Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian, the eldest of the Elder Gods, the firstborn of Titan Wen Rouhan, was once a bright and happy Divine praised by the world. His youthful adventures were told by the tongues of every merchant, whispered in the ears of children, spoken of during meal times and during times of cold and hunger. He was praised. He was loved.

People told stories of his first great feat, of him killing a beast that threatened the life of Man. People whispered about how beautiful he was, about how he was grace and beauty and light.

Eventually, he became scorned by the people, his praise turning to rotten fruit in the humans’ mouths, spat out in disgust for how he disappeared from the world the moment the Titans began to rule with a tighter fist. He was hated just as much as he used to be loved, the people believing their savior had left them.

The hatred did not leave their minds once he finally reappeared, surrounded by siblings the humans had never met before. The humans saw him, a man once so beloved to them, who had left them with nothing but blood and fear. When they heard how he had helped them, how he and his youngest brother had worked together to land the final killing blow upon their father, they spat out that it was ‘about time’.

Their once beloved Wei Wuxian—Wei Ying to those who still tended to his temples and still cared for his blessed land—had fallen from grace.

It was a simple thing, once the war had ended and their father’s body lay sliced in pieces at the bottom of the deepest part of the Underworld, to divide the realms between the six siblings. There were three major realms to be chosen: the Ocean, with all of its inhabitants and life forms bustling to and fro; the Skies, filled with light and clouds, freedom and peace, yet bringing with them also the responsibility to those who lived below it; and the Underworld, land of hatred, land of pain and rot and nothing worth ruling.

Three sticks of different lengths were gathered by their only sister to represent each of the three major realms and placed in the sand equally distant from each other. Wei Ying, as the Eldest, should have rightfully gone first by order of birth. But, with eyes the color of moonlight and knowledge he should not have had, chose to go last. He only wanted what was best for them, and he was well aware that the Underworld, in all its horror, was an option to be chosen.

His darling sister was the first to choose. She took slow graceful steps between each stick,  tracking how close the bottom of her chiton got to the sticks, before stepping away from the points in the sand. With a low hum, and eyes kinder than Wei Ying could ever remember the sun being, she ran her finger along the closest stick rising from the sand before dropping her hand back to the golden girdle keeping her chiton up.

Her smile stayed on her face, gentle and kind like everything his sister embodied.

(In the shadow of her smile, Wei Ying could see their mother. Could remember being rocked by her as a baby, all tiny and wrinkled and screaming. He could hear her humming to him, singing the song of her heart to him, calming the squealing baby that couldn't sleep throughout the night without the warm press of his mother's arms around him.

“Shhh, A-Ying,” she would say, pressing a kiss against his forehead and swaying side to side, rocking him even as he kept screaming. “The dark is cold, and the dark is scary, but without the dark there isn't light. Sleep, little one, mother will be your light, and in time, you will be mother’s light.”

He would quiet down and listen to the humming, to the rhythm, to the sound of his beloved mother's voice.)

“I do not want a realm, or a kingdom,” his sister confessed, her voice as gentle as Wei Ying remembered their mother’s being, way back when she still loved her children (back when she was still willing to fight for them, back when she saw nothing but good in them—).

When Wei Ying focused back on his sister, he saw her gently caressing their youngest brother’s cheeks, her eyes filled with the affection of a mother and elder sister combined in an image of beauty and grace.

“I only want to provide a home for us to return to.”

And so, the least likely role for an Elder God—one of the original Gods—to choose, was taken by their beloved sister.

She, the only sister of the Elders, Jiang Yanli, became the Goddess of the Home and Hearth.

Since they were choosing by ages, Song Lan was up to choose next.

With the sun shining down bright upon the six siblings, Wei Ying closed his eyes for a moment. He basked in the warmth shining on his skin, listened to the gentle lap of waves ringing out upon the empty and deserted land around them, and felt the edges of the water brush against the edge of his feet.

As his eyes slid open, they turned to gaze at his younger brother for a moment before falling to the waves beside the two of them. His silver eyes looked out upon the blue vastness stretched out before him. It went as far as his eyes could see, past where he knew it should end. ‘A fine realm to rule,’ he idly thought. It was a powerful realm that stretched beyond the limits of power any of them deserved. Vast, unending, full of citizens to protect. Where the Earth and Sky lacked inhabitants, the Ocean was near bursting with them, life taking form despite the tyrant that did everything in his power to stop the growth of independent life forms.

Any of his brothers would rule that kingdom well, would protect the differences its forms represented, would love them despite their oddities.

He heard the crunch of sand under feet, causing his head to turn from the ocean full of memories to the form of Song Lan. So silent, the boy. Wei Ying could count on one hand the number of times his brother had spoken, preferring to cling to his siblings and have them speak for him instead.

Now his brother stood beside the stick furthest inland, his shoulders pulled back and his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was firm and absolute in his decision.

‘A strong boy,’ Wei Ying thought, gazing at the same man he could remember as a baby sucking at his hair and calling him Father. ‘I’m proud of what he’s become.’

Next, since they were following the order of birth—and subsequent swallowing—would be Jin Zixuan.

Despite growing up in their father’s stomach like the others had (all but Jiang Cheng, that is), Jin Zixuan was a prideful man. A prideful man who Wei Ying still loved, still raised like the rest of his little siblings. But also a prideful man who he could happily go the rest of eternity without seeing ever again.

The years in their father’s stomach had done little to mellow out the haughtiness he had inherited from their father, even though those years had seemed to drag on for an eternity. Wei Ying was proud of being out of that place, no longer stuck inclose quarters with the boy, even if it felt wrong to feel so.

(Even if Wei Ying knew, years from now, he would lay in the land of the dead and wish for the sound of his brothers' scoffs and complaints about how their father really must stop eating so much food because it really began to stink in there.)

When the man spoke, his voice was laced with the condescending tone of someone taking what they believed they deserved. “I don't want a realm.”

Wei Ying’s breath caught in his throat, his expectations mixing with the visage of the man he saw before him. ‘Maybe the years outside of Father’s stomach did him good,’ Wei Ying thought, watching how the prideful man seemed to both shrink under his gaze and straighten up. He seemed to be saying ‘Look at me!’ to Wei Ying with his eyes alone, dragging him along until the only thing he could see was what his brother wanted him to see.

The feeling of tears welling in the corner of his eyes wasn't able to pull him away from what shone in his brother’s eyes. It was devotion, and love, and pride, and everything Wei Ying could never remember seeing in his gaze before.

(And yet his eyes still burned, tears gathered at the edges. Tears of happiness, of regret, of everything he wished he could confess but knew he never would. His eyes burned, for he knew their other brother would not take a realm. They burned knowing that it would lead to what he hoped it would.

It burned because he did not need to fight them for his torture once more.)

“I want to marry,” his brother said, his arms folding resolutely across his chest, willing to fight another army of Divine simply to get his way. This spoiled little brat, this darling little boy Wei Ying raised so well.

Just like Song Lan, Jin Zixuan would not falter in his choice.

“I want to marry and have children with my partner.”

The siblings rested in the silence of dusk for a few minutes, waves taking up the sound that would have been their voices had any of them wished to speak. The waves sounded loud in the echoing nothing, reverberating in a way that told of secrets and mistakes left in each crash and pulled away with each lull.

“And who,” asked their youngest brother, Jiang Cheng, “is it that you will marry?”

With tired eyes, filled with a knowing glint that even his sister could not understand, Wei Ying watched. He watched as they fell into a bickering argument, Jiang Cheng launching at their brother to rub at his head and his arms in a playfully angry manner.

The years felt heavy on his shoulders, and still Wei Ying stood before his siblings, the oldest of them all. He was proud of the happiness they could experience now, proud of the love and adoration they felt free to share. He was proud of the torment they never had to face, happy to see love in their eyes instead of anger or pain.

He had protected them, cocooned them in his warmth and love inside of their Father’s stomach. He had kept them safe from the words they could hear but not make out. He had made sure they felt his love, even as their very first memory from infancy was the feeling of a throat swallowing around them and leaving them in a dark and empty place, filled with stink and hatred but with two gentle shadows, an older brother and sister, who would rock them to sleep and sing to them.

They didn't know the horrors their father committed when they were in his stomach, and it was only once they left the dank darkness and saw each other for the first time that they could see what the darkness of their Father’s stomach had hidden from them.

Where Jiang Yanli’s eyes were full of joy and life, where Song Lan’s had wonder and curiosity, where Jin Zixuan’s had pride and rage, where Meng Yao’s had cunning and understanding… Wei Ying’s eyes were like the blank surface of a mirror. Reflecting all they saw, but never truly feeling anything.

It wasn't until then that they understood just what their Eldest meant when he said it was better inside the stomach than out on land.

He had seen—experienced—the horrors under their Father’s ruling more than they ever had. They all knew, either through stories told by their brother or by whispers from the lips of Divine and human alike, that Wei Ying had not always been in their Father’s stomach.

He had been allowed to grow where they had not, to place his feet in the loose sands of time and his hands in the waves of fate, in the waves of a world that bowed before him. He had jumped between mountains, ridden on clouds of light and night, laid his face to rest in the valley of the early realm, and at one point, had felt the love of a Father who saw him as a gift more than a curse.

But Wei Ying was so much more than a curse or a blessing. Wei Ying was the start of a new generation, a generation meant to replace one that had stolen its power from the one before. Wei Ying understood that fate would change, understood that his father would not be there to protect him for his whole life. He had dipped his hands in the waves of fate and come back scarred from the threads that had wrapped around his being and pulled him in.

He had dipped his hands in the waves of fate, sunk under the loose sands of time, and had experienced a vision worse than death.

He had been given the freedom that a firstborn should bask in, and basked he had.

Until he had taken pity on a nameless child of another Titan, another being that was like him but not quite the same, and had shown him how to run and live with the freedom he had so loved.

He had been given the freedom of a firstborn until he had started showing signs of emotions more fitting for humans than Titans. Until he had begun to show emotions like the things they had taunted, and had tortured, and had seen as less than them.

(To Wei Ying, humans had always been so much more than playthings. His Father saw them as —)

His Father had seen Wei Ying’s actions, had seen his hands coaxing out smiles from this fellow child of the Divine, and had seen it right to punish him. He had wanted to toughen up his eldest—his only—child. His only son.

So his Father, in all of his might and glory, had tossed his son down into the dark abyss of the Underworld. A dark place, known to bring rot to any Divine that touched it, known to melt whatever makes someone Divine into absolutely nothing.

And so, according to his Divine Father’s ruling, he fell.

And fell.

And fell.

Andfellandfellandfellandfellandfell—

Up until this day, with his siblings surrounding him and sticks left to choose, he still doesn’t know how long he fell for. He can never remember an impact, nor can he remember what it felt like to be invaded by the coldness the Underworld was known for. He doesn't remember hatred seeping into his body, nor the dark feeling settling into his soul and leaving him cursed by the world of the dead.

What he can remember, though, are very odd sensations. He can remember a sluggish sharpness wrapping around him, something that made his skin tingle and his breath shake. He can remember the sound of water lapping at what had sounded like rocks, the gentle beat of a bird’s wings.

(The sound of brittle bone rubbing against brittle bone, the flapping of wings that could no longer carry its owner in the wind. How fitting, that the wings are the clearest thing he can remember about his fall. Not the pain, or the screams that tore his throat to shreds, but the sounds of something that should soar in the wind but had only fallen to the ground.)

