Gumiho, Fox Spirit of the East
#⏹⏹⏹ Rift Cave, Waterfall Cliff
Wu Yuan Village, Eastern Mainland
Dayheim, Land of Mortals
"Have you known all along?" Eyes that are unmistakably a god's stare up at him valiantly, daring him with a sadistic smirk despite her struggle beneath his chokehold.
He cocks his head, grip unrelenting. The sharp ends of his wings make an ugly screech against the rock it digs into. "I would be honest — you could have fooled me. I knew you were not a mortal, but I could not pinpoint your identity; I needed to play along to make sure."
"So you were just waiting for me to use my mana?" She challenges him with a smirk and a tilt of her head, the confidence so unapologetically daring it makes him wince.
"And you did. To think that I deceived the God of Deception; am I worthy of usurping your post now?" He tightens his hold, just a tiny bet, to remind her of where her place is — in his domain, yards out of hers, and beneath him.
The fox spirit then looks at him, mildly annoyed, nary with an ounce of fear despite being deadlocked, and just sighs. Her tails disappear from his grip in the next moment, the confidence she was just wearing on her sleeve now no longer detectable. "You are quite the jester. Anyway, will you please release me? I do not have plans to harm you."
"What part of you showing up in my abode and using a mind control spell tells me that I can trust you?"
The way he looks at her just makes her roll her eyes. "Men and their fragile egos," these very words are uttered under her breath; meant to be unintelligible, but the way his ears twitch tells her he heard her perfectly. "If I wanted to, I would have."
"You would have," he echoes, a smirk now on his face which makes her guts twist like an counter-clockwise sandwich roll. "And I am supposed to take your word for it?"
Irregardless to his distrust, Cyn does ease his grip on her neck, but chooses to still remain on top of her like if he had moved, it would be akin to admitting defeat. What a competitive man.
"Would is the key word here — I know for a fact that you and your hundreds of soldiers are hiding in the shadows of this cave, ready to attack me at any moment's notice. Thus, if I had wanted a siege; I would not have shown up alone, defenceless, and in disguise. Is this now a language you understand?"
Her stare rivals his in intensity, despite still being hovered over like a prey before a predator. For emphasis, she even unfolds her arms and raises them up with whatever room she has.
It takes him a moment to let her words sink in, but the way his brows lower indicates that he is, at the very least, debating the truth of her statement. "If you are not here to harm me — then what is your purpose?"
"Purposes," She reiterates, "One, I am still here by the orders of the Lord in order to bring you back. Two, I promised no bloodshed, and a hundred days for operation. Three, I did have ulterior motives in taking on this mission."
His brows raise to the heights of his hairline, but Cyn says nothing, his expression growing more contemplative. It takes a while, an extension of unbearable silence and excruciating stare — what feels like a singular heartbeat stretches into eternity for her — but he does eventually relent, and gets off.
His arms are still folded across his chest as he stands and watches her get up, never once looking away. This action is eerily reminiscent of her time as a mortal, being strictly monitored by her father in the palace court. It makes her huff.
"What ulterior motive?" He questions again, and his military roots are definitely showing through the amount of distrust that is eminent throughout every muscle of his body.
She shrugs, disregards it, and sits laxly. "A personal one, and a favour which I owe Ariadne; she lent me this mortal shell."
She watches as his entire body pauses, face frozen in a midst of surprise and even more hostility, as if that was even possible to begin with. "So the deity this host came from… Is the Guidance Goddess of the West?"
"Indeed, and might I say, this mortal shell is really remarkable," she exclaims with a wry smile and runs her hand through the ash blond locks on her head. "Even without using my powers, I was able to detect your presence. She can see inhuman things, which aided my journey incredibly — and in exchange, there is something I need to do for Ariadne."
Cyn opens his mouth, ready to shoot another hostile question at her, but she beats him to it first. "It is some sort of unfinished business which she cannot attend to herself."
"You look like you will not tell me what it is," he responds, like it's an irrefutable statement rather than a question, and she just sighs wearily.
"I am afraid I cannot — but I can show you, instead. We have one hundred days, after all," The fox god dusts off invisible wrinkles from her sweater before standing up. "However, we must at least touch down on the primary goal of my mission first — which is you. Now that you know who I am, I hope you are less hostile in cooperating with me. I am not here to harm you, after all."
