gestures aren’t enough to convey his thoughts. The way Kija’s face tightens as Shin-ah starts walking, ignoring Kija’s outstretched hand, lets him know this is one of those times. He licks his lips and says, “You’re tired… I’m not.” Kija looks like he wants to protest that, so he adds, “I want to.”
A breath, filled with the roar of the cicadas clinging to the tree trunks, then Kija sighs and smiles a little, looking at Shin-ah in that way that usually precedes a comment about little brothers. This time, he only puts a hand on Shin-ah’s shoulder and curls his fingers into the fluffy mane that lies there. Ao takes the opportunity to hop onto Kija’s shoulder.
“Thank you. By the way,” Kija says, falling into step next to Shin-ah and stretching his neck to look around, though with the fall of night not much is visible anymore. “Where’s Zeno? I was supposed to fetch both of you for dinner. I assumed he was with you since he hasn’t been around the campsite all day. Not since Yoon shooed him away from the food preparations this morning, at least.”
Shin-ah cocks his head to the side, adjusting the blocks of wood into a more comfortable position in his arms. He realizes, suddenly, that though the day he’d spent chopping firewood could be described as peaceful, looking back he wants to tag the words long and empty to it as well. He doesn’t know if it’s due to the relative solitude of the day or Zeno’s absence specifically. “He was…” He scans the area with his dragon eyes, seeing objects outlined like sharp, detailed sketches, and among them, a small figure in the distance. Something heavy and unwelcome makes itself comfortable in his gut and he frowns. “He is… at a clearing, past the stream…”
The campsite comes into view, a flickering fire keeping the onslaught of shadows away while the smell of roasting meat and herbs settles in the air, accumulated by the lack of breeze. Yoon’s back is to them, stirring the pot suspended over the fire while the others mill about in various states of lazy occupation, fletching arrows or scrubbing at clothes. This is rare downtime, but they’d agreed they needed time to regroup and restock.
“Ah, I can feel him - it’s the stream we passed on the way here, right?”
Shin-ah nods and deposits the firewood at the edge of the clearing, on top of the pile he’s amassed throughout the day.
“Then I’ll go get him-”
Shin-ah grabs Kija’s arm, gently, mindful of the injury that sits innocently under the cloth. When that gesture doesn’t seem to beget any understanding, he says softly, “I will.”
He leaps away before Kija can say anything else.
The clearing is not far, past a gurgling stream that manages to reflect glints of moonlight through the shrubbery. Shin-ah stops at the edge where the trees thin out, a rocky outcropping making the ground unsuitable for deeper roots. Weedy, tall grasses surround the jagged outcrop where Zeno sits, staring up. He’s not even facing the half-moon, but staring somewhere into the void of blue-black sky spread out above him like an inverted ocean. Out here in the open there is a faint breeze that curls a few strands of hair around Zeno’s face, or at least the portion of it that Shin-ah can see from this angle. The strands catch the rays of light and glow faintly.
Shin-ah is nervous. Despite volunteering, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say, or even how to approach Zeno. All he knows is that something is off, but he hadn’t realized it until he’d scanned for Zeno and found him in the exact position he’d been since mid-morning. Shin-ah usually tries to check on his companions throughout the day, dragging his eyes over the landscape until he’s accounted for each one of them, and he hadn’t thought anything this morning at finding Zeno sitting calmly in the clearing, presumably meditating. He hadn’t thought much about it when he’d checked a few hours later either. Zeno was there, alive, unhurt, his presence flat and unassuming like an undisturbed pond. But now, with the barest glide of a chill creeping up his arms and Zeno so still and unmoving, Shin-ah can only think that it’s wrong for Zeno to be motionless. That the pond wasn’t still so much as it was frozen.
Zeno’s energy is golden, that is a fact. But where Yona has likened it to sunshine, Shin-ah likens it to real gold, like the dragon amulet that Zeno carries so preciously with him. Real gold, which needs the right angle of light in order to shine, and thrown into darkness it lies lifeless like any other metal.
