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A poor man dies in the freshly swept temple of broken gods.
Only a few bore witness as weak hands pressed dear and devoted to an etched symbol of water. A tired smile and eyes clouded in illness, his body was still young but the many years of the spirit finally caught up. Leaving a handsome man, who had only just begun to wrinkle at the eyes, slow and thin of breath. A laugh which had begun to fade now a whisper as he asked those gathered to please tell someone I don't want to die.
A poor man dies in a bent temple of water and wind surrounded by humble friends and scant years of mortal living.
And the ocean screams.
Those living in the capital do not understand until it is too late.
A revenge seeking martial god descends as a black shroud like a wave pours into the city. Ankle deep black water stains the streets and there is cold horror as white eyed ghouls tear apart the capital in search of a corpse.
The demons chant their Master is owed this debt - and the ocean will not cease it's screaming.
There are gold born warriors of heavenly light and a General's voice booming through the clouds. There are damp crawling things with gnarled teeth and starved bodies. Terror traps the capital as demons and gods meet and fight over a beggar's remains.
Blood rain pours from the sky and buildings go missing like something bit into the very fabric of the world and swallowed it whole.
A figure in white appears. Untouched by the red rain as he travels the streets where the darkest water pools and twists like a hurricane untethered from the ocean. Devouring all in it's path should the line of martial gods slip.
Then all at once the battle ends.
The black waters recede and the ghosts wither like dry husks on a shore.
The ocean screams until the mangled cries become wracked sobs, choking on islands and storm sunken vessels who were unable to escape the monstrous squall.
Eventually that too stops and leaves the shores stained with black foam for weeks as massive skeletal corpses wash onto the beaches. Poisoning the food supply and leaving many hungry and afraid.
Days pass.
A prince in white waits at the debris of a water and wind temple, looking inside as two shapes converse.
The man in red holds his own wounds, his body weak and bitten, pieces missing from the battle but still alive as far as a ghost can be.
The man in black is worse for wear, his own body fading and flickering against his injuries. Separating like waves crashing into a rocky beach, scattering bit by bit.
He is dying, clutching a fan which carries the faintest scent of a mortal's touch. Trembling with his forehead grinding into the stone of a temple floor - where a body was taken by a martial god and left with nothing but a memento.
"You should sleep now." The ghost king in red speaks, somewhere between a threat and what might be the extent of his patience for others. "There's nothing left. "
The king calamity glances at what he can see of the fan. It's beautiful, well cared for even when belonging to a beggar for years. The paper fresh and spotless, the ink crisp and stark against the pale paper.
The ribs without wear as their dark lacquer almost hides the black pearl inlay. Enough that mortal eyes would never notice, but Crimson Rain Sought Flower had not worn mortal eyes in many years.
"I can do this for you." He offers, oddly kind.
"I didn't know it would be like this." Black Water Sinking Ship's voice is broken, stripped raw, and bloody. His lips leak foam and the shivering form is almost too weak to go on. "I want him back."
"I warned you." The ghost king in red goes against his usual demeanor, crouching beside his brother supreme and though he will not touch him, there is almost comfort there. As much as he can spare. "His body is locked away in heaven, and I suspect not even I could get it back for you. But even so, he won't be reborn so it's pointless to wait.."
Gods do not return, his soul will be marked for rest.
Shi Qingxuan is likely with his brother now, far from He Xuan's reach.
It's not fair he thinks, but knows that's not true.
He built the path and removed all options.
He forced destiny and was paying for it
"Let me do this for you."
Black Water Sinking Ships squeezes the fan, all that remained for him in this world. He shudders and tries to imagine Shi Qingxuan's gentle smile in that other world, where he will remain locked from returning.
"I didn't know." He repeats, his spirit flickering without a purpose.
"You should truly die now." Crimson Rain assures, the words not nearly as harsh as they might be otherwise.
"I can do it. Myself."
He rises to full height, giving his (not friend but maybe) space. Allowing him a moment alone as the red King calamity returns to his prince in white. Never needing a reminder of his love, his devotion, but finding it stings to see another bear a similar thread and having chewed it until it frayed.
It makes one, thankful, he decides instead of sadness. He will not miss Black Water because there is no room in him to care for any other.
But he will likely feel something when he is gone.
He Xuan rests a hand on the temple floor.
He looks up to the remains of a shrine of Water and Wind. Their faces long faded, broken away like half the structure in the fight for a corpse. The blankets where Shi Qingxuan lay when he died are gone. The nomadic beggars having long since fled in terror and there is nothing left but this fan and the echo of laughter within his hollow heart. Filling his cold body since they first met - never leaving him no matter the ways He Xuan tried to bleed him out.
Ming-xiong!
Help me! Ge!helphelphelp!!
I want to die
I don't want to die.
There are more things he would say to Shi Qingxuan that no longer matter to the man.
He is gone.
He Xuan is no longer hungry.
He presses his mouth to the fan's body, trying to imagine incense and Jasmine clinging to pale hands that once would stroke his hair. He tries to remember the freckles in dark eyes and how Shi Qingxuan liked his tea. (He preferred wine though. Always giggling and soft and pink and sweet. Naive and punished for it. Trusting and broken for it.)
"I'm sorry."
Black Water Sinking Ships knows he is ready to really die if just to stop thinking about Shi Qingxuan.
Maybe he can't do this himself.
He opens his mouth to call for Crimson Rain Sought Flower, and his eyes are lit with green instead.
Pale. Tiny orb of light, a wavering fragile flame which blossoms from the fan in the shadow of his body. No larger than an eye and weak by all standards of the lingering dead.
The little spark clinging to life and is neither warm or cold when it crowds He Xuan's lashes.
Like a kiss to dry his tears.
Gods do not return.
But mortals are stubborn things, aren't they?
Hua Cheng and Xie Lian startle at the sudden clatter within the temple. A fan is dropped and a crumbling body vanishes. They step instead, the prince more concerned, but Hua Cheng notes the fan with a look of surprise-then amusement as the black pearl ashes within the wood have been scooped out.
"Should we search?" Xie Lian, who is torn between the devastation of Black Water and the memory of his friend who adored him, asks with concern. Balancing what is good and what is right with a frown.
"Oh," he twists the fan in his fingers before a gentle shake lets it fall to dust in his palm. No longer of use to gods or mortals or ghosts.
"I'm not sure ge ge, but I think for now - we won't be surprised at what happens next."
..
Sometimes there is a man (sometimes a woman) who stands at the peak of a mast while the sail flutters in a cold sea breeze which clatters against boats like a bright laughter.
They are a ghost.
Sailors know this.
They know when the figure appears, smiling as robes of black and pale green whip about their lean body - that a storm is coming and they should prepare.
It has become practice now to keep offerings of meat and bread or pretty pins and brightly colored fans onboard, throwing them to the wind or darkening waters. Hoping the polite gifts will appease the spirit who dives after and hope the waters calm.
If they're lucky, that is.
If the bride of black water catches their husband in a good mood sailors and merchants sing prayers and thanks to the sea dancing song bird. The spirit who calms deep water beasts and laughs as they jump across the wind from sail to rushing sea.
Carefree and hauntingly beautiful, preserved forever in death.
Sometimes there is a wave of black water that rises to greet them. Boney pale hands snatching their waist and curling around them. A sharp face of pale skin and black eyes burying into their neck just beneath black pearl earrings. Loose hair forever twisting like the wind as they sink below the depths.
Like the wind guiding the waves home.
Intertwined and inseparable.
Together.