The Underworld he had experienced was both like the stories he had heard whispered from the lips of the Divine older than him, but also…not.

Where there was supposed to have been nothing, barren land littered with bones of the forgotten, watered by the tears of those betrayed, there had been life in the oddest ways.

He can remember picking his way across the deserted land, bones sticking up from the ground like small flowers. He can remember taking shelter in brittle trees, dead and rotting from the inside out and leaving him a gentle hollow to place his head. He can remember the dead grass he had used as a cushion for his head, rotted with cold and winter.

He had survived a land he should not have survived, not as a Divine. He had survived a land that rotted everything from the inside out, a land that took what made the Divine Divine and warped it into a rotting mess of itself, roiling and coiling into a blackened husk of magic and Divinity.

And he had survived it.

He had survived it for what felt like an eternity, picking his way along ground that should have torn him limb from limb and left him quaking in his boots. He should have never been able to take a step in there, let alone last for so many years in such a deserted place.

His return from the Underworld, with bleeding hands and fueled by the anger of a child scorned by their father, had been met with both anger and hatred from the man who had thrown him in there, but also with a fierce pride. After all, his only son had crawled his way out of the Underworld, had pulled himself out of the hatred filled place known to destroy all, and had come back to the man who had cast him there in the first place. Had come back to the hand that had raised him and asked, ‘Was that enough, Father? Are you proud of me? Have I proven myself to you?’

The night of his son’s return, the Father had been met with a dream in which his son had stood before him. He had held a scythe in his hand and a wicked smirk on his lips. ‘I hope this makes you proud,’ the image had begun, twirling the scythe idly in hand before swinging it toward him, the curved edge resting against his neck. ‘After all, I am doing just as you did, dear Father. Like Father, like Son.’

He dreamed that his body had been cut into pieces, had been spread into the furthest corners of the Underworld, had been thrown where he himself had thrown his own father. He had been left there to rot for eternity upon eternity, forced to feel the constant pain of being detached from his very self.

Wen Ruohan had awakened in a cold sweat, his hands raised to grab at his neck and make sure his head was still attached. In the back of his mind, he could hear the sound of the Fates cackling, the idle click clacking of their scissors, spindle, and loom reminding him that no matter what he did, he would be a slave to the fates' whims.

Unless he took measures.

So he had run, ignoring his wife’s pleas for explanations, to his son's room. Where his darling, beloved, useless, son Wei Ying had been resting from a night of celebrations for his return. His Father would not be a slave to the fates’ designs, would not fall victim to the weaving of his fate in their hands.

He had descended upon his son as if he had never seen food before, his hands cramming the fully grown Divine into and down his throat. He had felt the kicks against his throat, the feeling of his son struggling his hardest to escape the constriction of his esophagus and stomach, but Father would not let up. His reign would last far longer than his father’s, and he did not care if it came at the sacrifice of his firstborn child.

And he had repeated this with every child his wife bore him. They would rejoice in the healthy birth of a new Divine, set to inherit the throne after the firstborn fell ill to a terrible case of Underworld Rot. Yet, the very next night, the child would be gone, nothing left but the basket that had rocked them to sleep. There had never been any signs of who had done it, yet the mother had known.

Just as she had known the night her firstborn returned would be the night his Father would seal.

He was startled out of his memories by a whisper of ‘A-Xian’, his silver eyes drifting lazily from the sea’s horizon and locking eyes with his sister. She stood before him, a warm hand resting on his shoulder. He wondered, idly, when the hand got there, yet dismissed the question. His sister always sensed when he needed someone. They seemed to communicate in a way only they could; their eyes locked and thousands of words passed between them with a glance.

He ripped his eyes away from hers, not wanting to hear the scolding, the anger, the disappointment for what he would do next. He instead settled his gaze on the three sticks that were still standing in the sand. There was now only one stick unchosen, the one that was closest to the sea.

He glanced at his dimple-bearing brother Meng Yao, whose gaze seemed to be questioning and proud.

“I choose the Harvest,” Meng Yao said, his head tilting to the side and trickery bouncing around his eyes like a playful child. (Wei Ying remembered a time Meng Yao bounced around like that, jumping from his sister’s arms to his. He remembered a lot he wished he didn’t.) “A-Xuan chose Marriage. A-Cheng chose one of the sticks.”

Wei Ying didn’t need him to explain that he was the last to choose. He knew he was. He wanted to be, wanted to have the chance to do this for his family. This family of his, so small and broken, was littered with betrayal and distrust from their Father’s misdeeds, but it was still standing strong years later. He loved them, so very much.

He felt like he was sitting on the edge of something, of the beginning and the end, of the passage of time itself. He could take what was rightfully his, as the Eldest. He could rule the Skies, he could crown himself the king of his siblings. They would allow him this, would allow him the power over them. But it was exactly that they would allow it, expect it, that he did not. He would not. This was not his road to walk, was not his role in life.

He could have his freedom from memories and responsibility, request that he not choose yet, request a time to settle and find himself.

Or he could continue as he had already planned.

He judged each of the three sticks, loose sand blowing in a warm breeze from the sea, and debated the choices laid out for him.

So many possibilities. He reached a hand forward, caressing the twisting tapestry of fate that weaved itself around his family, and noticed the possible divergences and scenery that would be created with their choices. So many ways for the artistry to unfold. Paths to anger, to grief, to happiness, to pain, to pleasure. He trailed his fingers over the tapestry of his sister that was wrapped around her inner self, showing all the choices she had made and would ever make.

He could understand them, his siblings, in a way none of them fully did. They couldn't see this, they didn’t have the sight of a firstborn. They couldn’t see all the strings of fate holding the world together; they couldn’t see how these strings weaved and spun until they connected in a beautiful mess of chaotic wonder. They did not have the Sight, did not have the ability to slip through the folds of what has been and what might be.

As the Eldest, as the one with the sight and the ability to See, it was up to him to make sure his sibling’s futures made themselves into one of seamless beauty. It was his job, his duty to them as their Eldest, to make sure they had happiness and love, not something hateful and spiteful that would spell the end of their existence.

So, pulling himself out of the vision, out of the blessing and curse he had had since he decided it would be fun to play with the Fates, he chose. With a deep sorrow in his heart and the knowledge that his own tapestry would face utter destruction so theirs could remain whole, he chose.

His feet crunched in the sand below him, pulling an odd ache from his bones and his heart. He paused before the stick closest to the sea, gazing out yet again at the land that had made him who he was.

He thought, maybe, he could recognize this land for what it was, for what it used to be. He could remember the mountains before they were flattened into plains, could remember the sea just as the sea remembers him. This used to be his favorite place to rest.

How ironic this would be the place of his downfall as well.

As he turned to look at his brethren, at his youngest brother in particular, he could see the anger and rage building in his eyes. But Wei Ying ignored it, just as he had ignored his brother's anger every time before.

His youngest brother had eyes the color of a stormythe sky, the color of the sea closest to the shores, the color of freedom and flight and everything that he deserved.

“Wei Wuxian!” he heard his youngest brother cry, anger causing him to step forward—as if to grab him, strangle him, make him see sense. But Wei Ying had already made his choice months ago.

The sky was clear for once, the clouds gone and giving them an uninterrupted vision of the sky and stars in all their glory. Wei Ying lay on his back beside a Divine so much younger than him yet still so very strong, still so very bright. His youngest brother, Jiang Cheng.

They didn't have much time to bond, not with all the fighting going on. They barely had time to sleep and to heal from their wounds. Wei Ying, himself, was stretched as thin as he could be. His siblings had refused to learn how to use their powers, had refused to understand how to work them when they were in their Father’s stomach. So now, with a war  on them, he was being forced to teach them all now.

He took this moment of peace, with his youngest brother beside him, and closed his eyes to bask in the moment of freedom it gave him.

“I made a deal with Wen Zhuliu.”

His peace was shattered by a sentence, his eyes flying open to stare at the inky black sky above them. He tried to dampen his anger, staring at the pinpricks of light raining down on them. The stars painted a world of love, of need. They painted a world that needed protection, a world that needed care. A world that needed saving from the tyranny of the Titans weighing it down.

“What deal?” he asked, scanning the stars above him as if they would provide an answer. As if they could spell out what he needed to do, who he needed to be, to save those who relied on him.

“He will assist us in the destruction of our Father…” Jiang Cheng trailed off for a moment, and Wei Ying had a sense that he knew what the next clause would be. The roiling in his stomach seemed to agree with him as well. “...In exchange for someone taking his place as ruler of the Underworld.”

It felt like a fist had closed around Wei Ying’s heart, clenching around every painful beat it took. He would deny it, if he were asked about it, but a tear fell from his eye and streaked its way down his cheek to soak into the ground below. “...Why?”

Jiang Cheng sat up then, turning towards where Wei Ying rested on the soil, and began to speak animatedly. “It is needed! Wei Wuxian—Wei Ying— Brother —He can give them mortality! The ability to die by our hands!” Jiang Cheng stood up then, beginning to pace back and forth, his hands moving rapidly in the air as if that would help justify his actions. “He can melt the Divine from their blood, that's why they’ve tried to keep him on their side. They’re scared of him! And, now, we have him!” He whipped around, staring straight at where Wei Ying still lay in the dirt and grass of the earth. “He wants  to help, as long as we can help him leave the Underworld. So, we can use this against them, and then once we kill Father—”

Wei Ying held up a hand to cut off his youngest brother. He picked himself off the ground with the fluidity befitting a Divine, with the fluidity of someone who had done it countless times before. “The Underworld is not something to trifle with, Jiang Cheng.”

His younger brother's eyes flashed in rage. He pointed a finger towards him. Wei Ying noticed, barely, that Jiang Cheng’s finger was shaking. “Why not? You always act like you know what's best for us, yet you don't tell us anything!”

Wei Ying raised his hand, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s shaking fingers and pressing a gentle kiss against them. He passed some of his magic over, a habit he had gotten into when Song Lan would have his trembling fits and seek him as refuge. He used it to comfort them, to let the others know he was close, that he was there to fix whatever had happened.

“There will be a vacuum, A-Cheng,” he murmured against his brother's hand, pressing another kiss against it before dropping it all together.

“There needs to be a ruler. It can't be without one, not a realm as strong as that.” He stepped closer, pulling his brother close enough to press their foreheads together. It was intimate, and maybe if others glanced they would think romantic. But Wei Ying would not, not with his siblings, not with them. Not during a war.

“Then I will do it,” Jiang Cheng said, his eyes downcast. They looked sad, his stormcloud eyes. Wei Ying hated knowing he put that look there. “I will rule it.”

Wei Ying shook his head, their foreheads rubbing together and bumping awkwardly. He stepped back, putting a good distance between the brothers. “No, you will not.”

He was glad he had stepped away, as his brother began to huff and pace once more, his lightning quick temper coming back without fail. “Are you the only one allowed to make sacrifices for this war, Wei Wuxian? The only one allowed to hurt, and make mistakes, and fail?”

He could hear the sounds of stirring behind them, Jiang Cheng’s raised voice more than likely awakening the rest of their tired siblings. He glanced back at where they had left their slumbering brothers and sister, hoping to convince Jiang Cheng to lower his voice just a little. With a huff, Jiang Cheng instead grabbed his arm and dragged him further into the forest they had been sleeping in.