Right now, Zeno’s energy feels miles away in its small, dull presence, as if someone had tossed a thick, heavy sheet over it and condemned it to the shadows. Shin-ah approaches slowly, unsure what to make of the situation. The grass rustles against his knees, cicadas and other insects falling silent before him step by step. He stops a few feet away, well within Zeno’s field of vision even though he can’t quite make out his face through the curtain of hair, waiting for Zeno to notice him.
He’s not sure what to expect - maybe for Zeno to turn and jump a little, greet Shin-ah with a wide smile (one of the fake ones), and then Shin-ah can ask if he’s okay (how can he be?). And Zeno will hopefully say yes and explain why he’s been sitting here all day like this (too still). Maybe it’s an Ouryuu thing.
Even as he hopes, he knows it’s in vain. He wouldn’t have felt that pull, that urgency to come find Zeno, if he hadn’t realized something was wrong from the outset. There’s a lot he doesn’t get about people still, but he knows that Zeno is not always as cheerful as he pretends to be. They’ve seen that side of Zeno once (severed head and muscle fibers threading themselves back into place, eyes so weary, so old), but he doesn’t know if the others realize that it comes out at other moments too, when Zeno thinks no one is looking.
Shin-ah is always looking.
And yet, as he takes the final steps that bring him to face Zeno fully, he feels his breath catch on the verge of an exhale because he’s never seen Zeno like this before. He looks like a marble statue with silver paint poured along his soft, round cheekbones and down the gentle curve of the bridge of his nose, a splatter on his bottom lip and chin. His hair, as full and inviting as Shin-ah’s mane but infinitely softer, has been dipped in that same paint and the tips of his eyelashes glow likewise, obscuring his eyes.
Shin-ah swallows. Despite the situation, the word that comes to mind is beautiful, a word he’s only ever thought to ascribe to Yona until now. His hands twitch with the strange impulse to take off his mask so that he can see all the details of the scene before him, vivid and saturated, with all the gradients of light the night is offering.
But Zeno still hasn’t noticed him.
His face is slack, expressionless, lips slightly parted, staring up at the void as if something is supposed to descend from it, but he’s forgotten what. There’s something else wrong with those eyes, with their glazed, timeless look, and suddenly Shin-ah realizes what it is. Zeno hasn’t blinked.
Not blinking, not moving, is he even…? Panic seizes him and he rushes forward, bringing both hands up to Zeno’s neck, brushing past the thick locks of hair until they’re pressed against Zeno’s skin. His mouth hovers over Zeno’s, stomach rope-tight until he feels it: a slow pulse against his fingertips and warm breath that ghosts over his own lips.
That, at least, seems to awaken Zeno, pupils contracting as he jerks his gaze from the sky. Shin-ah leans back, letting out a shaky breath, lowering his hands reluctantly. Shin-ah’s not much for touch, but he’s oddly unwilling to lose contact with Zeno at the moment.
Zeno blinks up at him slowly, once, twice, as if coming out of a deep, heavy sleep, the kind where dreams and reality get confused for one another. His brows furrow little by little, forming little mounds at the center of his forehead. He opens his mouth, licks his lips once, and says with a molasses-slow voice, as he stares up at Shin-ah, “Who are you?”
Shin-ah feels himself go cold.
Zeno tilts his head, medallion swaying with the motion, and drags his gaze over Shin-ah, from his mask and mane to the guard-less sword at his side, and then up and down his body. He says with sudden recognition, “You’re Seiryuu.” But before relief can sink into Shin-ah, Zeno’s shoulders drop along with his entire face. “But you’re not my Seiryuu.”