"Hard to trust a goddess who ate a thousand men in one night," he stumps her where it hurts the most — the infamous tale of how she ascended into godhood, and all she can offer is a humourless smile.
"You do not look very appetising to me right now," she rebuts, "Oh, and tell your lackeys they no longer need to hide. The imminent threat of danger is not in the room with us."
He looks grim, clenching his jaw like he's been caught red-handed, and simply nods his head. The gesture must have been a cue of some sort, because almost instantly, hundreds of shadows bleed out from the darkness in the form of glowing red lights, materialising into what she believes are his troops' human forms.
In a blink of an eye, hundreds of males and females stand behind Cyn, some perched on the sides of the cave, more dangling down the rooftop, blocking almost all sources of light in the cave. The hasty transition is almost jarring.
She suddenly feels taken aback, like a test subject being put on the cutting board, countless pairs of glowing red staring her down wordlessly like she is bait.
"Relax, I have already admitted defeat. I will not harm your Liege," the fox god throws her hands up above her head, one more time for good measure, and recoils further into the bench.
Cyn looks unimpressed, but he must have sent some sort of telepathic signal to his cult, because they all close their wings in one unanimous motion like some sort of well-rehearsed theatric. Is it necessary for everything he does to be punctuated with some cool, godly gesture?
She eyes the five most imposing-looking soldiers standing right next to Cyn, assuming them to be his generals. It is rather uncommon for a Folklore deity to have more than one general – but then again, he is presumably the strongest Folklore in current times. Given how the process of electing a general means swearing an eternal oath to serve their god, this only speaks volumes about their loyalty to him.
She narrows her eyes, perhaps he is not as bad as he looks.
"Do you drink tea?" And out of nowhere, he starts, walking over to the dining area in the main hall like he just warped through time and space.
"Yes, but I would prefer something to eat — I'm in a mortal body, and she is hungry."
"I can fetch her some of our food stock from the most recent hunt, my liege," a female general speaks up, not even giving her a glance.
The hostility is definitely unnecessary.
Are they all just brooding and pessimistic like the god they serve? It truly is a jarring offset to what the atmosphere of her post is.
"I doubt she enjoys insects, herbs and fruits like we do," he tosses a reply over his shoulders, returning with a tray of teacups and a kettle, still steaming from the spout — when did he have time to brew tea?
"I can eat fruits," she replies, trying to be modest, as she is still a guest after all. This is the first instance of hospitality she has received upon being here for almost an hour, and the fox spirit is not about to fumble it.
"The Liege only favours… bananas, that is the only one we have, My Lady," a female general responds to her instead, a warm smile on her face, and oh, maybe they aren't all arrogant after all.
"Only bananas?" She tries, she really does, to muffle out the chuckle threatening to erupt. Is he a bat or a monkey?
"If you are dissatisfied, you are more than welcome to visit my shrine and indulge in the feast the villagers are hosting this evening," then comes the most nonchalant response of the year, and she just shrugs.
"Bananas shall be ample, thank you."
---
"So, are you prepared for the questioning stage?" She asks, halfway through the fifth banana she has downed, and to be frank, she is beginning to understand why his diet only consists of this as a real food.
"Questioning stage?" Cyn echoes, brushing the short fur on his ears with the back of his hand. Bats really do clean themselves like domestic kittens. Interesting
"For the report to the Lord, it is vital. I cannot return empty-handed."
"I thought you would prefer utilising your mind spell and ploughing straight into my head."
"You would rather I do that?"
"No, I would not," he shoots her a look, like she was supposed to understand his dry sarcasm, like they have been friends for aeons, but she says nothing. "But first, finish up your meal, and let us move to a more private area."
Thus, she munches down on the remaining half of the fruit in one go, and right after one arduous gulp, Cyn leads them both down a rather elusive tunnel. He wordlessly stands up and starts walking, throwing only a glance over his shoulder as an indicator that she shall follow.
She is beginning to get this unfavourable feeling that the night god is treating her like she is a pet, but she swallows whatever complaints she has down her throat, and makes haste.
They go through a door that opens up upon detecting Cyn's mana trace, and she finds that mechanism kind of impressive. It simply leads to another dimly lit tunnel, indifferent from the rest of the cave, save for the ambient glow of dark crimson peeking out of the pathway's cracks.