When they finally stopped, it was in a small clearing. A lake was on the other side of the clearing, close enough to hear gentle splashing of lake fish but far enough away to not risk falling in.

“A-Cheng, it’s not that,” he murmured, grabbing his brother’s right arm and squeezing gently. “You know I would never stop any of you from learning, from making mistakes and understanding the consequences. You know this,” he whispered, his heart still tight in the grip of that invisible fist. “But A-Cheng, the Underworld is not something for you—or anyone—to play with. Please, listen to me.”

Jiang Cheng pushed his hand off angrily, the younger Divine stomping towards the lake. “I can make my own decisions!”

Wei Ying stayed where he was, silent in the face of his younger brother's rage. He watched as the boy—not quite a man yet, maybe wouldn’t be for a while—stared into the water as if it could give him the Divine knowledge Wei Ying had.

He let the silence drag on for long moments, debating if it was best to let him believe what he did or to correct him.

“It will kill you.” He finally broke the silence, turning from the bright and beautiful clearing to look at the dark forest surrounding them. “The Underworld rots, A-Cheng. From the inside out. Wen Zhuliu is able to cleanse Divine blood because he is a Divine of the Dead, A-Cheng. And you…”

He searched the forest for an answer, for a reason for his brother to be acting like this. For a reason his brother seemed to want to look death in the face and tell it to kneel . But the forest did not give an answer.

“...You are a Divine of the Living, A-Cheng. You will die.”

A loud scoff rang out from behind him, challenging in a way only his youngest brother seemed to be able to sound. “And what would you know?” Rapid footsteps approached him, feet stomping loudly against the dead leaves and branches that littered the floor. “Just because—What? You spent time out of Father’s stomach? I did too, Wei Wuxian.”

A hit against his shoulder jostled him, but Wei Ying stood tall and accepted it. He kept his gaze on the forest, on the darkness of the unknown. “I know you did.”

“Then why do you treat me like a child?!” His shoulder was grabbed, a sharp yank forcefully turning him around. He locked eyes with an enraged—embarrassed—youngest brother. “Why do you still look down on me?”

“I don’t—”

“You do! You look down on me, you don't see me as part of the family!” His eyes flickered, lightning and anger and rage all boiling into a roiling sky in his eyes. “Well, surprise, Wei Ying. I’m more a part of the family than you.” A sneer lifted his youngest brother's lips, disgust twisting his face into a mockery of their Father’s. “I never once sided with them. I am not a traitor.”

Wei Ying’s hand froze mid air, where it had begun to reach for the arm on his shoulder. He stood there for a long moment, thinking of the words and rolling them around in his head.

Finally, his eyes drifted shut. His shoulders instinctively curled inward, his mind’s eye conjuring up the image of his father standing above him. He could still feel the constriction of the throat swallowing around him, could still smell the thick stench of saliva.

The Underworld was claustrophobic, was suffocating, had stolen everything Wei Ying saw bright about himself. But the Underworld had nothing on his Father’s betrayal.

He took a step back, away from his brother, the boy he saw as his own, the boy he was looking after and willing to raise like he had the rest of their siblings. “You’re…” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, around the pain threatening to eat him whole. “You’re right.”

He heard a stuttered gasp from the boy in front of him, felt the hand tighten on his shoulder, heard the barest whisper of ‘Wei Ying’ slip from him, yet Wei Ying pulled away.

He wanted to turn, wanted to run, wanted to get away from this inky feeling sludging through his veins. Yet years of rules ingrained in him, years of learning how to be a proper little Divine, caused him to bow politely to his brother. He clasped his hands before him, bending at the hips and tilting his head towards the ground. “Please excuse this lowly one.”

His throat felt blocked, like he was talking around a fist clenching desperately around him. ( Clenching like the skeletons of the Underworld, clenching like the throat of his Father, clenching like all the rules and regulations he learned growing up, like the robes and finery he was forced to wear.)  He turned without waiting for a reply, his feet guiding him into the very forest he had been staring at.

As he walked away from his brother, from where their siblings lay resting, from the lake and the tranquility of the night, he stared up at the stars.

He wondered, ever so briefly, if they, too, had ever felt the sting of betrayal.

He planted his feet beside the stick he chose, staring challengingly at his youngest brother. He gave Jiang Cheng a smirk, his own silver eyes as bright and sharp as the Divine steel they used to fight. “I choose this stick.”

Jiang Cheng seemed ready to fight, to open his mouth and demand to switch places, yet Jiang Yanli placed a hand on his arm and kept him still. She whispered something into his ear, and knowing her, it was probably along the lines of “It’s his choice, A-Cheng.”

Leaving his sister and his youngest brother to their whispering, he locked eyes with Song Lan. They shared a nod, and Wei Ying watched as he bent to stare at his stick. Only five centimeters were peeking out over the loose sand, and Wei Ying hoped it was much longer than the five centimeters visible.

They shared a glance again, and Wei Ying could see the anxiety, the fear, in Song Lan’s eyes. Wei Ying abandoned his stick to walk over to him, crouching in front of him and hovering a hand over his. He waited for Song Lan’s slight nod before he rested his own hand over his brother’s. He could feel the tremors shaking him, and could sense just how terrified he was.

“A-Lan, be still,” he murmured, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. He pushed his own Divine magic through their hands, nudging their foreheads together gently. “I am here, A-Lan. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

He felt a shaky breath exhaled against his skin, his brother still scared and fearful, yet willing to listen to his brother. “I’ll be okay.” He closed his eyes, and Wei Ying could see him counting his breaths like they practiced.

“You’ll be okay,” Wei Ying reasserted, pulling back to press a kiss against the other’s forehead. “I will be here, so everything will be fine.”

His brother nodded, once, before his eyes seemed to steel. Wei Ying knew it was hard for him, being out in a world he was kept from, being forced to live a life he wasn't used to. He knew closed spaces were terrifying to him, after being imprisoned in one. (He would never force his brother to experience that again—either in a stomach or in the Underworld.)

He offered his brother one last smile before standing once more and walking back to his place. He could feel the eyes of his siblings on him, the others aware of what he did and why, only Jiang Cheng was left in confusion.

After all, Jiang Cheng hadn’t grown up in their Father’s stomach with them. He would never know the intimacy, the closeness, that forms when you’re trapped inside a small space with only your newborn siblings to care for.

He watched Song Lan take a long, deep breath. With one more glance up at the Eldest, Song Lan pulled the stick from the sand in one fell swoop.

It was roughly fourteen centimeters long, the end obviously broken and splintered. It was an old stick, something that had more than likely been here for years. It, sadly, would not tell anyone what Song Lan’s realm was yet, as that would only be decided once all three had been lifted and their lengths compared.

“You’re next, Wei Wuxian,” a voice spoke, frigid and sharp.

Wei Ying forced himself to look over at Jiang Cheng, the brat, and give him a lopsided grin. He cocked his hip to the side, rocking his head from one side to the other. He crossed one arm over his chest, propping his elbow on his hand, gently tapping his nose in thought. Eventually, a loud puff of laughter escaped his lips. “Why, little A-Cheng, I chose last did I not?” He smirked, ignoring the murmuring of his siblings over his reaction. “That means…” He tapped his nose once more, his smirk stuck on his face. “Why, that means you need to show your stick, brother.”

The smirk told Jiang Cheng all he needed to know, and all Wei Ying wanted him to know. (If Wei Ying didn’t want him to know, didn’t want to proclaim his victory, he wouldn’t have. He spent years under the reign of people who only cared about whether he was useful, what he could give them, what pride they could take in what he did. They didn’t care about emotions, or love, or fear. His mask was strong. His mask was unbreakable.)

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng took a step towards him, a hand raised to strike him. “I swear to our Divine ancestors, if you try to pull sh—”

A figure stepped between them, their sister separating them. Her hand shot out to grab Jiang Cheng’s wrist, gripping tight enough to bruise even a Divine being, yet gentle enough to tell him what she wanted him to know. Wei Ying didn’t know what was said, didn’t know the words exchanged, yet he knew whatever it was, it was enough to force Jiang Cheng to agree.

Wei Ying watched as he took a step back, dragging their sister with him, and returned to his place.

With the sun setting behind him, his shoulders pulled back by a sense of righteousness and confidence in himself, Wei Ying looked like the Divine he was. He looked lonely. Much like he had in the years he spent alone, both inside of their Father’s stomach and outside of it, he stood with a smile on his face and a quirk of his lips that spelled misfortune to those who crossed him. He stood strong and proud, despite every attempt to knock him down and teach him a lesson.

In that very moment, centuries spread between the youngest and the eldest. Years of memories and mistaken chances, years of words and promises and shattered faith lay broken before their feet.

At that very moment, it was Wei Ying against Jiang Cheng. The eldest versus the youngest. And Wei Ying, in all his years alive, in all his chances to fail and fall, had always come out on top. He had never lost a bet.

Yet, this time, it was not simply money or gold or goods on the table. It was freedom. The freedom of a brother. It was the secret of a promise made, and the secret of a promise that must be kept.

“Wei Ying…” Jiang Cheng murmured, pleading visible in his storm-cloud eyes, yet Wei Ying would not budge. The smirk of victory that painted his lips a bright and vivid red did not fade. He knew he had won.

Wei Ying watched, with victory in his eyes and terror in his blood, as Jiang Cheng pulled out a stick roughly twenty centimeters long. Wei Ying knew, to obtain the Underworld, he would need to pull a stick smaller than Song Lan’s. He would need to pull a stick smaller than fourteen centimeters.

And so, with a heavy heart and incandescent fear in his veins, Wei Ying bent down and pulled his own stick from the sand.

It seemed even the Fates had agreed that he would rule the Underworld without any intervention. Without him needing to break it himself, the stick he pulled out of the ground…

It was only ten centimeters long.

He heard what sounded like a scream, a heartbroken cry from his youngest brother, and his sister's gentle voice trying to calm him. Yet the only thing he could fully hear, could fully focus on, was the crashing of the waves against the sand and the cawing of the few sky animals there were. He closed his shaking hands around the wood, the thing dooming him to a death of his own choice, and turned his back on the only family he ever knew. He stared, with empty eyes and crying heart, out past the long line of the deep blue sea Song Lan would rule.

He would not let them see the tears in his eyes, nor the streaks they left down his cheeks. He wouldn’t let them see the shaking of his shoulders, the weakness laying itself into every tiny crevice of his being. He was the Eldest. He was first born.

He had been given chances the others hadn’t, given freedom the others hadn’t. He had been cherished, he had been given time. He had been given everything he could have asked for, and he had taken it for granted when he had it.

He had been given his freedom, his chance to grow and learn who he was before he got swallowed whole. He had been able to learn of life, and of the consequences of his own actions. He had learned how to walk without the stench of acid burning his nose, without the feeling of slick organ walls closing in on him.

He had been given so much, had been given so much that his siblings weren’t. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let them experience that. Never that. Never the Underworld.

He would take this, this punishment the Fates saw fit for him. He would take it with a smile, with happiness and gratitude.

He would not let his siblings see the fear making him tremble in his skin.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the vision of the sun and the liquid gold ripples of the ocean. He ignored the bickering he could hear from his siblings, knowing that they were trying to draw his attention away from his fate, but they couldn’t.