Shin-ah doesn't know what to say to that. It hurts, in a strange way that reminds him of Kija when he claimed his chest felt tight, to hear Zeno sound so disappointed to see him, so sad. Shin-ah knows that he’s nothing special, that he’s an anomaly, and that Zeno, with his endless cheer, is beloved by them all. But Zeno always makes him feel… safe. Appreciated. Included. Zeno sleeps with him every night, is always close with fleeting touches or spontaneous hugs, and never demands anything of Shin-ah in return, letting Shin-ah take the time to go at his own pace. Zeno means so much to Shin-ah, but the reverse… Being Seiryuu was never a good thing in Shin-ah’s mind in the first place, as much as the others are trying to convince him otherwise, but now he knows he’s not even the Seiryuu that matters.
That line of thought is thankfully stopped when Zeno reaches out to trace the bottom edge of Shin-ah’s mask. His eyes are still too dull, but now they’re washed over with a sorrow that clings to his entire face and makes his voice sink into the ground. “Do all Seiryuu still hide their beautiful, beautiful eyes?”
Shin-ah suddenly wishes he were Yoon or Jaeha, or even Hak, who always know what to say, and more importantly, how to get to the root of the problem. They would know what to do. He should have at least brought Ao with him. Shin-ah is so useless still, with words and with people, and he sometimes gets overwhelmed with how much he has yet to learn. He doesn’t understand what’s going on with Zeno, much less what to do about it. He rocks back on his feet and hears the responding crunch of leaves, ignores the confusion he feels when someone calls his eyes beautiful.
“Zeno,” Shin-ah starts, and Zeno jumps a little, eyes widening. He drops his hand from Shin-ah’s face.
“Zeno…” he repeats in a whisper. “Ah, that is my name. It’s been so long since I… since Zeno heard it.”
That’s not true, Shin-ah wants to say. I call you that everyday.
Zeno straightens his shoulders, brushes his hair away from his face, and pastes on a wide, toothy smile. For once, it doesn’t reassure Shin-ah at all. There’s something standoffish in the way Zeno folds his hands business-like across his lap and his eyes still look like a window with the candles blown out behind them. “So, Seiryuu. How did you know my name? And what brings you to find Zeno?”
“…You told me your name, you’re-”
“No, no,” Zeno cuts in, running his fingers nervously through his hair, teeth clenched into a tight grin. “Zeno wouldn’t have done that. Zeno doesn’t remember that…” He looks around him, catches sight of the distant mountains, a dark, dull violet that nonetheless stands stark against the blackness of the night, and murmurs, “South of the Kai border…” then in a louder voice says, “This area isn’t safe. Marauders come by at night to pillage the villages that don’t get directly caught up in the war. So thank you for coming all this way, but Zeno will be off now. If you wish to talk to Zeno, come back tomorrow at noon.”
And just like that, Zeno springs up, dusts his clothes, adjusts his headband, and shakes his hand in what was likely meant to be a jaunty wave but comes off as more of a jerky twitch. The he turns and hops off the rock, and all of Shin-ah’s internal organs contract as if they’d gotten whiplash from the spike in his pulse.
He leaps, landing right in front of Zeno and blocking his path. Enough- he’s stood by motionless, wordless, for too long.
“No,” he says, and grabs Zeno’s shoulder. He doesn’t mean to do it roughly, but panic flares in Zeno’s eyes and when he tries to twist out of the hold Shin-ah grabs the other shoulder too, digging his fingers in when Zeno struggles more. “Stop,” he says, and adds in a softer voice, “Please don’t leave.”
Zeno’s eyes are narrow and dangerous, and Shin-ah never thought he’d be on the receiving end of that battle-worn gaze. “What is it you want?”
Shin-ah means to say, to take you back to our group, to figure out what’s wrong, but what ends up coming out of his mouth is, “Why don’t you remember me?”
His throat is tight for some reason- he can’t control the way his voice cracks a little at the end.
Everything stands still like a coin on its edge, even the cicadas pause all at once, and then all the fight drains out of Zeno’s body. He suddenly looks very sad and tired, like a flower left to wilt in the corner, as he looks up at Shin-ah and says, “Should I?”
