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Despite Perlica’s words that kept warning him to stay close together with her and Qianyu, The Endministrator managed to find a spare time to slip away from her.
The trip to Wuling wasn't an entirely smooth journey. To be precise, when has there been a moment in his life—even for just a single second—that he got just a moment of respite to take off the burdens of that name from his shoulder?
Endmin.
He closed his eyes as he greeted the skies of Wuling. It was just as Qianyu said, it's a beautiful view.
It was only him and him alone, aside from the fact that the cities are bustling with quite a bunch of people even at this hour. He touched his mask, grazing at its metallic surface, before he leaned at the fences which separate him from the vast land beneath the building. He knew that, any time soon, Perlica would be catching up to him or maybe contacting him through the intercomms. So, he might as well enjoy the wind while he could…
“... You don't seem keen on hiding your presence.”
The Endmin slowly rose from his position, turning around to find the familiar Lich standing not too far behind him.
“Was it obvious?” the Lich shoved his hand into his pocket, walking just a few steps closer towards The Endmin before he stops when the man unsheathed his sword. The Endmin could see the way his eyes widened for a little when he aimed his blade, though he wondered if he were imagining things, because not even a second afterwards, The Lich retreated back to his composed demeanor.
“No need to be so hostile,” he shakes his head, “this is technically our second time meeting, yes? I have no intention to harm you.”
“Your first impression doesn't really strike me as good, Ardashir,” the Endmin lowered his sword, but kept his guard nonetheless.
Ardashir didn't take that as a chance to get closer, he stayed where he was merely shifting his footings and looking around.
“Were you fetching some fresh air?”
The Endmin was quiet for a while, seemingly reluctant to reply until he gave a simple nod.
“You?”
“... Simply passing by,” he answered, looking around before he found a bench and smiled, “let's sit down, shall we? Our nice little… rendezvous was interrupted earlier.”
Rendezvous? The Endmin scoffed to himself as he played along, sitting by Ardashir’s side though keeping his distance.
Ardashir was silent, clasping his own fingers. If Endmin wasn't used to observing, he might have missed how his eyes flickered as he fiddled with his own fingers, or the way his eyes has so many intricate details which glistens beneath the lamplight—
Why am I paying attention to his eyes? The Endmin retract his glances. I shouldn't even be with this man. I should go back before the team—
“Endmin, pardon me for this, but, do you… have a bit of money on you?”
Silence.
Even longer silence.
Because, no, how much more shameless can this man be? First, he hide his identity and deliberately approached him with such intricate acting that he was almost, almost fooled if it weren't for Chen and Perlica's guts. Then it was revealed that he is actually a villain by relations—after all that shit he pulled at the Jingyu Valley, the Endmin couldn’t help but feel pissed that Ardashir just hid themselves away.
And now, he asked for money?
If only he weren't using his mask, Ardashir could see just how appalled he seems.
Ardashir chuckled at the stretching silence, “no? Very well then, mayhaps I shall be parched forever with no drinks to soothe me… oh woe is me, however shall I survive in this—” his eyes caught the extending water by the side of their place, blinking.
“... You could borrow one of my bottles if you’re that thirsty.”
“Ahem, no need. My apologies.”
The Endmin scoffs though his lips helplessly stretched itself on his face, amused by their exchange. While Ardashir did stood up and pulled out some device along with a bottle from his inventory, to which it intrigued him.
The device was small enough that it could be handheld, the water runs through that device before it enterred the bottle—filling it whole—and then Ardashir drinked it.
“... What's that?” blinded by curiosity, mayhaps, the Endmin stood and approached him by the small pond, “it looks so… small, almost like a stone, but it's waves… it can purify water by pouring it over the stone?”
Ardashir took a while to answer, the tip of that bottle pressed on his lips even after he finished drinking.
“... It's a water purifier,” Ardashir finally spoke up, closing the bottle and shoving it in his pocket, “the creator of this purifier said that they were using some sort of originium arts so the water that went through would be drinkable…”
Ardashir explained to him how the water purifier stone worked with meticulous detail, down to how he used it, where to hold, and what it does to the water that's poured to the stone. Endmin seemed intrigued. No, not intrigued, he seems… invested.