They had no clue how torturous it was, those years locked in the Underworld in his own living prison. They would never know how it felt to have their life drained from them with each inward breath. They would never know how it felt to breathe out the fractures of Divinity.

This was his punishment to bear.

He deserved this.

They had a feast that night, the six of them huddled around a fire and laughing about times past. The siblings told Jiang Cheng the stories of their childhood, of growing up. Of how Meng Yao had a habit of tumbling with each and every step he took. Of how Jin Zixuan would call for his eldest brother to bounce him on his knee until he fell from laughter.

They recounted stories of the piles they would do, of how they would lay with each other in their Father’s stomach. Of how they would clamber over each other in attempts to get the closest to Wei Ying, would try to press against this man they saw as a father despite knowing that he was their brother.

Wei Ying suspected, as he leaned back against a tree trunk, close enough to participate but far enough to be left alone, that they knew something. Something they did not wish to. That they knew their Eldest would be leaving them to live in isolation, in desolation, leaving for a land that he had told them horror stories of.

This same brother, the one who protected them, the one who taught them how to talk and walk, the one who rocked them to sleep when they cried and sang to them when they were scared. This same brother would no longer be around. He would no longer be able to teach them what he knew, the rules he learned, the skills he was taught. He would no longer be able to sit with them in silence, or speak when one of them needed someone to just talk.

It felt like an important part of them was leaving, to never return, to never be anymore.

They were aware that they were losing a major part of themselves to the darkness that ruled below their feet. To the very darkness their brother had told them once, in one of his few moments of weakness, that he was terrified of.

They knew, objectively speaking, that the Underworld needed a ruler.

But they didn’t want it to be him. They didn’t want to lose the guide they had grown up with, the guide who would laugh away their fears and teach them to do the same. The very same person who would make funny faces at them, or do weird magic tricks to entertain them in the endless darkness they lived in. The one who would spend what little magic he had making pinprick constellations and teaching them about it.

They knew he feared the Underworld. They knew he feared being alone.

They knew they wouldn’t be able to prevent him from going to it, to his own personal torture land.

That didn’t, however, stop them from piling on top of their brother after luring him closer to the fire. It felt like the days before, when life had been sheltered inside of a stomach and its darkness. Wei Ying accepted it happily, a loud huff of air his only sign of playfully ‘being angry’. Jiang Cheng seemed hesitant; he had been aware that his siblings tended to pile on top of each other, but he hadn’t expected it to happen that night. He was pulled in by a laughing Jiang Yanli, who shoved him to rest his head against Wei Ying’s stomach and curl his knees up to his shoulder. Tangled together as the siblings were, it was impossible to see where one person ended and another began.

Arms wiggled their way between Wei Ying’s waist and Jiang Cheng's neck, and the thin fingers told him it was Meng Yao. Wei Ying held back a laugh, aware his stomach was Meng Yao’s favorite place to curl into.

“What will happen?” Meng Yao’s voice murmured, unusually soft and pliant as his fingers wiggled a little and gripped at the fabric of his chiton. “Will we see you again?”

Wei Ying hummed gently, raising his right hand to rest upon Meng Yao’s head. He gazed up at the stars, at the pinpricks of light he remembered teaching them about so long ago. He stared, just as he was prone to before, just like he did before he was swallowed. “Mother did this,” he said instead, deciding to leave the answer to Meng Yao’s question for later.

“Mother?” asked Jin Zixuan, his head rolling on Wei Ying’s thigh. Wei Ying felt his hair tickling his knee. “What did Mother do?”

“Taught me the stars,” Wei Ying whispered, staring up at the very things he used to show the others. He pointed toward a line of stars and traced them out with his fingers. “That set right there—three stars in a line, with a crook at the top? Mother called that the Eagle.” His left hand tangled itself in Song Lan’s hair, the only part of him touching his younger brother. “She used to make up stories for each of them. She loved making stories.”

And so he recounted the stories their mother told him, of how the Eagle carried lightning to the king. He told the story of the snake that protected the innocents and was blessed by their grandfather to forever watch over the humans.

He told them of the star-studded prince, with night as his hair and the sun as his eyes. He told them of the lover, cloaked in a swath of clouds and brightness, with liquid fire as hair and the ability to weave together images from nothing. He told the story of how they fell in love, the night and day, of how passion burned as bright as the sun-eyes of the prince, of how loyalty spanned as far as the sky-cloak the lover held. He told them of the betrayal of the night prince, how the prince’s brother cast him from the night sky in anger, in jealousy, and how he lives in the cradle of his sky-lover.

He told stories until his throat ran dry and the fire burned out. His siblings were all silently listening to him, holding onto every word he spoke, as if they were aware this would be the last time they saw him.

Eventually, once stars had been named and their stories told, Meng Yao spoke once again. “What will happen?” His voice was nearly swallowed by the night, and his hand fisted against his stomach, pulling a disgruntled noise from Jiang Cheng. “Will we see you again?” His head was buried against his right hip, curled up into a ball with his legs wrapped around Wei Ying’s leg.

His right hand fell from its hovering in the air and landed on the thick mass of hair belonging to Meng Yao. He wiggled his fingers in it, tickling along his scalp and tugging at the skin behind his little brother’s ear. His heart felt light when he heard the sound of his brother’s breathless giggles, the soft peal of “Big Brother!” pulling a chuckle from his lips. Yet, slowly, he let his playing abate and instead idly caressed his brother’s head.

Wei Ying stared up at the stars his Mother had so loved, at the stars he grew up with and grew to love as well. “I don't know,” he finally answered, his breath caught in the memories of times long past and times yet to come. He could remember asking his mother the same thing, when he was a boy, back when the world was so small and big at the same time. He hooked a finger around a strand of Meng Yao’s hair and tugged at it lightly, whether in an attempt to soothe his mind or play with him, he wasn’t even quite sure himself.

A soft snort echoed from his normally picture-perfect sibling, his aristocratic features scrunching up and causing the red mark on his forehead to wrinkle. He furrowed his eyebrows and batted his head closer to Wei Ying’s hand, like an irritated cat trying to scare away the person petting it yet immediately turning around for more pats.

“I think…” Wei Ying murmured into the dead of night, into the gentle crackle of a flame not yet gone and the embers of a time they all knew was drawing rapidly to an end. A hum rang out from his throat, in tune with the crash of the waves audible from the ocean not far from them and the crack of the fire. It was curious, but also so very scared of what might burn it. He began, yet again, to try to count the stars. “I think I will be fine, A-Yao.”

The echo of dead leaves crinkling, of shifting bodies and shifting weight, came from above his head. He felt Song Lan’s head turning and unsettling the leaves they were all using as a cushion for the hard earth below them. (An earth they now were set to rule, to guide, the people theirs to protect and love and cherish.) Wei Ying glanced up at him, turning his head to lock eyes with the brother he knew the most, with the brother who still sought out guidance from him like he did when he was still a toddler and grasping for any sort of knowledge.

He wanted to say something, it seemed, but was unsure if he should or not. Song Lan was always unsure, always scared, toddling his way to his older brother’s thigh and grabbing at it like it could protect him from the world and all the world sought from him. As if his thigh were strong enough to counter the waves of time that, inevitably, pulled everyone into it, rushing and churning. Finally, he spoke, his voice unsure but with a core of iron and surety that Wei Ying was proud of nurturing.

“Have you ever been there before? The Underworld?” Song Lan asked. Their eyes connected and said so much more than most would be able to understand. This was Song Lan, the boy he taught how to run and jump, the boy he taught how to speak and sing and play. This was the boy he held when nights were scary, the boy he sang to when the stomach was too small to bear. They had an understanding of each other far deeper than just elder and younger siblings. Not quite a parental bond, never quite that, but close enough all the same.

Wei Ying didn’t need to nod or speak for his affirmation to be heard, for his brother to read the reluctance in his eyes or the hesitance in his body. “What was it like?”

If Wei Ying had to place Song Lan’s eyes, in a measure of familiarity and understanding, he would say they looked like their mother’s. They shared the stormcloud darkness of it, of the liquid darkness descending upon the earth and wreaking havoc in its wake.

Yet, if he looked further in his memory, past the eyes of a mother whose love ran out, past the betrayal of a father who took what wasn’t his to begin with, past the anger and loneliness he was cast into, he could imagine he saw a glimpse of their Uncle. Their Uncle, who stood strong above the waves of the land he ruled, who would call upon his domain to churn the sky and rend the sky apart with his swirling anger masked in storm clouds and surging waves. Dark. Menacing. But so very strong.

“I have,” he whispered, lost in the memories of an Uncle they would never get to meet, never know. Their Uncle Fengmian, so soft and kind, who would pat his head and call him little A-Ying. His gentle and loving Uncle, who avoided his Father like the end of times were coming, who would bring him beautiful flowers and the seeds they bore. Their Uncle who would seat him on his shoulder and turn their gazes to the waters stretching out before the base of the mountain he grew up on, and tell him about the ocean and the beautiful beings who lived in it.

(The very same Uncle who died by his Father’s hands, who knelt before his Father’s throne and spat out words of war, of hatred, who fought for those under their rule and died because of it. The very same Uncle his father forced him to watch get ripped into pieces, hair and fingers and flesh scattered across the throne room floor. The very same Uncle his Father forced him to pick up, pieces still wiggling with Divine power, and told him to cast into the ocean where he belonged, the ocean he so loved. Wei Ying can still remember holding his Uncle’s beating heart in hand, can still feel the wisps of Divine power echoing from his Uncle to him, the gentle voice in his head telling him, “Be still, A-Ying, and do what he says. It’s okay. Be strong. Everything will work out in the end.”)

He could hear his siblings’ gasps ringing out in the air, the four other voices clamoring over each other to be heard. An elbow dug into his calf, fingers clung to his flesh, and arms wrapped around his limbs. As if to anchor him here, in the present, in a time of sibling love and adoration, instead of a time wrought with terror and fear. His sister’s worried voice rang out the loudest, clear as the sky yet sprinkled with the star-bright worry of a sibling who has had to deal with a self-sacrificing idiot for way too long. “You have?” she asked, her brows furrowed. In the firelight, she looked eerily like their mother, back when her only worry was the stars and their names.

He swallowed around the staccato beat in his chest, around the anger and fear and guilt threatening to rip him in two. He would have sat up if it weren’t for the heavy weight of Jiang Cheng holding him down to the ground, pressing against his stomach and chest as if he could keep him tethered to the earth itself with only his arms and hands.

Wei Ying let out a breath of air, faking breathlessness, and removed his hand from Meng Yao’s hair to gently pat at Jiang Cheng’s back. He tilted his head back, staring up at the sky and the pinpricks of light that he had grown up with as guides. He took in every speck of light, every shining moment they gave him, every whispered secret and giggle they held in their bright grasps, and tried to memorize this. The night sky, his siblings weighing him down to keep him here, the gentle sound of wind blowing through trees and the waves of an ocean that kept moving. He burned it into his eyelids, the stars and their secrets, and tried to convince himself that he would be fine as long as he could remember the moments shared under them.

(He thought, distantly, that so much would be solved if he too became a star, like the legends their mother taught him. Wouldn’t this have all been prevented, changed, stopped if he had simply been born a star instead of a Divine?) He thought, distantly, if he studied the stars enough, memorized their patterns and swoops and turns, he could recreate it. Maybe, if he could see the night sky, even an imitation…it would make the idea of returning to his land of torture so much more bareable.