“Yes.” Shin-ah forces himself to talk through the noose cinched tight around his ribs and throat, hoping that one of the things he says is the right one. “You’re with us. With Yona.” Zeno jerks a little at her name. “Kija -Hakuryuu- says Yona is the one we’ve been waiting for. You… you came to us and joined us, the four dragon brothers.” Zeno’s eyes are progressively getting wider, the moon reflected sharply in them, and Shin-ah continues. “Hiryuu came back, and that’s why you’re with us.”
Zeno opens his mouth, sways lightly, closes it, then opens it again. “Hiryuu is back? But… Zeno has been alone for so long…”
Shin-ah shakes his head forcefully, his mane swinging roughly behind him. “Not anymore.” He ducks his head a little and mumbles, “We’re family.” He’s still figuring out what that means, but he believes Kija when he says it. “You- you sleep with me at night.”
He’s still holding on to Zeno’s shoulders, though he’s forced himself to loosen his grip. Even through the many layers of cloth he can feel how thin and knobby they are and it has always amazed him to see how much strength, how much life is packed into his small body. Like Yoon. Like Yona. This Zeno with the candles blown out behind his eyes unsettles him, and he’s not letting go until the Zeno he knows comes back.
He repeats it in his head, over and over, come back, and Zeno is staring at him as if he can see through the mask and straight into Shin-ah’s mind, summoned by the thought alone. It makes goosebumps break out over his skin, running all the way to his fingertips where he’s sure Zeno can feel the spasm. The breeze has died, leaving them at a standstill with the evening chill, the grass, and the sky. The cicadas have resumed their patient, steady melody around them. Shin-ah will be as patient as they are, because he sees the cobwebs clearing from Zeno’s eyes the way they never did for Ao. Zeno’s gaze has turned speculative, touching upon Shin-ah’s face, his hands, his sword, but this time he looks like he’s solving a puzzle piece by piece. Shin-ah has to remind himself to breathe under the scrutiny.
The only warning he gets is a little gasp swallowed up by the night. Then Zeno launches himself at Shin-ah, the movement so abrupt that Shin-ah fails to catch his balance in time and they both topple to the ground, crushing all the grasses and plants beneath them.
Shin-ah grunts and sits up, shifting away from the rock digging into his back. Tries to say something, but Zeno’s arms are too tight around his neck for him to do more than grunt again and twist his head in an attempt to loosen the discomfort and get some air. He stops when Zeno squeezes even tighter, burrowing his nose into Shin-ah’s neck.
“Shin-ah,” Zeno breathes, a soft exhale that curls around his ear and makes him shiver for reasons that don’t seem entirely related to the relief that perks up cautiously inside him. Zeno’s hands trail down Shin-ah’s shoulders and chest, slowly, wonderingly, as he settles back to sit in the circle of Shin-ah’s legs while Shin-ah coughs and rubs his neck. This time, Zeno’s gaze is soft as he traces the curve of Shin-ah’s jaw with careful fingers and circles back to touch the corner of his mouth, where Shin-ah is vaguely aware of muscles determined to point down. “I made you upset… I’m sorry. It wasn’t Zeno’s intention.”
Shin-ah still doesn’t trust himself to breathe properly and his voice comes out as hesitant as he feels. “You… you remember now?”
Zeno scratches the back of his head and laughs a bit, though it looks more like a grimace to Shin-ah. “In a sense… I remember everyone. But I’m still not sure when I am… Can you help?”
Shin-ah stares. “What… does that mean?”
Zeno bites his lip and hums, reaching for one of Shin-ah’s necklaces and fiddling with the beads and bones strung through it. “How long had I been out, before you found me?”
Shin-ah watches Zeno’s fingers slide the beads of his necklace back and forth and tries not to think about the coldness he’d felt when he’d found Zeno frozen like a winter lake. “Since morning.”
Zeno sighs. “To think Zeno is this disoriented after only a day… Zeno has spent decades without moving. One time I think it was over two hundred years - Zeno isn’t too sure when he slipped into it.” At Shin-ah’s horrified noise, Zeno laughs, and it sounds so dismissive, like Shin-ah’s worried about taking the last riceball at dinner. “No, no, it’s nothing serious. You could say he was just… hibernating. Zeno doesn’t need food or water or sleep, remember?”