“Can I try using it?”
Ardashir blinked.
He placed a finger in the middle of his upper lips and nose, looking away, “go ahead.”
They've been spending their time for less than a week, no more than the amount of times Endmin spent with Tianshi Zhuang. But there's something that made him wanted to stay just for a little longer by Ardashir's side, even while knowing that this man is probably out to kill him.
He poured the water onto the stone, and chuckled when he recognized the differences Ardashir told him earlier—Ardashir explained that there would be a slight difference in the clarity of the water, it would be visible to the naked eyes as a sign that it's drinkable now—and he laughed.
The Endmin laughed.
It was a soft laugh rather than a loud one. A satisfactory laugh as he watched the clear water poured onto the empty bottle he had and drank it. He did it a few times more until he finally stopped, a smile lingered on his face, observing the small stone—he noticed that there are some carvings on the stone which lit up when it's wet, and his steps slowed as he watched the glimmer of light dims as the stone dries.
Ardashir stood a few feet away from him as the wind brushed against his hair. Both hands stuffing itself in his pocket, his fingers fiddling with the empty bottle in his pocket and he had half a mind to clench onto that bottle until it's scrunched in halves.
“This little one's real useful,” Endmin brought the small stone up to his eye level, grinning—unconsciously, “if I tweaked it for a little here and there… Valley IV probably could make a good use of it…”
“Mhm.”
The Endmin glanced towards the lich, who had been standing across with his hands hidden in his coat pocket. He moved the stone from his sight, his sight clears revealing Ardashir's expression which eases ever so slightly.
The wind sounds far louder than what he remembers it to be, and Endmin’s head fell to both of his shoes, chuckling.
“Usually,” he started, “someone would be telling me that I created this ridiculous looking stone and made a great change for the better somewhere,” he took a great amount of air before huffing it out, lifting his head up to scan his surroundings before it fell back to Ardashir.
But the white haired Lich didn't say anything.
He closed his distance, his hand moved out of his pocket. Its movement froze just for a sparse second before it took the stone held in the Endmin's hold, his gloved fingers grazing with the palm of his hand.
“I suppose you haven't been given a chance to take a great look at Wuling?”
He's changing the topic, The Endmin shrugs, following Ardashir's footsteps that looked like he was trying to distance himself from him.
“Take a great look?” he raised his brows, “I had quite a look at those aggeloi, thanks to your great miraculous effort.”
“Oh spare me,” Ardashir huffs, “it's not entirely my fault that there's so many aggelois here. Ever considered that perhaps it’s due to the Tianshi’s lack thereof? I notice she hid herself away in her office after—”
“Well, well, look at that. You seem to know a lot about the Viceroy of Wuling.”
“It would only be ridiculous—for a lack of better sentence—that I, for one, do not know about the Tianshi’s activities while I’m travelling in Wuling. You do realize it’s been a few days ever since, right?”
“Travelling, sure,” the Endmin followed as Ardashir jumped over from the fences, taken aback at how he did not stumble his footings as he landed a rather harsh landing. He grunted, patting his knees, his breath took a harsh pull as he continued, “like you didn’t literally drag away you and herself into a portal which summoned itself out from god-knows-where… Where are we?”
Ardashir stopped walking, heels turning as he stared at him, appalled, “did you just seriously followed me without knowing where we’re going?”
.. Alright, sure, that one’s entirely on me.
All of a sudden, they were no longer inside of Wuling city’s building complex. Instead, all which spread out were rows and rows of bamboo groves, with bristling grasses as its lone companion. The Endmin looked down as he felt the wet mud by the stomps of his heels.
Ardashir chuckled, “my, you sure are clumsy, Endmin,” the edge of his lips stretched back into a small smirk, “this would be a very good opportunity to… steal you away, torture you elsewhere… or, if you’d prefer, we could have a nice meal without anybody interrupting, and—”
“If that was the case, then why didn’t you let Nefarith strike me back in Jingyu Valley?”