He tightened his hold on Jiang Cheng, his youngest and most innocent brother, the darling his mother had given her life to save, and tried to ignore the liquid beading in the corner of his right eye. “It’s barren.” He murmured, his breath stuttering out of his chest and nearly choking the words right from his lips. His heart was beating fast, the bump bump bump nearly deafening in its army march. He couldn’t tell if it was beating from fear or anger, both causing his blood to boil in this liquid burning.

Fear of the Underworld, of all that it took from him, of all it was willing to leech from him and his family. Of the Fates cackling away down there, his thread in their grasp, his fate weaved as they wished, doomed to forever tangle and twist on itself. Fear of the unknown, of the dark gaping pits, of the winged things that flew down there and tore at his skin. The days waking up with cuts and wounds he never remembered getting, of the screams echoing in his ears with each step he took.

And the anger, an anger that threatened to destroy him. An anger that tried to overpower his senses, pull him into a rage yet unseen. A rage that threatened to boil him alive and leave him gasping in its wake. An anger towards his brother, an anger towards his hero-complex, an anger towards the urge to be needed even when he knows he’s not. An anger for taking this fate from his brother, for cursing himself with returning to a land that still haunted his dreams.

“Nothing grows there. Nothing. Only rotted trees and cold brittle grass.” He could, distantly, remember the loud crunch of grass collapsing under the weight of him, of the brittle crack and smush under each step he took. He could remember turning around, wanting to understand just how different he was from the land around him, and seeing where he came from. Each step left its mark in the death-strewn earth, each step reaching towards something he was scared to understand. The land seemed to take his steps, his marks upon the earth, with an air of it belonging there. As if it, too, was showing him the mistakes he made, the things he destroyed, when the only thing he ever wished to do was live.

“The dirt, it’s…it’s dark.” His hand was flat against Jiang Cheng’s back, yet even the silken feel of his brother's dark blue robe did nothing to scare away the memory of the barren earth in his hand, of the rocks and bones and soot all coating his fist in a muck of something he couldn’t understand. “It’s littered with bones. I think, at least. There isn’t anything else I could think of being there that would be such a bright white.”

He smiled bitterly, looking back on the memories of a boy forced to grow up too soon, on the memories of a boy stumbling along a sharp land meant to tear the Divine apart. “I couldn’t take one step without disrespecting the dead. I had to be careful that I didn’t step on a broken bone or a sharp rock.” He could remember stumbling across half-decayed corpses, half buried in the dirt. He can remember stumbling across people dying yet not quite dead, their hands grasping at him, begging him to help. He remembers running, from people, from darkness, from things half dead and things that might never die. He remembers being curled up in a corner, tucked between a rotting tree and a dark rock wall, and crying for his mother. He remembers sobbing when she did not reply.

“The air there is very heavy. It feels like its weighing you down, like something is sitting on your chest or back, and just…pushing, pulling, dragging. Its like its trying to sink you into the soil and bury you alive.” He leaned up just slightly, just enough to press a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s forehead. The boy was pale, shaking in his arms, trembling with the visions Wei Ying was conjuring with his words along. “It seemed like…” He trailed off, his lips pressed against his little brothers forehead still, debating on saying his thoughts or just describing the land. “It seemed like it was promising you something. A life of comfort, of warmth, of being loved, if you only just…gave in.”

He could feel his siblings stirring more, their arms and legs tightening around him, keeping him stuck in place under them.

(If he thought too much about it, about the arms and the legs, about being held down and weighed down, it would remind him of times he woke up with the soil creeping its way around him. He would never admit to the anxiety that filled him then, the feeling of being buried alive, nor would he ever admit to that same anxiety anytime his siblings piled onto him. They found comfort in it. He wouldn’t take comfort away from them.)

“Some days, though,” He shifted his head, resting it yet against the earth once more. He felt a palm under his head, and when he turned his head to see who it was, it shared a smile with Song Lan. “Some days, it was light. Like the breeze on top of home—the mountain.” He winced at the slip up, yet continued on. “Like the breeze on top of a mountain—clear, free, unrestrained by time or life. It felt like it could carry me back, from there, back to the land above. Back to a time before I was cast aside, before I was thrown, before I was—” He cut himself off, his lips trembling from emotions long sealed back. He still lost himself in memories, in times before he was cursed with the fate before him, yet the emotions were locked away. Behind duty, behind time, behind war. He didn’t like that they were breaking through now.

He remembered a time nearly erased from his memory, a time where he slept with fear as his blanket and loneliness as his pillow. He remembered a time where he became used to the sight of bones, where the memory of his mother’s face brought fear into his blood. He remembered a time where death, the things that make it up, the curses built upon it, were kinder to him than his father and his court.

He could remember a time where he should have died, where the rot was supposed to set in. He remembers his father's smile as he was cast down, smirking in victory, knowing he murdered a child for disobeying him and he basked in it.

He wouldn’t admit it, not then and most definitely not now, when he was scared. The Underworld, in its darkness and rotting wind and bone-littered land, terrified him. He wanted his mother.

“...The Underworld…” He began after a long pause, the beaded tear finally falling from his right eye, landing on the water-starved earth beneath him. “The Underworld is not made for those who bear Divine blood.” He confessed, his chest heavy with secrets long since buried. “It corrupts. It rots. If you have grown up under Father, if you had the chance to listen to his teachings—” He charted the stars, his guides even now, even when his mother turned her back and cast him aside like their father. “He was a terrible Father, but an amazing teacher.”

“Wei Wuxian.”

“He would answer any question asked, and wasn’t that mean if you answered something wrong. A stroke or two of the whip, and you learned quickly enough—”

“Wei Wuxian!”

“And he had a lot of knowledge, since he was, you know, the Divine of Time. Maybe not the Fates, but he understood the intricacies of it, and loved talking about it—”

“Wei Ying!”

He stopped talking then, at the shout of Jin Zixuan. His hair was no longer tickling his knee, and when he moved his eyes from the stars, it locked on the face of the very same brother that had just spoken. He looked angry, enraged, terrified. He didn’t want them scared, not for him, never for him. “I’ll be fine, A-Xuan.”

Wei Ying reached, with his hand that had been resting on Jiang Cheng’s back, and cupped Jin Zixuan’s cheek. His palm met moisture, met tears trickling from his proud brothers’ eyes, and felt his own tears well up finally. “A-Xuan, I’ll be fine.” He whispered, pulling his crying brother close enough to press their foreheads together. Jiang Cheng made a disgruntled noise as he was moved from laying on his chest, yet settled down once one of Jin Zixuan’s tears landed on his chiton. “A-Xuan, don’t cry. I’ll be okay.”

His brother sniffled loudly, one of his own hands raising to his cheek and wiping away the moisture leaking from his eyes. “I’m not crying.” He mumbled out, his shoulders shaking only millimeters away from him. “Why would I be crying? You’re an annoying brother, and a terrible teacher. We won’t miss you.”

He huffed out laughter, nudging his nose against his brothers and earning an entitled sniff in reply. “Of course you won’t,” he whispered, his eyes falling shut against his brothers tears, against the sounds of his siblings sniffling all around him. “I taught you all so well. Of course you won't miss me. You’re all good children, with me gone you won’t need to worry about everything being messed up.”

A breathy laugh was heard beside him, a warm body shifting from his leg to hold him tightly along the left side of his body. A moist face was rubbed against his bare arm, snot and tears smearing across his skin. “We can finally get stuff done, now.”

It felt like Wei Ying’s throat was being crushed by his Father’s hand, like his life was seeping from his body and soaking into the earth beneath them. “Yeah.” He murmured, his tears finally falling down his cheek. He heard murmurs around him, his siblings moving, yet he kept his forehead pressed against Jin Zixuans’, their noses rubbing affectionately against each other. “You’ll be fine.” He wasn’t able to hold back his sob, his own shoulders shaking. They felt heavy—A siblings expectations, a fathers responsibility, a duty he was meant to hold. “You’ll all be—” His shoulders curled inward, his left hand untangling from Song Lan’s hair and wrapping around Jin Zixuan. “You’ll all be perfectly fine without me.”

His siblings pressed closer, warmth and weight keeping him present in the day, reminding him that his time on the surface was running out. His time with his siblings, with their company and their warmth and their life was drawing low.

“I don’t want to go,” he whispered, his forehead pulling back from Jin Zixuan’s and being pulled to rest in the crook of his sister's neck, his waist circled by her arms. The same arms he taught how to hold, how to cherish. The sister he had taught to walk, to talk, to sing, to comfort, to love in the way their mother had taught him.

He felt hands combing through his hair, combing through the knots long since left unkempt, along the liquid darkness that made up his body and his soul, his curses left for all to see. “I don’t want to go,” he repeated, his hands scrambling for purchase on his sister's white chiton, on the folds of white silk that nearly glowed in the darkness surrounding them. “I’m scared.”

His sister fell back into the leaves, his body still cradled to her body, and kept him there. Like a needy child, like their siblings did long ago, like he did with the very same mother they had stolen from them.

In the dark of the forest, in the flickering flames of a fire burning low, they laid. Siblings piled on top of each other, hair tangled together, with the only discernible difference being their clothing color. They rested, in arms grasping to fabricand slept on after a battle long since fought.

The night seemed to stretch before them all, a neverending blackness. To Wei Ying, held in his sibling’s arms, sobbing from the wrongs he lived with before and after them, it reminded him too much of the land he was destined to rule.

When dawn broke across the blue waters, Wei Ying rose with it. Despite the weight of his siblings bearing down on him, the weight of his sister’s arms tight around his waist, he slid out from under the sleep-heavy bodies and approached where the water met the land.

He sat down slowly, his legs nearly crumpling under the weight of what was being asked—demanded—of him. He thought the sight of the waves would calm him, would calm the turmoil wrapping itself around his mind and his heart, yet even that could not stop the sickening beat of his heart, or the regret tainting him.

His eyes surveyed the area around him, at the ruin brought by him and his siblings. At the land torn asunder, a beach gouged in two by the people who swore to protect it, mountains toppled and left in rubble. He looked at this land, broken and destroyed, but still standing after everything it has experienced, and thought of time long past. Of a time where he was worshipped for what he was—the first of the new descendants, the firstborn, destined to lead and bring happiness in his wake. Destined for greatness, to bring the people together, to sing and dance and pull others into his beautiful and bright orbit.

And here he was, left with the scars of abandonment tangling his throat and arms, pulling tight and telling him just how useless his destiny was when the Fates had a say in it. It held him in its arms, unyielding, bruising, demanding. It told him what to do, and like a puppet on its strings, Wei Ying moved to its every command.

Now, so long past his birth, past the parties he attended as the bright light of the land, past the glamour of royalty and feasting and silken garments laden with gems and promises, he sat in the wake of a war. He sat in the lands torn apart, in the lands soaked in equal parts Divine magic and Divine blood, and still danced to the music the Fates played for him. His feet would move if they said walk, and his lips would speak if they told him to talk. Even now, even after everything that has happened, he is still left in their grasp.

His soul was marked, just like the land around him, with the life he has lived and the life the Fates have made for him. If he tried to imagine it, his soul as a untouched land, he wondered if maybe the world around him is echoing—action for action—the way his soul has changed since everything began.