"May I inquire as to where we are headed, my liege?"
He must've detected the sarcasm in her tone, because as they turn a corner and a torch lights up his side profile, there's a smirk on his face. "To my private chambers, my lady."
She smirks, and too bad Cyn was walking too fast in front of her to catch it. "Scandalous. This would not pass if we were in the Forbidden City."
"Which is why I am glad we aren't — and unlike your prestigious post, I do not have a private office. There is less paperwork when you are a fleeing god."
She outwardly chuckles, not even trying to hide it this time, as the night god finally stops in front of a carved door. It is still intricate-looking despite being carved straight into rock, and to that, she is greatly in awe. The door is dark red with accents of silver, with bat motifs elaborately laid throughout.
He holds the door open for her, allowing her to go in first. She would have offered her thanks, if he didn't slam it shut and lock it right behind her like he is ready to commit unspeakable acts.
"There is a special talisman put in place in this chamber, which I devised," he starts, so kind as to offer an explanation at the exact moment his whole entire body starts glowing and levitating off the ground. At least he didn't wait for her to ask first. "I can contain the mana traces from Heaven's detection — for one hour, at best."
"Is this how you allocate time to heal your injuries?" She questions all the while as she steps closer to him, mirroring his position in levitating and folding her legs mid-air, both entering a meditative stance. Her nine tails spring out, and frame by frame, her appearance begins to change into her true form.
White hair with icy blue tips roll out in waves across her shoulders. The once normal attire of a Western researcher is now replaced by an overflowing skirt, touching the floor even amidst floating, connected to large half-cut sleeves, and a laced high-neck inner top that highlights the god rune splayed across her collarbones. As it lights up, the silhouette which traces her person begins to emit a vibrant, frosty blue, a cool comparison to Cyn's dark crimson aura.
"Your creativity is oftentimes pushed to its limit when you are a fleeing criminal," he reiterates himself, one silver and one red eye glowing in rivalling intensity, and had she blinked, she would've missed how his entire body shapeshifts; morphing into the King of Ghosts she always caught glimpses of from hidden corners of the Forbidden City's hallway. "You should also tap into your mana reserves; make the best use out of this time."
"I'm not the one being watched by the Lord, I have no need to hide myself from His gaze."
"But you are here on ulterior terms." He doesn't even need to open his eye for her to feel the chastising stare.
She remains as quiet as a dead corpse. Him and his sharp wits.
He is now sat in his usual battle attire, adorned with silver and cool gold, ragged inner clothes giving way to the multi-layered robes of grey-red. His hair, which was just a fluffed out mess moments before, is reverting back to its original state of a cleanly tied ponytail, framed with a red ribbon and an elaborate headdress. The forehead chain, which always glimmers a blinding gold in the midday sun, looks almost bronzed in the dimmed lighting of the chamber.
"Was it necessary for you to hide your true form on mortal land, even when none could see you?" She asks her first question, piqued by inane curiosity, before also closing her eyes. She might also need this time to cultivate her core; the journey has been tiresome, with or without a capable mortal host.
"It helps me reserve more of my mana — I need to cut corners where I can, to recover quickly." He doesn't have to say it, but she gets it. A god that survived a bloody battle of four against one would do all they can to preserve their energy. If not for cultivation, then for the sake of retaining whatever is left of their core.
"Does it … hurt a lot? The injuries you got from the battle?" She peeks one eye open at him, and although his are closed, she can clearly envision the way they would tremble at the question.
Instead, he offers no change in his facial expression, and just scrunches his brows slightly. "Not as much as it used to."
So the fox god stays quiet for a moment, letting herself comprehend the depth of his words. She can't imagine the pain on his core during the first few decades. She herself had only engaged in a godly battle once — and of course, she won, but it was a fair duel, not a group challenge.
And that train of thought leads her to uncover a mental itch she has been wanting to scratch. As her mind is tingling with a burning question she cannot curb, she bites the dust, "Was that why you fled?"
She initially expected him to take a moment, but his response came instantaneously, "The injuries? No. I could have recovered in my post — it had little to do with the interference to my duties."
"Then what does it have to do with?" She corners him, awaiting the long monologue he is about to lecture her with.