It was impossible to miss the way Ardashir froze, the glint of mischief in his eyes disappeared into one of surprise, along with the way his grin twitched into something akin to sombriety. It was impossible to miss the way Ardashir gazed at him—the way his eyes missed that mask of nonchalance like it usually do and expressed an emotion to which he recalled seeing in Perlica’s face when he first woken up from his long charade of endless dreams—beneath the moonlight.
The Endmin tilted his head.
And fleeting is vulnerability in the face of this man whom he’d known for less than a week, as Ardashir, instead, graced his gaze towards this endless field of bamboo.
They continued the stroll in silence, with Ardashir walking slowly just a few steps in front of him. Through the endless field of bamboo groves they traverse, and slip they do away from the aggelois.
Perhaps neither noticed the shifting pace of their footsteps, for they somehow reached a point where they were walking silently side by side, fluent in their silence—Ardashir in his practice of hiding, and the Endmin in his attempt to understand. And the Endmin has never been fluent in the language of emotions, he doesn’t even recall his own memories, so how could he—ever so miraculously—recall a way to understand the way others would stare at him like that?
Like he owed them more than just a promise of thousands surviving civilizations.
It’s… Unfair.
But still, his footsteps acted like it has a memory of its own, walking by this stranger’s side ignoring the one looming unaddressed elephant in the room which he knew sooner or later be doom to him and everyone around him. Why is that?
“... My companion,” the voice rouse Endmin back to reality as they somehow reached an abandoned hut with a lit xiranite powered lamp, “used to drag me out for a stroll whenever they were lethargic.”
Ah, that’s new, Endmin thought as he looked around the area. It’s rather a conveniently safe place to sit down and converse, but alas, his sense of urgency had bade him a well-ignored farewell ever since god-knows when, “did they now? Where to?”
“Wherever they will it to be,” Ardashir snorted, “sometimes they just dragged me out a few feet away from our base… Other times, I was with him as we discovered new places,” he smiled. And it was a genuine smile, surprisingly, after so long he was trying to keep up a facade.
Ardashir sat on the edge of that hut, his hand leaning at the stone flooring of that building as he languidly stretched out, “they told me, I shouldn’t be holing myself inside of the base all day despite knowing I despise doing heavy labor—”
“You call walking a heavy labor?” Endmin laughed, “thanks for that, I should rest assured that you wouldn’t be catching up to me if I were to run away from you.”
Ardashir didn’t answer for a few while before he followed suit with a silent chuckle, “teleporting is easier anyway.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Who said this would be a running marathon? It’s called catching for a reason,” he leaned closer towards the still giggling Endmin, “a hunter would do all they could to catch its prey, no?”
Though Ardashir couldn’t see it, he knew Endmin was rolling his eyes, “yeah, yeah, whatever.”
For some reason, it turned into Ardashir musing about his past with this companion of his doing whatever—strolling together, finding a mine filled with originium ore for the first time and yelling in glee inside of an echoing cave, after meeting exchange of Ardashir groaning about his workload and his companion retorting with something along the lines of, “you said this and then go finished it under the assigned deadline. Stop complaining and get to work,”
“Seems like a great guy,” the Endmin pointed out, “must’ve been incredibly brilliant.”
The winds have never blown that loud until the Endmin pointed that out, and if it weren't for his mask, he probably wouldn't get the chance to see the way Ardashir took a moment before he turned to him.
“... he is,” he finally spoke.
A pause.
“Even at his worst, he is.”
Be grateful to nature for it conceals things one does not wish to express, and Ardashir is grateful, for the wind masks the way his voice croaks as he speaks. And even more so, he was grateful the night enveloped the two of them in this seldom chance of peace, though his chest felt like it's been halved over and over again the more he sat down and mused over a memory no one remembers but him alone.
Those memories are long hidden in the snow, which was then wafted by the heat exuded by a cause mistakenly made, melting the snow—the lone witness of a forgotten sweetness, and even then, sugar could melt if it's carried by the seas.
“... So where is he now?”
The Endmin asked, as he ignored the way his stomach had been slowly churning with an unknown feeling. An unease not out of fear but something different which he could not name.