Where once stood the mountains of pride, of honor, now rested a valley full of rubble. A waterfall of sadness seemed to be welling there, from the still-standing rocks. He wondered, if he tried to name it, if those still-standing rocks were understanding. A wonderful, beautiful, wretched thing. And before it laid barren lands, scorched promises leaving weeping regret-filled wounds in its wake.

His long softened heart, beaten by years of living in a land he was never meant to, of raising siblings in the dampness of their father’s stomach and not on the neverending fields of happiness like the ones he had been born to, wanted to weep. It wanted him to break down, here on the beach, like he did last night. It wanted him to crumple into the waves, to beg for forgiveness or understanding, to beg for a reason why. Why this all happened, why his siblings were given this fate, why he was left with nothing but fear and self-hatred, when his siblings have all the world at their feet now.

He did not listen to it, though.

He did not weep.

His eyes returned to the horizon, the sun cresting just at the edge of the water. He felt the water tickle his feet, fleeting and playful, felt the warmth of the sun sink into his skin, and thought ‘It’s time’. He understood what had to be done, understood what the Fates had been trying to tell him.

He basked in the peacefulness, in the moment before he gave up everything. It was a moment he didn't know he needed. With the sound of waves, with the warmth of the sun, with the sound of sand shifting under someone's foot—

A body settled beside him, startling him and causing him to jump slightly. He turned his head, unaware of who he was expecting, yet when he locked eyes on his sister's serene face, the tension he hadn’t been aware of started to seemingly melt away.

“It's a beautiful sunrise,” she said, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her knees pressed flush against her chest. Her eyes stared forward, searching the horizon for something.

“It is,” he agreed, leaning back on his hands, grabbing fistfuls of the sand and centering himself on the feel of coarse sand scratching at his palms.

She rested her head on her knees, staring at him with a question in her eyes. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

He gave her a smirk, his eyes falling shut against the light and his sister’s all-knowing gaze. “I didn’t think the others would want it.”

Jiang Yanli hummed, and he could feel her gaze boring into him, trying to piece together something he couldn’t understand yet. She let the silence drag on, he suspected to make him squirm. “...Do you really think that, A-Xian?” she asked, her voice nearly drowned out by the waves.

He opened his eyes, silver meeting the beautiful blue of the morning sky, and rolled the question around in his head for a moment. “It’s best if I do.”

A sigh passed her lips, and he could hear the sound of sand shifting. She leaned to the side, pressing her shoulder against his and sitting there a little while longer in silence.

“If that’s what you wish to believe to make this easier, A-Xian, I won’t stop you,” she murmured, her head lifting from her knees and finding its resting place on his shoulder. “If that’s what you need, I won’t stop you. But I’ll miss you. You deserve to know at least one of us will.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in the scent that was purely Jiang Yanli’s smell, and exhaled.

They sat like that for hours, pressed tightly together, as they watched the sunrise across the sea. Finally, when they began to hear their siblings stirring, he stood. His sister rose beside him, but he only had eyes for the sea.

For a moment—the briefest, smallest moment—the world was silent and still around them. For a moment, it was just him and Yanli, out in front of the ocean. Their lives were unraveling before them, leading them down two differing paths. He didn’t know if they would see each other again after this.

He knew he should not leave the others without a goodbye, without a final promise that he would be fine, but the darkness that had been festering in his heart for years told him he would not be missed. And so, with a final smile to his sister, and one last glance to his siblings behind him—sleep heavy, grumbling, snoring, happy—he knew they would be fine without him. He knew, with their sister beside them, and an earth made to love them, that they would be fine.

He stared out at the ocean one last time, burning the image into his mind.

And finally…

He descended.

Chapter Text

His descent was not easy or clean. It was rugged, hellish. Torturous.

The last thing he had seen was his sister’s tear-stained face. In the blink of an eye, the ground opened below him and swallowed him up.

(Much like his Father did, oh so long ago.)

And, well…he fell.

He fell for what felt like an eternity. The air kept getting warmer, warmer, warmer still. It felt like his blood was boiling, threatening to burst out of his skin in a spray of blood and flesh and bone. Until, suddenly, it gave way to ice cold air that stung and ripped at his skin.

When he finally landed, his back slammed harshly against the bone ridden land, his breath was knocked out of him. Yet there was an odd ringing in the air, a buzzing in his veins. It felt like, in the oddest sense of the words, that the Underworld was welcoming him home. The darkness wrapped around his body, dirt climbing up over pale skin and trying to pull him further into it. Yet he dragged himself to his knees then his feet, standing up amidst the weight of pure death trying to burrow its way into his body.

He lifted his eyes from the dirt, still clinging to his feet and calves like a needy lover, and scanned over the bones and thorns that littered the land. It looked the same, yet different. Just as the Underworld had always been—ever changing, but still the same. He raised his eyes further, scanning across dark black rock and rotted tree trunks. The area he was in felt familiar, in the same way Mount Othrys had felt familiar when he had returned.

(He tried to ignore the fact that returning there felt like returning home. He, similarly, tried to ignore how the realm felt like it was holding him, wrapping him in arms of death and decay, and telling him ‘I missed you’.)

Off in the distance, amid the rolling black fog clouds and coiling mist of death, there was a glowing green object. He could tell, from just how faint the glow was, that it was far away. It barely lit up his surroundings, but it gave him a point to work towards.

He walked carefully, aware of each step he took and the coiling mist that caressed his legs.

(He also noticed, amid the smell of rotten flesh and decaying plants, that his chiton was no longer adorning him. A good thing he had never developed a sense of shame.)

He heard crunching accompanying every step he took, stepping on bones and brittle grass that crumbled under the weight of his body. He kept his hands before him, raised out of the thick mist, to make sure he didn't bump into anything over time.

Here, in the bowels of the Underworld, he felt weak. His sight was robbed from him by the thick coiling darkness, his powers dampened by the realm he stood in. He could pull upon them, maybe, if he tried hard enough. But he was scared of the damage he might cause to himself if he did so. Whenever he did try to pull on them, not to cast anything but simply to see, he was met with a twist in his gut and a sense of overwhelming wrongness.

Much like his fall, he didn’t know how long he walked for before he was within touching distance of the glowing gem. The ache in his legs told him days, but his mind told him only hours. When his hands touched the stone it was embedded in, though, his heart gave a cry of pure relief. It guided him out of inky blackness, out of the despair his body and soul had sunken into.

He turned around and pressed his back against the rock wall, his hands laying flat against the side and digging into the rock. He stared out at the land he walked, at the ever-growing dark, and felt his shoulder shudder. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to center himself, before sliding down to sit against the cold ground.

If Wei Wuxian was a lesser man, a lesser God, he would have broken down there in the green glow of crystals. He would have believed in the images the mist was weaving, in the songs it sang and the prosperity it promised. He would have ignored the dirt creeping up his legs and waist. He would have let it consume him, pull him into the dirt and the darkness to forever be another corpse in its hold.

(In the very back of his mind, the same place he held his fears and his terror, a voice that sounded too much like his father’s told him he had already withered long ago. It told him he was lost here, cursed to live in the lands of the not-yet-dead, that his siblings were never real in the first place. It fed on the terror this land gave him, on the belief that he could never have made it out alive. It feasted on him, a sickly parasite he could never shake off.)

If he let it take him, let it hold him and coax him into a long slumber, it would come for Jiang Cheng. It would pull his little brother—his baby brother—into the realm and rot him away.

But when he closed his eyes, he could hear it. Voices. Voices yelling his name. Both names. They were calling, pleading, begging him to come back, to answer them. He thought they sounded like his siblings. Even if he could have returned, even if he could have burst his way through rock and soil, he would never be able to leave the Underworld. The dead would not let go of him. Not to answer, not to call back, and especially not to return. He belonged to the dead now, to those that rotted beneath the feet of others.

The dirt pulled further up his body, and he brushed it off of his thighs idly. He needed a moment to rest, to just—to process. But he didn’t have time, not right now. Now, it was a race against the clock. He didn’t know how long he would last down here, as a God not born of this realm. But he needed to live.

He reached above himself, resting his hand against the glowing green crystal. It pulsed under his touch, a coaxing type of warmth pulling itself into his flesh. ‘Take me.’ It seemed to say, and Wei Ying was but a puppet on the crystal’s strings.

He dug his fingers into the sharp rocks, pricks of pain fading just as quickly as they appeared. With a firm yank he pulled it free from the wall, chunks of rock and rock dust landed on his head. He lowered his arm, staring at the glittering gem resting in his hand. It was a beautiful little thing, barely smaller than his palm. Yet it glowed so… Beautifully. So brightly.

He searched in his immediate vicinity for a piece of wood, a bone, anything, to tie the stone to. He needed a light, something to get a better view of the land around him, yet he came up with nothing.

He stared out at the unending darkness, scanning the jutting land and ragged trees, and made a plan. If he was to live here now, for however long he lasted, in this land of mistakes and broken things—he would make it a home. One worth dying in.

And so he wandered, this little Divine being. He picked his way along the bone-strewn land that he now ruled. It had fallen into his hands, soaked its way into his flesh and his bone, seeped into his blood and made a home in his body. Just as he was working to make a home with it. Yet this wretched land was still his, despite how it tried to take him and control him. It was his, his to rule and to run and to love. He would be just, he promised himself as he stepped over broken rib cages and shattered spines. He would be just, and he would be kind, and he would treat the dead with the respect they deserved. He would not be like his Father, cruel and angry, nor like Wen Zhuliu, bitter to the bone and willing to let everyone suffer for his own personal gain.

No, Wei Ying would not rule that way. Never that way. He would rule like his Mother taught him. He would rule with a smile on his lips, and an ear open to whomever came to him—if anyone, anything, lived here that is—and would reach out a hand if it was needed. He would never belittle someone for something they worried over, nor would he be ruthless in his punishments. Under his watch, under his protection, none of his people would go without. Not without a reason, not without a cause. He would always do what he could, take the food from his own mouth and the clothes off his back and give it to those who needed it. It is the least he could do.

But this realm he was given, this kingdom he was forsaken to, was not a kingdom quite yet. It had been around for a long time, the stories of its creation long lost with time, yet it was not truly a kingdom. There was no home to call his own, no palace to lay in, no farms to grow crops, no land to give to his—currently absent—subjects.

The realm changed when he took it, crumbling the buildings he remembered Wen Zhuliu having built so long ago. He could see echoes of the fallen buildings, crumbled walls here and shattered foundations there, but the Underworld knew. It knew its ruler had changed, had left them and brought back someone else in turn.

It welcomed him, just as he feared it did. It held out its imagined arms and told him ‘We listen to you now,’ and asked him ‘what would you have us do?’ But he did not know how to answer it, this beautifully wretched thing he had been given. So he told it ‘not now’, and felt the child-like pout it gave in turn.

And so he wandered. He made himself familiar with the realm he took over. He listened to the stories the realm told him, of the things that have come and passed. It told him stories of his predecessor, of his anger and rage. It led him to the most remote corners of itself, to the hidden trove of gems and crystals. And he followed. He followed the song the Underworld sang to him, until his feet bled from the sharp bones he stepped upon. Then it stopped its song, stopped its low enchanting humming, and let him wander on his own.