Shin-ah knows that, the way he knows there is an infinite number of stars in the sky, but it doesn’t make it any easier to understand what infinity is.
“It wasn’t until some farmer or soldier would rouse me that I’d come back to the present, and it sometimes took Zeno weeks to readjust to the passage of time. They thought Zeno was crazy. I suppose they weren’t wrong.”
Shin-ah thinks about it for a moment, tilts his head and lets the counterpoint of cicada whirs and beads sink into him. A millipede is trudging up his sleeve with single-minded perseverance and hard as he tries, Shin-ah can’t focus on it. He doesn’t like the idea of Zeno lying somewhere for years and years, not eating or drinking, relying on some magic that Shin-ah still doesn’t fully understand to keep him alive. He imagines storms soaking him and sun burning him, and did no animals ever harm him? He imagines Zeno waking up and being demanded explanations he couldn’t give- did anyone help him? Did Zeno even tell them what was wrong? Did he simply hide it as he pieced things back together on his own?
A thought strikes Shin-ah like an iron bar to the head, mind blanking and spreading the numbness to the rest of his body. He flashes back to some of his worst moments, curled up in the darkness of his cave while deep, silent sobs wracked through him and he questioned the meaning of his existence and whether it would always be this lonely. Shin-ah was alone for a long, long time between Ao’s death and Yona’s entrance into his life. To think that Zeno -and here, Shin-ah’s chest contracts so sharply he can’t breathe for a second- Zeno was alone for so much longer, hundreds and hundreds of years, maybe even thousands, Shin-ah can’t even begin to imagine-
Hands are suddenly cupping Shin-ah’s face. He dimly registers the clinking of beads falling against each other and Zeno’s thumbs firmly brushing his cheeks, nudging under the mask to wipe away the wetness there.
He hadn’t realized he was crying.
“No, no, no. Don’t think about it, please. Don’t go getting all sad over Zeno.”
Zeno’s face is grim, lips pressed into a thin line as if that will keep their trembling under control. When he presses his forehead against Shin-ah’s, Shin-ah can imagine it to be as warm as the hands pressed against his cheeks.
“Zeno’s happy, I promise, to have someone cry for him, but he doesn’t want to see Seiryuu’s pretty face like that.” His voice warbles a little, like it's coming from underwater.
Shin-ah scrubs his nose, sniffs once, and then nods. Zeno leans back and beams, and Shin-ah is taken aback by how bright the smile is, even with the strain apparent underneath. Zeno’s hand leaves a trail of heat down Shin-ah’s arm, like warm broth on a cold night, and then he takes Shin-ah’s hand and gets to his feet.
“Let’s go back,” he says, smiling, and Shin-ah wants to smile back, because the softness is back, the gentle warmth. Even though it’s still small and flickers erratically, there is a candle shining in his eyes again, and Shin-ah can handle that.
But Shin-ah doesn’t budge when Zeno tugs his hand. He shakes his head and says, “We can’t.”
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“…You needed my help, didn’t you?” Zeno’s grip falters. “Do you remember when you are?”
Zeno looks at Shin-ah closely for a moment, though what he can see through the mask is beyond him, and then plops down on the ground with a sigh. A grasshopper leaps away, wings buzzing.
“Not yet. But Zeno didn’t want to upset you more.”
Shin-ah huffs in an approximation of the noise Hak makes when Yona says something like that. Zeno gives him a strange look though, so he likely didn’t get it right.
“I don’t mind,” he clarifies, picking the millipede off from where it has made it all the way up to his shoulder. He holds it in front of a blade of grass until it finally catches on and crawls onto it. Zeno watches him and laughs a little and this time it sounds honest.
“All right, then. Well, for starters, what year is it?”