“Somewhere, I'm sure.”
“He's not dead?”
At first, Ardashir wanted to retort by saying, at what point did he even imply this companion of his was dead?
But then he caught the way Endmin was waiting for an answer, and his smile, mischievous as it might be, melted.
“... Might've been better if he was.”
There's a chirp somewhere around this hut which acts as a placeholder to their non-existent speech. From the corner of his eyes, Endmin saw a glow bug flying in group surrounding the wild Jingcao flowers.
And he stood from his seat, he stretched his hand out.
Ardashir raised his brows.
“I guess, at this time around, he'd say,” Endmin coughed, “Stop moping around and get moving, right?”
The white haired man blinked slowly before he snorted, “are you trying to cheer me up, Endmin?”
“Well… think of it however you want.”
Ardashir took his hand.
Despite being the one who lent his hand out, Endmin didn't know what to do until Ardashir took the reins and wrapped a hand around his waist. He chuckled at the way Endmin awkwardly placed his free hand on Ardashir's shoulder, his feet stumbling as he struggled to match Ardashir's steps.
“You know,” Ardashir began again, “he'd usually taken both of my hands and spun me around like a child.”
Endmin let out a silent ah, looking at the way their hands are placed in each other's body. He was about to reenact whatever Ardashir was describing to him, before Ardashir stopped him by tightening the hold in his waist.
“I didn't ask you to be him.”
“... I just thought you might like it.”
Ardashir smiled at that, shaking his head, “no, this one's better.”
That was his first time hearing someone—aside from Laevatain—telling him that he shouldn't be someone else for the sake of others.
It felt… nice.
And they danced, clumsily that is, in the middle of this forgotten hut. The grass bristled loudly beneath their feet as if they were complaining. At that thought, Endmin chuckled as he found his own pace to match with Ardashir.
“... I hear people doesn't usually dance without some sort of instrument.”
“We're in the middle of nowhere, Endmin.”
“I thought that miraculous ability of yours could summon anything out of thin air,” Endmin nudged with his shoulder, “just as much as it could make anything disappear.”
Ardashir, for the first time, laughed aloud, “you're ridiculous. You really are the Endministrator of Endfield, right?”
“That's what everyone's been telling me.”
“Well, I'm not everyone.”
Endmin considered that answer for a moment as their steps joined to a slow movement.
“... I know.”
They danced, for a moment that feels like centuries with the chirping glow bug as their only instrument. At times, Ardashir would sweep his gaze around the scenery, and Endmin would take that moment to stare at his clothes—he noticed Ardashir wore a lot of rings, and at one point, his gaze caught the tattoo on one of his fingers.
“... Did he tattooed this one on you?”
Ardashir turned to him, gazing at the direction he was pointing at.
“No. I did that.”
“Ah… then, one of these,” his hand which was held by Ardashir, shifted so it could touched the many rings on Ardashir's fingers, “must've been from him.”
“... That one's long gone.”
“You drop it somewhere?”
“Sort of,” he replied, “that one's handcrafted, too. He was fussing over the fact that I wouldn't let him make one for me since I kept saying no.”
Endmin smiled, “and then he went ahead and make it huh?”
“Yeah. His fingers were all patchy after that,” he chuckled, “he's not really one for handcrafting you know. Turns out he knew the size of my finger, used one of the very few ores we had, and crafted a pair,” he sighs, “said I had to keep it safe. I don't really get why he was so adamant about it—about handcrafting one, I mean. We could've just buy it or maybe hire a craftsman somewhere, knowing him, he's capable of finding that kind of person, you see.”
Ardashir took another pause before he continued, “... We'd do all sorts of things when we got some time off. All silly things. Useless, in his words. But he'd do it anyway, taking me out to buy groceries and he'd beg me not to tell the rest that he got a sweet tooth—a big fan of candies,” a giggle escaped his lips, “at one point in time he didn't mind that I'd have my hands wrapped around his shoulders.”
“Touchy I see.”
Ardashir nodded.