And after learning it all, after mapping out his realm and all the nothingness it had to offer him, he found a small section rich with glowing crystals and built a home. With his bare hands, he sculpted the rock around him into a cave to lay in.

He took this mountainous realm, vast and seemingly unending, always growing and changing but still his, and molded it to what was needed. With each wound received, with each room and home built, it felt more and more like a place to call his. A place to love. A place to belong. It was a place for him to nurture, a place to love, to guide. His to build, his to praise.

He knew he could still feel love, even under the masks and rules he had been forced to hide them under. He could feel it pulsing with each beat of his heart. Yet here, as he looked at the home he was building, at the rock shaping into a paradise he wished he could have, he felt another love develop. A love for his kingdom, small and with only him as a resident. He built it. He put his fear, his pain, his suffering, his hope into these buildings. And he loved them.

He was resting beside one of the five rivers in the Underworld after finishing a small little hut, one of the five near-crumbling huts of the area, when he was approached by three women. All three wore bright white chitons of the finest silk, their necks adorned in beautiful gems and glittering gold. They sat before him, before the fire he had made along the bank.

They sat in silence, the three women huddled together across from where Wei Ying was sprawled on the ground. He knew these three women, as beautifully blinding as they were, and knew what was coming. Or, maybe not knew is the right word. He had a feeling of what was coming.

“You’ve accepted.” The rightmost woman spoke, her blonde hair shining a sickly green in the light of the Underworld fire. Her bright eyes sparkled with knowledge, taunting him with things he wished he could see. “Your thread grows longer, even after Sister has cut it.”

The raven haired woman giggled, a dainty hand raising to cover her mouth. Her golden eyes flickered in humor, darting from Wei Ying to her sister and back. “Lachesis, you shouldn’t tell him too much.”

Wei Ying’s eyes danced between the three sisters, watching their exchange even as his thoughts began to race. He pushed himself into a sitting position, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. “At last,” he started, giving the three sisters a bright smile seeped in mischievousness, reminiscent of days long past. He hoped it reminded them of the little boy that hid in their skirts, scared of his own shadow. “I am blessed with the most beautiful women.” He gave each sister a wink, tilting his head to the left to give himself a more flattering angle. “My, you three haven’t aged a day in the millennium since I last spoke with either of you.” He grabbed Atropos’ hand, pressing a flirtatious kiss against it. “Still untouched by time, I see.”

The leftmost sister, her hair just as white as her chiton, laughed loudly. She threw her head back, breaking the aura of ‘mysterious goddess’. She reached into her chiton when her laughter faded, pulling out a glistening black thread. “You flatter us, Wei Ying.”

He nodded his head forward, pressing a hand against his stomach and giving them a mock bow. “How can it be flattery, if it is the truth, Clotho?”

The three sisters giggled among themselves, even as the blonde sister grabbed the black thread and spun it around her fingers. She wrapped it over. And over. And over. And still, the thread seemed to continue, growing longer as she spun it. She eventually handed it over to the raven haired sister, Atropos, and locked eyes with him. “I am sure you can guess whose thread that is.”

Wei Ying gave a barely perceivable nod, sitting up fully and properly then. His torso was bare, the chiton he had managed to scrape together had been pulled down when he had first planned to rest and attempt to sleep. He lifted his arms from his lap, bowing as much as he could while sitting. “Guessing is never a reputable source of knowledge.” He answered back, his eyes locked on the floor as he—finally—paid deference to the three powerful beings before him. “But if it is needed, I can guess that the thread is my own.”

Despite him being unable to see it, Clotho nodded. “It is.” She confirmed, and he could feel her sharp gaze scanning over his body. “Raise your eyes, Divine. We sisters have something for you.”

He hesitated, counting the seconds in his head. At ten, he raised his head. The black thread was still in her hand, and his eyes felt drawn to it. It seemed to shimmer in and out of existence at the ends of it, as if it wasn't the full string. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to tangle the string around his hands, weave it into a beautiful tapestry of his own imagination, yet knew that even touching it would only ruin whatever the Fates had planned for him.

Clotho watched him, her silver eyes glowing beautifully in the firelight. It seemed to glow like the Underworld's crystals, bright end eerie. His skin prickled, and he could feel the leaking power as it fell from the sisters with each second that passed. It felt thick enough to cut, and the sharp scent in the air told him it would hurt if he tried.

“Wei Ying. Wei Wuxian.” The sisters spoke in sync, their eyes all glowing the same bright eerie green color. “We have Seen your perseverance. We have Seen it all. Do not be scared of what is to come. Your loneliness is the price you pay, but your price is not eternal. Be strong still, and your strength will pay off tenfold. Keep your heart open, and your eyes even wider.”

He took a deep, stuttering, breath. His silver eyes were wide, taking in the sight of the powerful beings before him. He had received an official prophecy by the Fates themselves, given to him and him alone. He hurried to stand, giving them a proper bow at the waist with his hands cupped in front of him. “This one understands.”

Atropos giggled at his properness, her eyes changing from the glowing green to a pure bright white. She bounced herself to her feet, her demeanor switching quickly from the serious goddess to a bright child. Her sisters were laughing behind her as she danced around the side of the fire. If Wei Ying hadn’t known any better, he would have thought them as young as his siblings had once been.

They stayed sitting—and dancing—there for a long while. They caught up on a time long past, a time they had already lived through and knew would eventually come. Yet still, they asked him questions and looked forward to listening to his opinions of stuff. Even with the rocky past they had and the powers pressing down on them, he knew they had looked out for him as much as they possibly could. They were protective of him, and had always been protective of him. Ever since he was a kid.

He used to spend a lot of time with them as a child. Clotho used to hold him on her lap as she spun thread, eventually giving him his own spinning station to work beside her. She taught him how to pull from the unspun fabric of time, gathering power in his tiny hands and using it to reach into something only the three sisters—and now him—could see. She would tell him how to envision it, the threads he would make. The colors, the personalities, the lives they would live. His favorite threads, spun on his last few days with the sisters, had been a pair of beautiful sky blue that faded into a pitch black. The looks in the sisters’ eyes as he handed it over still haunted him, a smiling bitterness that sucked the little confidence he had out of him.

Lachesis would swoop in near the middle of his days with them, pulling him into her arms and tickling his small body. She would then sit him down and teach him down to measure out the threads. She would tell him “it’s in the heart, Wei Ying. You just know,” as her hands would pull and pull at the long threads. She would eventually bend it, eyeing the length and wrapping it around her fingers before trying a knot at the spot. “It’s something you’ll develop, in time.”

And finally, Atropos. The sister he would spend the last of his day with, even though they all worked in the same beautiful open temple. The sky stared down at them from the open ceiling, and the beautiful marble pillars told the tales of a time yet to come. Atropos would dance around him, sharp shears in her hand. He thought her job was easiest, yet as he spent more time along her, he saw the amount of strength needed to cut a thread—the amount of strength needed to end someone's life.

“It’s not easy.” Atropos had told him, so long ago. She held a glittering pink thread, strands of gold peaking through it. “Sometimes, it hurts. But it needs to be done. Everyone has an end, and well—We have a job. It’s how I work through it, and how I stay happy.” She had given him a pair of shears, the handle made out of black wood and the blades a wicked glowings silver. “Sometimes, it's knowing how happy they are and how unhappy they would be that makes it easier.”

His time with her was both beloved, and terrifying to young Wei Ying.

But it was his time with them that taught him how to see beyond what the normal Divine can. Where they see an eternity stretching out before them, Wei Ying can see the tapestry of fate flowing endlessly before him. In an odd way, it's comforting. It lets him know time will continue on, no matter what happens.

He was snapped back to the present when Atropos snapped her fingers in front of his face, her black hair swinging in front of his face but not blocking the uneasy milky white eyes that stared at him. Her lips were quirked up into a knowing smile, and Wei Ying did his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

“You will ask a question.” She said, bouncing on the balls of her feet after she had straightened back up.

Wei Ying nodded in response, his mouth and throat feeling dry. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times as he attempted to find the words he knew he needed to say.

“With everything that's happened, all the changes and wars…” He began, his voice lowering in pitch until it was small and brittle under the watch of the fire. “Did I make the right choice? Was coming here what I should have done?”

Wei Ying watched as Atropos swayed, her hand placed on her chin in thought. She eventually rested a hand on his shoulder, strong with the years she as Seen but not lived herself. She squeezed, her hand a heavy centering weight against his skin. It was a touch he was never expecting, yet at the core of himself he knew he needed.

“If you look around yourself,” Atropos began, her white eyes blinking innocently at him. “Are you happy?”

He reached up a shaking hand, placing it upon the one on his shoulder. “I believe I should be.” He whispered, staring at the fire and counting each flicker. He imagined the stars, and for a moment wished he was under them once more.

“Should be, would be, could be.” Atropos pulled her hand away from his shoulder, stepping back and dancing her way around the fire to her sisters. “All paths, all destiny, all diverging and converging at this very spot. They twist and spin around you, making a mockery of your decisions and thoughts, yet here you are. Still standing. After everything that has happened.” Her voice took on a gentle, almost guiding, undertone at the end. “You have done as you were meant, and did as you needed. Does it not settle right, knowing everything you did merely lead to this moment?”

“I—”

“Maybe you sit here, looking at the fire and the homes you’ve built around yourself, and you wonder if you should have stayed on the surface. Maybe you sit here, bitter and angry, and question everything you have done for siblings that would leave you so easily.” She sighed, sitting down on the ground between her two sisters once more. Her tone shifted, from gentle and calming to one that told him just how heavy the Fates burdens must be. “We seek you out now not to bring comfort, but to bring understanding. Had you chosen to stay on the surface, your brother would have died here. The Underworld would have come for you after his passing, and you would need to live with the knowledge that his death could have been prevented by you speaking up. We merely guided you into a life you could live in peacefully, without more regret pulling you down.”

“I don't under—”

“Let me finish.” Her voice was harsh, and it cut through what little words he was trying to say. “We guided you here, to a time where you might be happy. You still have much to face before you, but know no matter what choice you made in the past, it would have always led up to this. You were always meant to reside here. A Chthonic Divine has no place in the Olympian ruling.” She tilted her head to the side, scanning the little houses he had managed to build around him. They were unsteady, semi-dilapidated from poor craftsmanship, but they held promise. “And perhaps you should start building a palace.” She turned to her sisters then, giving them a childlike smile once more. “Come along, Sisters.”

Wei Ying watched the three sisters stand, Lachesis tucking her hands into her long drapey sleeves while Clotho pulled the black thread into existence once more. She scanned the glittering thread for a moment, before looking at him again. They shared a moment of understanding between them, Wei Ying giving the spinner a nod. Clotho’s face split open in a grin, and Wei Ying suppressed the shiver that tried to climb its way down his spine.

He stared at the three women as they walked into the roiling fog of the Underworld, raising a hand to wave at them as they left.

In a flash of light, they disappeared. Their words, however, lingered in Wei Ying’s ears for a long time after.

It took him a while to build the castle. Tracking time was difficult in the Underworld, a land devoid of light and sun. But, if he had to guess off of how often he slept, it must have been years since he first started building it. The rocks were smoothed over by his own hands, bone lanterns crafted from the bones he found littering the soil and glowing green crystals placed inside. The ceiling itself took multiple years to do, constantly laying on his back and carving memories onto it.