But to her surprise — and oh, if he isn't full of surprises — he gives her a curt answer, not even moving an inch from his flawless meditative position.
"My loyalty to the Lord."
He says it like it is normal for a god to no longer be faithful to the Lord of Gods, like it is but a natural phenomenon. He doesn't even flinch, and it ends up being her who almost loses her balance and falls from her levitation.
"Your — pardon — loyalty to the Lord?"
He shrugs, and he does it so coyly she is somehow agitated at his nonchalance. She even had to remind herself to stay calm and go back into meditating. "Precisely. Being forced by his approval to battle against gods whom I considered brothers — and being forced to kill them to ensure my survival — none of this was any different than when I was mortal."
He stops, takes in a deep breath, in which they both end up coincidentally sharing. As the fox god stays quiet, he continues.
"If gods are still not above greed and sin, then what makes us any different from mortals? What rights do we have to call ourselves deities deserving of their worship?"
His tone in delivery is so impassive that it is bone-chilling. He speaks like these words are matter-of-fact, like it would not warrant him a treason as high as vanquishment without reincarnation; to speak against the Lord of Gods in such a crude way.
But then again, she realises, it is because he has been holding onto these very words for the past two centuries, that he is a fleeing criminal.
She, for once, has run out of wits. She remains speechless, stunned into silence, fumbling to find the correct words. After searching for a while with eyes madly roaming beneath her eyelids, she finds it. "Does that mean you do not plan on returning to the Forbidden City?"
The reply is impassive and instantaneous. "Not without my terms being met. I now possess the power equivalent to a Legend — I hope that he would at least heed my request to a personal audience."
"If you are to speak the very same words to him in his presence, I am afraid you will receive more than a personal audience, God of the Night." Her tone grows stern now, and despite her preceding reputation of being a rather troublesome deity, she still has her own virtues — and her own loyalty to the Lord.
He smiles, his closed eyes crinkling rather oddly, and it is morbid. "What is the worst that can happen? I barely have enough reasons to remain a deity, as it stands."
"And what of your followers? Your attendants? Your generals?"
"Set them free – like any attendants of any fallen gods. Free to reincarnate, free from the shackles of the Heavenly Principles."
For someone often combating the darkness of the Abyss, it astounds her that the influence has somewhat gotten to him. He is surely beginning to sound as pessimistic as one, and it infuriates her.
"Are you certain you are not uttering these words based on your guilty conscience?" The fox god finally pinpoints it, the words that have been lodging in her throat since the moment she departed. Words she had surmised ever since she was still in her post. "Perhaps you are guilty of killing you kin; and you have subconsciously attempted to shift the blame elsewhere — to someone omnipotent, some higher power that could have prevented the tragedy; when in reality, it was you who lifted your scythe, and it was you who fought because you wanted to survive. Is it not?"
He opens his eyes, and the glare sets ablaze a trail of electricity up her spine. She bites it down.
"I never took you to be the type to defend the Lord so eagerly, God of Deception," comes his uninterested reply, unperturbed by her accusations. "Have you perhaps realised that none of this was by choice for any of us?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
His eyes narrow, glances down to give her a once-over, and then closes, as if rejecting any truth to her claims. "Ascension to godhood was chosen by the Lord; we did not choose to become gods. Somehow, He saw potential in us that transcends mortality, and gifted us His blessing to become his servant. Have you not thought it strange? We are then assigned to different Houses based on the potency of our skills, influence, and then are given mission scrolls to hopefully become a Legend, or a Cosmic. If there are means to an end, some even go so far as to request god-to-god battles to strengthen their powers. Does it not all sound like a long-winded theatre of entertainment for Him?"
"Is that not what you are entitled to? If you are one of the first beings to roam the universe and restore its balance?"
The night god pauses for a brief moment at her response, then opens his eyes instead of giving her a reply. He has this look on his face that insinuates the conversation is not worth continuing. "Our differences seem to help you understand why I am a fleeing criminal. I need not elaborate further."
The fox god just huffs and rests her palms on the joints of her knees, opening her eyes to stare back at him. "I may be able to understand your viewpoint if I were to empathise. But still, your reason defies logic — if your goal was to riot against Heaven, you would have done so the moment you received the four godrunes, and ushered yourself into a suicidal battle so that you will be eternally vanquished. This would have supported your claim. And yet, you have chosen to flee and hide, waiting to recover. Waiting to do something else. Waiting to strike."