Shin-ah stares. “… I don’t know.” He’s never heard anyone mention years before, or at least, not the current one. Maybe they should go back to the others for this…
Zeno’s mouth drops open. “You don’t know the year?” Shin-ah ducks his head behind his knees and Zeno hurriedly pats his shoulder. “Ah, no, it’s okay, Zeno understands! Well, who’s the current emperor, then?”
This, at least, Shin-ah does know. “Soo-won. But… before that was King Il.”
Zeno puffs his cheeks out and screws his eyes shut, scrubbing his head until his hair is a ruffled mess of glowing strands atop his head. He sighs and says, “And before that?”
Shin-ah has to think hard about this. That was over ten years ago, but he vaguely remembers Ao mentioning… “Emperor Joo-Nam.”
The answer only seems to upset Zeno, muscles shifting in his face like fast-moving clouds. He sighs and thunks his head against the ground.
Shin-ah watches the millipede crawl from the tip of one leaf to another. “If you remember all of us… why does the when matter?”
Zeno blinks, and with the way the moonlight is pooled in his eyes it reminds Shin-ah of fireflies winking off and on. The answer takes some time to come. “It’s… have you ever told a story…” His eyes flick over to Shin-ah’s face and he hums. “Have you ever heard, maybe an old man or woman, tell a story? And they spend half the story trying to remember when it happened?” And here, Zeno starts to imitate an old man, breathy and wavy. Shin-ah’s lips quirk despite themselves. “‘Was it the 5th year of the emperor’s reign? No, that was before that good harvest we had, so it must have been a few years later’.” He laughs, “When Zeno was very little, he used to think it was funny that they would spend so much time figuring that out, when the important part was the story, you know?”
Zeno’s voice drops abruptly, and when nothing else is forthcoming, Shin-ah nods to show his attention. Zeno lays his hands over his stomach, and Shin-ah notes the way the thin, pale fingers interlock like a winding river. They’re fingers that certainly don’t look like they’ve done much, but in truth they’ve borne more and touched more than Shin-ah will in his entire life.
“But it’s important,” Zeno says finally, eyes fixed firmly on the moon that shines generously above them. “Who we are, our sense of self, is determined by two things. Merely existing is not enough. We need time, and others. Your understanding of who you are is developed by how others view you, and how you compare to others. It’s also developed by the flow of time, and the experiences you gather naturally as time passes. But it's not enough to know that something happened, because who you are today is not who you were yesterday. So the same event will not be the same experience, it won’t mean the same thing, if it occurs at different points in your life.” Zeno stops and turns his head to look at Shin-ah, somber face still shining and silver. “In that sense, our lives are like that necklace. It wouldn’t be the same necklace if the beads were in a different order, would it?”
Merely existing is not enough. Shin-ah shivers. How many times had Shin-ah felt those words - never actually thought them, but carried their weight around like a low-running fever he couldn’t dispel?
He lets the wonder brought on by Zeno’s words sink and settle in his mind like dust, lining the feelings he has harbored all these years, and all the new ones he’s encountering now that he has others to form his self. He looks at Zeno now with new understanding, as someone who merely existed for centuries without the proper flow of time just as Shin-ah merely existed without the presence of others.
"I understand," he says finally. Zeno seems startled by the sudden noise, or maybe the words themselves, as if he had not considered up until that moment that maybe Shin-ah could indeed understand. "Some," Shin-ah adds, suddenly self-conscious.
"You do, don't you," Zeno says after a long moment, eyes softening. Something pulls Shin-ah to uncurl from his position and crawl over to Zeno. Lying down next to him feels as natural as it does when they go to sleep, Zeno tucked into the curve of Shin-ah's larger body.
"I can't help you remember."
Zeno reaches over to squeeze Shin-ah's arm and then leaves it there, warmth leeching from skin through cloth and into Shin-ah.
"It's okay. Zeno is working through it right now. He'll get there. There is no war in this area anymore, is there?"
Shin-ah confirms it with a short grunt.
