The Drowning Faith

She’s the only divine thing he’s ever believed in. The only creature in this vast, cruel land who could kill him. And sometimes, in his loveliest dreams, he imagines she does.

She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.

He loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes too quick, like it’s ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin. He loves her resilience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness. She’s everything he’s not: unbound, reckless, free. He’s never known anyone like her. She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.

He loves her. Of this he’s certain.

In all of his worst nightmares, she’s dying. She’s fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers. This, he tells her. He doesn’t tell her that his hand holds the blade.

He can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

Don’t try to speak,” Nezha murmurs, because it’ll kill him if she does. Because his resolve is only so strong, and if she utters another word then he’ll be lost.

All these years trying to find a way to kill himself, and here’s someone who might actually finish the job. And somehow, paradoxically, this is the most he’s ever wanted to be alive. This is the first time in an eternity that he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning

This is a test, and Rin is failing, and his heart is breaking.

They can't say her name in his presence. He's never made this a rule. But for some reason, none of them dare.

Who is the true god?" ... She's the only divine thing he's ever believed in.

They are, both of them, bound by forces far behind their making: vicious paths that put them in this spot, across each other, never on the same side. Their visions of the future don’t include each other. There is no compromise or neutrality. Only her way. Or his. It doesn’t matter that he loves her. It doesn’t matter. It’s never mattered.

Who is the true god.” “Chaos,” he says. That’s the closest the Hesperians will ever come to understanding the Pantheon. They’ll never grasp the depths of it; the terrifying swirl of forces that constitute all that is. Their minds can’t handle its incoherence; the fact that the sixty-four gods do not will and do not care. They can’t fathom a world without intention. The only word they might accept is chaos. But Nezha knows divinity. It’s fathomless. It is not something that can be measured or studied; can’t be described through meticulously constructed logic. The forces that dreamed up this world are the opposite of rational. Divinity isn’t knowable. It’s the Dragon in the grotto. It’s the Dragon inside him. It’s the three madmen who united a nation and tore themselves apart. It’s pain, eternity, and terror. It’s endless, all-consuming fire. It’s her.

There’s no space for Rin in the world they’re trying to build, and the unavoidable truth of this kills him.

He loves her. Of this he is certain. he loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes out too quick, like it's ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin. He loves her resilience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness. She's everything he's not: unbound, reckless, free. He's never known anyone like her. She terrifies him and he loves her so much it hurts. In all of his worst nightmares, she's dying. She's fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers. This he tells her. He doesn't tell her that his hand holds the blade.

Because you’re about to be the ones in power,” she says. “And because you never decentralize power once you’ve got it. I wouldn’t.” “Well, we all know you wouldn’t.” She gives him a look. “That’s not my cynicism, Nezha. That’s human nature.

I'm sorry,' he says. 'I know it should have been me.' Vaisra doesn’t hesitate. 'It should have been you.

But Nezha won't lie. "Who is the true god?" "Chaos," he says.

He can't take his eyes off her. She's the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

She's everything he's not: unbound, reckless, free. He's never known anyone like her. She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.

He loves her. Of this he's certain. He loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes too quick, like it's ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin. He loves her resilience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness. She's everything he's not: unbound, reckless, free. He's never known anyone like her. She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts. In all of his worst nightmares, she's dying. She's fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers. This he tells her. He doesn't tell her that his hand holds the blade.

Don't try to speak," Nezha murmurs, because it'll kill him if she does. Because his resolve is only so strong, and if she utters another word then he'll be lost.