"..."
"There is something else you have not told me."
There is a brief halt in their intense conversation which leaves a residue of tension that hangs low in the air. The anticipation of her assumption strangles her every nerve as Cyn just looks at her blankly.
The air shifts palpably, as if moved by an unknown force, and the next moment, she sucks in a deep breath. His aura truly is threatening, unbefitting for a mere Folklore. She silently shudders at the thought of what his potential may be, now, if he utilises the runes he acquired.
But as quickly as it arises, the air becomes breathable again, and Cyn just sighs. "Although I have my principles, being a god comes with responsibilities one must uphold."
It only takes her a moment to understand what is truly holding him back. Her mind's eye flashes back to the attendants she had met at the cave's court, ready to serve him with utmost loyalty. Sometimes, he is impossible to read — and other times, he is an open book. "So, it is your attendees."
He freezes, "More or less. Every day, they ensure that I will recover steadily, even if there is little progress to show for it."
It does put a smile on her face, how despite the tough exterior and speech, the Night God is but a soft man at heart. "Even so, you could have recovered quicker had you activated your other godrunes — but you wanted to enjoy some more borrowed time away from the Forbidden City, and thus you deny their powers on purpose."
His jaw clenches, and the grim look is back on Cyn's face. Conversing with him constantly makes the fox god feel like she is treading on eggshells; mere moments away from being killed. She does not enjoy this anxiety.
"On purpose is a stretch — it haunts me to remember the ugly acts I performed just to receive these runes. It is not a bestowal gift to me, but an act of sin."
Sin. What a funny word.
"If that is so, then gods are no different from sinners."
He counters quickly, exhaling and closing his eyes like he's utterly defeated, "And perhaps that is the exact point I have been trying to make."
But she does not let him off the hook. If there is one resilient quality about her, it is that she will win an argument. At any cost. "Even if we are, so what?"
He looks up at her, perplexed. Something about the utter confusion on his face is a rarity that she finds deeply gratifying. "Pardon?"
Her stare rivals his. "You are right. Gods are no different from sinners — and perhaps the Lord is the greatest sinner of all. Which god has not gotten their hands painted with blood just to get to where they are now? Even during their mortal times, they have sinned. And perhaps that begs the question of whether or not your perception of godhood has been skewed all along."
"To be a god means to be pure of heart, clear of mind, right of reason. This is the oath we all took."
"But in order for there to be gods, there has to be mortals, and there has to be evil. Perhaps we all are part of an eternal mechanism that perpetually upholds one end of the other. Gods can be greedy; humans can become divinity, and evil can be righteous. Is this not the beauty of our universe?"
He locks his jaw, clenching it so hard she can see the veins popping despite the dim lighting. She sits still, awaiting his long-winded counter, but it comes in a curt sentence. "It is but a flaw."
The fox god almost lets out a humourless laugh, but decides against it at the very last minute. "Do you not find it rather comical? That you, God of the Night, who is tasked to vanquish all evil, is perhaps one of the most righteous deities of all. That is precisely why you are doubting even the Lord — your sense of justice is limitless. If anything, I believe the Lord could not have chosen a better person to ascend.
"Perhaps, just perhaps, it is due to your inexorable justice that led you into believing you have sinned greatly… Just for usurping another god, when many others found it only natural. Means to an end. You need not punish your conscience so much. I know now that what has kept you here is but your guilt, and wrath."
"So you mean to tell me that I was to either kill, or be killed?"
"Is this not how it has always been?"
He goes quiet. She continues, not missing a beat. "Whether one is a god, a mortal, or an evil spirit — has survival of the fittest not what allowed us to transgress this far?"
"..."
"Not all gods are benevolent, Cyn," she utters his nickname now, and it takes him back a bit, pupils shrinking. "Take I, for example. Before I was the God of Deception, I was the most naive mortal there was on the land of Dayheim. It is due to the trials and tribulations I faced in my lifetime that defined me. All gods are just mortals who were given a chance to walk an extended path. Even gods are flawed. You, me, the Legends, the Cosmics, and perhaps even the Lord himself. But that does not mean what we do and what we stand for are rendered irrelevant."
