The Drowning Faith

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

He loves her.

Of this he’s certain.

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.

At last. The moment he’s been waiting for, the confrontation that will finally put an end to this long, bloody war.

He shudders at the thought. Her face across the battlefield. Her flames, scorching the air.

Her fist against his face. That lovely, familiar pain.

He moves to sit down beside her. He reaches for her back. He needs to find the wound that’s already open; the place where his blade will sink effortlessly into flesh.

She flinches, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“Where’s your injury? Here?”

“That hurts.” But she’s not moving. Either she’s too drunk, or she trusts him, or both.

“Good.”

She gasps.

“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.

He wants to feel like he has a choice. That if he does this, at least this is his doing . But he knows that’s not true. 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.

What matters is what she is, and what she’ll do.

Oh, he thinks. But history moves in such cruel circles.

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

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 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.

Rin or the Hesperians. Rin or military aid. Rin or victory. Only now has Nezha come to accept this. There is no future where Rin and the Republic coexist, because everything about her is antithetical to what they are trying to accomplish. There’s no space for Rin in the world they’re trying to build, and the unavoidable truth of this kills him.