"Hmm... so we're past Emperor Sun's time... which means sometime after that I stayed at that village south of here, in the Earth Tribe...I think.” Zeno's voice peters out into short mumbles that tangle over each other and sometimes contradict, like water splashing over uneven rocks. Shin-ah can only catch some of it. Zeno mentions random people and places, never by name, and Shin-ah wonders if he even remembers them.
They lay in the clearing for what feels like hours, Shin-ah listening to the unsteady cacophony of Zeno's murmurs and the occasional owl that joins the harmony of the cicadas. The air has thinned into a cool, slick breeze that whispers through the leaves, but between Shin-ah's mane and Zeno's nearly constant surge of warmth, it barely reaches him, attempting to slip gracelessly in the gap under his mask.
They both feel it at once, and when Shin-ah thinks about it, he’s surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Jaeha’s presence zooms towards them, followed by a thump that ripples through the ground as he lands. They both raise their heads towards him.
“What, were you two just stargazing?” The tone is light, but there’s an inquiry somewhere in there. Jaeha isn’t the type to pry, after all. Except when he is. Jaeha is probably the nosiest of them, but has two modes of expressing it: feigned nonchalance, or intrusively obsessive. Shin-ah is still pretty much terrified of the second mode.
Shin-ah looks at Zeno, not sure how to explain, but Zeno sits up and smiles star-bright. Shin-ah is glad his mask hides his staring. How does he do it? He would have never guessed that just a little while ago those same lips had been twisted with frustration.
“It’s just such a beautiful night, isn’t it? Zeno lost track of time.”
Jaeha tilts his head, clearly not convinced. “We went ahead and ate without you since it seemed you were… occupied. Kija was worried.”
That’s right, they could feel it, couldn’t they? They’d probably been able to sense that something was off. It’s not always clear how their link works - presence is one thing, a marker of location, but sometimes other things bleed through as well. And sometimes they don’t.
“We’re fine, aren’t we, Seiryuu?”
Shin-ah nods, because that’s clearly what Zeno wants him to say. Zeno’s already on his feet, brushing leaves and twigs off his long coat, so Shin-ah follows suit. Jaeha looks at them a moment longer and just sighs and shakes his head good-naturedly. He turns and starts walking back towards the forest. Zeno wastes no time in starting up the chatter, rubbing his belly and trotting cheerfully behind Jaeha.
“Aaah, Zeno is so hungry! He can’t wait to see what Yoon made for dinner!”
“I hope you like cold leftovers.”
“Cold?” A groan of dismay. “I mean… any food is good food, but…”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before indulging in a bout of stargazing.”
“Have some pity, Ryokuryuu…”
Shin-ah trails behind, listening to the banter and watching Zeno carefully though there is nothing for him to see, at least not from behind or even from his voice. The moonlight breaks into tangles as they pass from the clearing back into the woods, turning the figures in front of him into a scribbled black and white painting. When the trail narrows to a single file between the crowded trunks of a clump of young firs, he reaches out to catch Zeno’s hand, letting Jaeha pull ahead.
Zeno looks back, eyebrows arched in surprise, and Shin-ah squeezes once, gently. He thought Zeno to be indestructible, in more ways that just physically, and this unexpected glimpse of the vulnerabilities he's been hiding still has his stomach tight with worry, for all that Zeno seems fine. The cobwebs that clouded Ao’s eyes are still too close for comfort, visible in the corners of Zeno’s eyes that the candlelight still can’t quite reach.
Zeno hears his unspoken question and smiles in answer, and his smile is so dazzling that Shin-ah can only stare in awe.
“Zeno's fine. He's sorted most of it out.” He squeezes Shin-ah’s hand back and his smile softens, going from noon-bright sun to a late afternoon glow. “Thank you, Shin-ah.”
As Zeno begins walking again, twining his fingers with Shin-ah’s and pulling him along, it occurs to him that gold is valuable precisely because it cannot tarnish, no matter how long it’s left uncared for.