"Thus, you mean to tell me that the blood of the Blessing is meant to be on my hands, and there is nothing I could have done?"
She nods, no longer needing any words, and reaches in to cup his chin. The skin contact surprises him, and had she not been staring straight into his trembling eyes, he would have otherwise looked unaffected. "Look at me. It was either their blood on your hands, or yours on theirs. You did what you could. The godrunes you received are fruits of your labour; not for the act of violence you performed, but for the effort it took for you to stand your ground. This is what the world is like — a battlefield. You, of all people, should know this better than I."
"It is different from the one I had lived," he meekly utters, casting away his gaze, but not avoiding her touch. And so, the grip on his chin turns into a gentle stroke of his cheek.
She understands what he means — the lifetime he had lived as a mortal had a vastly different ending. He was, and is, the same; a general that efficiently carried out all duties without a sweat, always relentless and resolute. But now that she knows even he has moments of self-doubt, she might just begin to understand what went through his mind during his last breaths.
Perhaps he thought death would atone for his sins of leading lives into battlefields. Perhaps to him, that was the only salvation.
What a cruel joke on him, she muses, that instead of letting him reincarnate, his selflessness shone in the eyes of the Lord, making him tasked to kill even more. His line of reason now has a point.
And perhaps, just perhaps, it was due to the heat of the moment that coerced her into spilling her long-kept secret.
"I have a confession to make," and so she utters, out of nowhere, and it catches Cyn's interest, given the way he peers up at her with rounded eyes. She slowly retracts her hand, returning it to her knee. "I had… known of your life as a mortal."
He remains quiet, seemingly stunned, brows raised. He remains perfectly still, all muscles of his body tensed, and waits for her to continue. She does. "We were — acquainted, at most. I worked at the palace court during your entrance exam. You must not have known of me, for we have barely talked, but —"
"I think I know who you are." He replies swiftly, cutting her embarrassment short, a hint of a smile on his face, and yet his expression belies him. "Were you the palace attendant who would always visit the military court during practice?"
Now it is her turn to look up with rounded eyes. "You had … seen me?"
"As the only female in the vicinity, you are quite hard to miss. I always found you lingering around, pretending to watch from a distance behind your paperwork. But I had not realised you were watching me."
"I was not!"
"Were you watching the man whom your father had arranged for betrothal, then?"
She snickers, and it is a wild sound. The memory feels like a lifetime ago; and it is. But now that they are finally talking about it, the fox god feels like it only happened yesterday. "You mean the man I ended up killing on my wedding night due to how intolerable he is?"
"He must have been the catalyst to your man-eating tendencies, then."
They share a quiet laughter, and something in that moment feels so delicate — an odd sense of intimacy and tenderness that she can't quite put a finger on, and yet it brings her warmth nonetheless.
"You barely ever spoke, even during training. Your troops didn't even know your name."
"No use in chit chatting in the midst of battle. My name was not necessary. All they ever called me was General, anyway."
"Huise was your nickname, had you realised?"
He raises one brow, expression so painfully mischievous it begins to look a bit charming. "I overheard it in passing a handful of times. I merely thought they were gossipping about someone else."
"It is a wonder how you remained so unbothered, and yet became a General. Others were willing to get their hands dirty just to take your place."
"Which they did, did they not?" He remarks, the smile that is now on his face making her guts twist. "Was it not your husband that led the siege to my assassination?"
And just like that — with just one wrong turn of their conversation, the atmosphere becomes morbid once again. Perhaps she should learn to watch her words.
"I am deeply sorry… It was because of me."
Her apology makes him frown, eyebrows so furrowed they entangle into one. "How so?"
"Every scholar on mortal soil was on the hunt for you as soon as they saw your name on top of the results. So many gambled away their fortunes just to buy the highest seat, and yet, the one who came out first was not the highest bidder. It also did not help that you never told anyone your name."
At the memory, Cyn smiles, and she can clearly see the reminiscence in his eyes. "It was a silly name my mother had given me when I was a child."
"Xin Zhilei does sound like an… odd name. No offence."
"None taken," he shakes his head, "It means 'stopping tiredness'. I came from a family of poverty where it was just me and my mother. She was hoping I would grow up to be a strong and determined individual who combats that."