“... Even until that night where I caught him slipping out of the base, he didn't mind that I still held his hand,” the winds aren't able to mask the way he spoke, “or that I pressed my head on his shoulders. He told me to keep everyone safe, and to take care of myself. I think that was the first time I… begged someone to stay, though I know it was futile.”
Their dance came to a perpetual stop.
“... And still, even in that moment, y—”
Ardashir stopped himself.
“... He kissed my forehead.”
There's a lump in Endmin's throat as he gazed up, looking at the way Ardashir looked at him after he said that. And the lump grows even further when their hands are no longer intertwined. The air feels odd to feel now that the Endmin had gotten used to the way Ardashir's hands were holding his own, the absence of warmth feels strange.
Ardashir closed his eyes as a futile attempt to gather his emotions, his hand raised as an aether portal summoned itself out of nowhere. He reached inside, grabbing a familiar cane–the ones Ardashir used back then when he encountered Nefarith.
“What, you’re going to take that chance now after spilling your heart out?” in a reflex, the Endmin reached back for the hilt of his unsheathed sword.
“... Were you expecting me to?”
Ardashir didn’t do anything with that cane, he merely held on to it.
Did the Endmin expected that, at some point in this journey, Ardashir would be using his power to harm him? He couldn’t say he didn’t. The moment Ardashir stood by the side of a common nemesis of the people, he knew that he had to inevitably rise his sword against him. And he didn’t have a problem with that.
Until his legs moved before he could think, until they shared a laughter beneath this grove of bamboo, until he lent out a hand and asked him for a dance—he had forgotten that he was holding a bloodied hand, for the warmth which grazed his skin feels far too familiar than the title he was supposed to uphold.
And again, his hands moved faster than his brains could think. His nails grazing the back of this white haired Lich’s hand, and he didn’t know since when did his hand shake.
“... Cruel,” the Endmin sputtered out. He felt like his tongue twisted itself in his mouth, “that was cruel of him, to kiss you before he leave.”
“Kind of.”
“You could hate him,” he stopped focusing on the way his hand shakes, looking up, “you should hate him.”
“Yeah,” Ardashir tightened his grip on his own cane, “It would be easier if I do.”
“... It would.”
Maybe, it would be easier if he didn’t slip out of Perlica’s constant guard and took a bit of his time to breathe. Or maybe, it would have been far easier if the moment he knew Ardashir was around, instead of giving him a chance to converse, he called the guards instead—or maybe fought him then and there would do it too.
Then he doesn’t have to witness the glimmer of life which exists beneath Ardashir’s mask, then he wouldn’t feel this constant quench in his stomach, or consciously feel the way his hand shakes.
“I’m sorry.”
Ardashir raised a brow, a huff escapes him as he pulled his cane closer to him, watching the way Endmin’s hand fell then after the absence of his hand benath, “why are you sorry?”
Neither spoken furthermore. And Ardashir was glad that the Endmin wore a mask.
At least, he couldn’t see what kind of expression the Endmin had as he looked at him.
They stopped staying in the grove afterwards, Ardashir walked a few paces behind the Endmin even though initially, it was him who decided to get out of the grove.
They walked in circles despite having reached the borders of Wuling City.
And the Endmin stopped at one point.
“Did you miss him?” he asked, and, for some reason, he doesn’t want to turn around and looked at what kind of expression does Ardashir make.
Ardashir sighed at that question, one hand at his back as the other clasps his cane, looking up, “I do,” he said, “a lot of times.”
At that, the Endmin turned around.
“Then… Will we meet again?”
Ardashir stopped gazing at the skies when he heard that question, purple eyes meeting a lump of metal gazing back at him. There were no winds, no leaves bristling to cover the one moment Ardashir let his mask fell and the way his eyes no longer looked like it glistens with mischievousness.
And how the Endmin hoped he could, at least, cease the image of those purple eyes gazing back at him like he owed him more than a kiss on his forehead.
And how Endmin hoped he could cease the wish to pay that debt long overdue.
But before the Endmin could move even an inch closer to close their gap, Ardashir knocked his cane gently to the ground. A triangle aetheric portal appeared before him.
“As it is,” Ardashir croaked, “I shall pray that we don’t.”