"And you did. You made her proud."
His eyes turn soulless, and she suddenly feels the need to apologise, as if she had mentioned something she should not have. Maybe they should just go back to meditating.
But Cyn continues, and what she hears next makes her jaw drop.
"She was a prostitute. I never really knew who my father was — I only remembered seeing her bought like chattel, then news came of her being murdered by the rich commissioner's wife a decade later."
"My deepest apologies…" She really is running out of apologies to offer. Something about the night god makes her feel like a toddler, always one step away from being a nuisance.
But he offers her a warm look, a smile in his eyes that does not show on his face. "Worry not, I fended for myself quite well at a young age. My name was omitted because I was constantly fleeing from that family's eyes. Had I grown up in the same brothel she worked at, I too would have ended up as a prostitute."
"Prostitute? But there are only female prostitutes—"
He looks at her dead in the eyes, a mischievous glint in it, then laughs — a real, genuine one that shakes his entire frame, and suddenly, all the cogwheels in her head begin turning.
"Zhilei is a female name."
She takes a moment to pause, then gasps. Oh.
Oh.
"You are… female?"
"By birth, yes. Although due to dire circumstances, I always had to lead a male life."
Now, she truly has nothing left to say. "But — how were you able to even gain education, train in the military, and even—?"
"The best way to hide is in plain sight, God of Deception." This is all he offers in explanation, and he looks at her like he expects her to immediately understand.
At first, well, she didn't. During their mortal times, although thousands of years ago, she vividly remembered it — only men could have access to literature, education, and combat. Women are given housewife duties, tending to their fathers, husbands and sons. Even the position of a palace attendant is one of the only jobs a female of their time could have, and it is thanks to her family's upbringing that she received education at all.
It was a privilege.
And to think Cyn bypassed all that by pretending to be a male — all this time?
"How did you do it?" Now that she knows this fact, and now that she takes a good look at him… No wonder his features are strikingly elegant. He has a feminine beauty to him that is almost haunting.
"It seems I have bested the God of Deception herself for the second time today," he shrugs then continues, in spite of her apparent shock. "I always had a rather manly build. I would lurk around the windows of lecture halls, then take notes on discarded papers on the streets with a stolen quill. I would perch myself atop a tree branch to observe how they trained in combat, and practise it when the lanterns are out during the night. When you are a stray, self-defence is but a must, regardless of gender. I prefer being viewed as a male, either way. There is no need for you to change your impression of me."
"So your preservation allowed you to come this far… without proper training or education?"
"It seems so. When I enlisted my name into the military board, I did not expect to be called upon. They must have been superbly impressed by my entry thesis."
Right, she remembers. Although there were no explicit rules that females could not enter the scholar's exam, most females would not harbour the necessary knowledge to write an adequate entry paper.
Apparently, he is the exception. "What was the thesis about?"
"The Obsoletion of Gender. It was highly controversial, and my name was searched for even before the results came out. To me, it was a matter of time that I would be killed. I lived a good life, to say the least. I have no regrets," he finishes his sentence with a cracked voice, the most emotion he has shown her, and yet his face remains impassive, as if his soul is anywhere else but here.
"Bold… And you wondered why you became a god," she whispers, more so to herself than to him. "And to think no one caught wind of this despite the amount of gossip flying about…"
"They were all too fixated on my arrogance to look through the thinly veiled disguise."
She smiles weakly, "For a born female, you harboured physical strength that put a male to shame."
This prompts him to remember himself, "Strength is but a self-portrait of one's ego. As soon as I fractured that, it was not hard to defeat them in duels."
She just juts out her bottom lip at that, having nothing clever to say in rebuttal. "The Lord… knows, right? You did not deceive Him as well, did you?"
Cyn chuckles, the sound almost muted, but she hears it perfectly. "Of course he knows. He is the one who told me that being a god means forsaking all mortal limitations. I am neither a male, nor am I a female. I am just a person — a deity. And that is enough."
"You still speak well of Him, so you must not entirely resent Him, no?"
"I never said anything about resentment. I simply disagreed with His views."
"Then, let me be frank," she levitates closer to him now, their knees touching. He looks at her with a blank stare that does little to mask his intrigue. "If I aid you in recovery and studying your new runes, you will do me a favour and traverse Dayheim with me for my plans."
"Plans of your aforementioned ulterior motives?" He echoes, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. But he does not reject her, so she keeps going.
"I am limited by a mortal shell, there are certain things I cannot do."
"You really are the God of Deception," he praises her in a way that feels more like an insult than it is flattery, but the fox god brushes it aside after one quick huff.
"I shall take that as your agreement. Then, once both our goals are fulfilled, you will return to your post. Whatever you wish to speak to the Lord once you have a personal audience is your own prerogative, but my mission is only to bring you back. Our partnership ends there. Oh, and let me reiterate — if you somehow think yourself audacious enough to defy the Heavens and stage a riot, I will not be a part of it."
"And you will not, I give you my word," he reassures her, eyes glimmering, "But it is oddly telling of your character to assume I would riot."
"Or do you have other motives for returning?"
"I bested you at deceiving, remember that," is all he leaves it at, and reverts the topic so flawlessly she receives whiplash. "To your proposal; I agree to your terms. However, let it be known that if you disobey your vow in any way to endanger me or my attendants, I will do the same to you."
"How precarious," she remarks, but nods her head anyway. "You have my word."
"A blood oath needs to be signed, for extra reassurance." He offers, extending his palm, waiting for her to take it. The absolute confidence bothers her, just for a little bit, but what other choices does she have? She is willing to compromise at least this much for the mission.
"You are such an uptight man," the fox god scoffs but takes his hand anyway, and allows their mana traces to mingle together, binding their words into existence. The emanating glow bleeds into a stunning purple, then dissipates back into their respective bodies in the form of highlighted veins. She feels a thrumming warmth in her core, the presence of the oath reverberating through her very being.
"Satisfied?" she asks, and he responds with a pleasant hum. "Then, let us start. I believe your talisman would not hold up for much longer."
"Precisely twenty more minutes, so you must make haste." He mutters, but leans in so that their foreheads and palms are pressed together.
"Thanks for the pressure," she responds with a mirror of his gestures, his forehead piece cooling to the touch. They synchronise their consciences, granting the fox spirit the usage of her infamous technique which allows her to peer directly into another's soul.
Almost immediately, a shock of pain seizes through her entire frame.
The power surge of being in contact with four godrunes at once is something entirely novel to her; although she expects that Legends and Cosmics may harbour ten times the amount — not that she has ever attempted to link her consciousness to those leagues above hers. But still, the intensity of each rune, raging turbulently against Cyn's consciousness, all the while battling his own broken rune almost makes her mind snap in half.
"So — this is what you have been battling for the past two hundred years?" She meekly musters out, eyebrows scrunched, and she knows he can feel it.
"I haven't even activated them yet," he whispers back. "If it is too much to bear, we can cease and retry at another time."
"Nonsense, a vow is a vow. Let us proceed. I can handle it," she retorts back, allowing her pride to get the better of her. She has mind controlled thousands of mortals in the span of one night — four godrunes should not be any different, should it?
She feels more than hears him sigh, his chest heaving and conceding slightly. Then, Cyn does what she would never expect; he links his fingers into hers, then squeezes their intertwined palms. An action of reassurance.
"This is going to be the first time I activate these runes since I have received them," he says, like it's going to make her feel any better, but she takes it as a sign of his trust, and just nods.
And so, it begins.
The light in the entire room goes out in one moment, then it blinds her through her eyelids in the next. The glow is golden, strong and vibrant, almost like the Lord's Heavenly Light. It blasts at her from everywhere and nowhere all at once, like it comes from her but also from Cyn, and from everything around them. It attacks all of her senses, rendering her futile and at a loss — until the sensation follows.
And oh, Heavens.
The harrowing burden of every god rune begins to stir, then gnaws its fangs right into her, like they have laid dormant for hundreds of years just to wait for this very moment. The conflicting nature of all the runes — Wealth, Health, Long Life, Virtue, Peaceful Death — five aspects of the Blessings that were never meant to be harboured by one god, begin fighting for dominance inside of her body.
Cyn holds his breath, and exhales in a weak stutter.
And the next moment, she feels her consciousness snap, their link abruptly broken.
Just like the sound of impact when her entire body plops to the ground with a loud crack.