The throne room was his masterpiece, and he loved it nearly as much as he loved his personal bedchambers. He had laid on his back for hours, on a rocky structure meant to keep him steady, and carved. He carved one of his last memories he had of his siblings. Jiang Cheng looked defiant before his stick, Song Lan looked tired and scared. Around them were the rest, Meng Yao pressed against Jiang Yanli’s side. On her other side was Jin Zixuan, smiling down at her as if she had carved the world with her own hands. Wei Ying was nowhere to be seen in this scene, and it felt… Right. But it also felt off. Like a piece was missing.

The throne he had made, prompted by Atropos popping in one day as he was carving the door and telling him to make one, was beautiful in a sense. The black rock was adorned with skulls and bone, gems studded where bones were not. It was gaudy and macabre, but it felt right to him. A throne to represent all he did, in a place that was now his own.

And yet, only mere days after he had finished the main palace, a voice rang out. It was loud in the echoing emptiness of the Underworld, yet clear enough to jolt him from his seat on the steps. Besides the Fates, who had stepped in so long ago and sometimes appeared to give him hints on some things, he had no contact with other beings.

He nearly dropped the bone flower he had been working on, looking up from the small mouse ribcage petals he had been fastening to the small animal's spine. His eyes locked on a small group of people. Of humans. He knew their kind, had spoken with them before his fall. He had loved them, humans, whenever he would run into them. They were always doting, affectionate in a way his Father never would be.

They were also fun. They were fast little things, and they always loved to race with him or wrestle him. Some of his fondest days as a child, besides the days spent with the Fates, was to run and jump with a group of these humans. There used to be a village at the base of the mountain he grew up on, and they always brightened up whenever he descended to play with them. He barely reached their hips, way back then. Yet it was always a delight to play with him.

He clasped his hands before him, bowing low at the hips. He gave these gorgeous beings the respect they deserved, a respect long cultivated between them. He wondered, as his face was parallel to the ground, if his siblings understood the power these beings held in their four hands. They lived only a fraction compared to the Divine, maybe a hundred years at most, yet they held so much power in their hands.

A human, with faith in their veins and trust in their hearts, held the lives of the Divine in their hands. The more they prayed, the more they believed, the more powerful the Divine became. And in turn, the more blessings they could grant. It became a never ending cycle, prayer into power into blessings into more prayer.

The human in the front clasped their four hands together and bowed in turn. “Where are we?” Their two voices spoke, the high feminine voice of their left mixing with the low deep voice of their right head.

Wei Ying straightened out of his bow, gesturing to the entrance of his palace with one hand. He would not lie to these blessed beings, who gave them power and guidance in their own ways, and he would not disrespect the powers that were held in their grasp. “You…” He started, clearing his throat anxiously after a moment. “You are in the Underworld, Blessed One.”

The group of humans brushed past him, five of them stepping past the threshold, crossing the line between the world of the dead and the Palace. Once the last one passed him, a soft rumble was heard, and the ground shook for a brief moment.

It was over just as soon as it started, yet the humans didn't seem to notice anything awry. Wei Ying, although shaken, ignored it and brought them to a wide open room. A chair stood in the middle made of the same black rock that littered the walls, yet was inlaid with gems and the glowing green crystals. Before the throne was a pathway, bordered on either side with rough stone benches. Wei Ying had not finished the finer parts of this room yet, nor had he had the time to make sure the room was properly lit. Yet, it was an audience chamber all the same, and he now had an audience of sorts.

He led them to the benches, brushing off some crumbled stone dust off the top of them before gesturing for the group of humans to sit. He then sat on the ground before them, placing himself lower to the ground than them.

Distantly, as if drifting away in his memory, he could remember a time when he had first met these creatures. They had been kind, had odd rules, but were polite all the same. They had a hierarchy of sorts, unlike the Divine and their hierarchy. Where the Divine depended on blood relations and power handed down, these creatures depended on intelligence and strength to set aside their rulers. Similarly, they were prideful. Very, very prideful.

He smiled up at the one closest to him, a pair of feminine faces smiling down at him. Two of its arms reached forward, petting their way through his hair and along his back. Humans, just like any other being, was affectionate.

As he continued to observe these humans, he could spot little things on them. Scars that shown with a gentle light, small slashes across their bodies. They were eye catching, distracting. He listened to them converse, apparently a group of humans from the same village if their stories were to be believed. He felt a hand caress his cheek, and he leaned into the gentle touch, even as he debated what he should ask.

His shoulder was tapped again, and when he looked up, it was to the same human that had been patting his hair before. One of the faces looked bored, its eyes flat and glazed over in the sense of ‘not this again’ as it listened to one of the other humans. The face looking at him, however, looked worried. The face was gentle, and it reminded him of his mother’s. “Divine, do you know why we are here?”

The group seemed to fall into silence, all the chit-chat dying away as they looked at the Divine seated before him. He tried to pull a smile to his face, yet his confusion was evident in his eyes. “If I had to guess… You died.”

The woman before him turned sad, and he felt bad for breaking the news to them that way. He assumed, since they knew they were in the Underworld, that they knew they had died. “Did you not… know?”

Her other head laughed gently, one of the arms from her half of the body raising up to cup the sad face. “We suspected, but we hoped not.”

He fell quiet once more, watching the two women grieve together. As he looked at the four others, he could see grief painting each of their bodies. He felt bad, sick, unsure. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, or how to help them.

“Blessed Ones,” He began, pulling up one of his legs and wrapping his arms around it. “Please don’t worry. We can fix this up, and you’ll be fine again.”

One of the females’ hands landed on his head, stroking his head once again. It seemed like she was comforting him, and he didn’t understand why. They were—are—the ones crying. Why would they comfort him? “Divine, worry not.” Her left face spoke, the one that had seemed bored. “If we have died, then this is where we belong. You need not worry. We only need somewhere to rest our heads.”

He nodded, standing up as quickly as he could. His back felt tight, and waves of pain started at his shoulders and travelled down his back, yet he ignored it. He rolled his shoulders absentmindedly, his lips lifting up into a bright smile. “I have some rooms here, in the palace. They should be fine resting places, until something more permanent appears?”

Both sets of lips smiled widely at him, the two faces leaning towards each other and resting their foreheads against each other. “That sounds wonderful, thank you Divine.”

As he showed the group of humans to the spare rooms he had made, he chatted with them. The female two-headed human, the one that had caressed his head and been kind enough to reassure him, introduced herself as Sini. She told him about her human life, and the group with her. She had been a weaver, someone who made art with her hands. Her soulmate had been a singer, a musician, and blessed her with songs as she weaved. They were close, so very close, and Wei Ying thought it was what magic had been made after. He could never imagine himself attached to another so closely these two were, skin pressed to skin for eternity. It was terrifying. Yet it was beautiful, the amount of love and trust these two would forever hold in each other.

As he walked back to the—throne room? Audience chamber? Judgment hall?—after showing the group to their rooms, his back began to pulse in pain once again. He tried to ignore it, yet the painful flashes just continued. It felt like it was never ending, the pain coming and coming.

When he was halfway down the pathway to his throne, he fell to his knees. The pain was unbearable. It felt like something was pushing against the skin of his back, and his chest felt tight, like there was too much there and not enough room for it. It was stronger than the constricting feeling of his Father’s throat tightening around him.

He felt like he was choking.

Something was trying to rip its way out of him, through his skin and bones and ichor. It was trying to pull away the flesh of his back and leave him a skeleton dripping of gore and heartache.

His eyes were straining to focus on anything through the pain, and he fell forward towards the floor. He managed to catch himself on shaking hands, and he watched in gut-wrenching horror as a puddle of blood began to spread around his hands. He felt liquid dripping from his barely parted lips, and watched in sick fascination as the red fell to mix with the growing puddle below him.

A redness began to pool at the bottom of Wei Ying’s eyes and he tried to blink it away. In return, a stream of hot red blood fell like tears from his eyes.

(In the back of his mind, somewhere between his memories of happiness and unending regret towards his siblings, he felt he was dying. He thought it was poetic, in a sense, that the last tears he shed were ones of blood.)

He could barely hear over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, yet what he could hear sounded like a wet ripping noise. It sounded like something was being torn away from a sticky surface, a loud squelch echoing over his ears and piercing his head. All around him were heavy wet plops, and through the deep red haze that had settled over his eyes he could see chunks of something coated in a dark liquid falling onto the stone floor.

The immense pressure was lifted off of his chest, yet pain still pulsed throughout his body. His hands instinctively curled into fists against the black rock below him, coated in fragments of skin and hot sticky lifeblood. His agony felt like it went on for years, an unending time of pain and agony. He felt, in the deepest parts of his mind, that he deserved to die this way.

In between one breath and the next, the pain stopped. Suddenly, without even a moment's notice, he felt like he could move once more. His back felt heavy, hot, sticky, yet there. He could still feel the crumbled rock beneath his hands, the weight of his hair hanging from his head, and knew he had lived through whatever torture that had been.

He released the rock-turned-powder from his hands, and tried to blink away the fading reddish pink haze from his eyes. When his sight cleared, he could see just how much red was around him. It seemed the rock in his immediate vicinity was coated in it, with pieces of flesh clinging to walls and benches alike. It painted a macabre scene, with Wei Ying’s crumpled body the centerpiece.

He lifted his shaky hands to his face, blood clinging to his fingers and under his nails. He debated rubbing his face, but decided against it. His face was already smeared with… Whatever that was. He didn’t want to smear it with more.

(He knew what it was. He knew, whatever had just happened, had caused his back to burst open in a shower of blood —ichor—and gore. He thought of all the different things that could have bursted out, all the horrible monsters and little worms that could have burrowed inside of him, and he feared.)

It took a few long minutes of him staring at his hands in a blank trance before he placed his hands on the floor once more to push his body up. His arms shook under the strain, his back feeling unnaturally heavy. It felt like he had unknowingly taken over the sky, as if his Uncle had given it to him to hold once more as punishment. His body strained, and his bones seemed to groan under the attempted movement. He was weary, his mind and body both were on the edge of a collapse he refused to allow himself to have.

It took a long time to struggle to his feet, his arms and legs refusing to listen to him. It brought back memories of him as a child, being coaxed into walking by his mother. He felt like a baby once more, fresh to the world he lived in, learning how to walk and move once more. How fitting that his new rebirth was here, under the earth he once loved, sequestered away like a terrible little secret and told to rule here.

Once he was fully to his feet, he tried to take stock of himself and his body. He was, technically speaking, physically fine. He might have been coated in enough blood to fill multiple humans, but he was still in one piece. There were chunks of flesh sticking to his skin, the blood coating them acting like a glue of sorts. He wondered where these chunks came from, considering how much there was. All this flesh should not have come from him, not with him still standing there with his skin intact. Yet as he twisted to and fro to take better inventory of himself, he noticed the large wounds along his back.

He should have known just where it came from, yet he seemed to be unconsciously ignoring the fact that his back was considerably heavier than it should be. Yet as he twisted his body as much as he possibly could, he caught sight of large blood soaked feathers.

Blood soaked feathers.

He had grown wings.

He did his best to stay calm, taking a long deep breath to center himself as much as possible. Fear was streaming through his blood, and he did his best to ignore the fast panicked breaths that tried to make their way out of him.

His last piece of himself, of his connection to his siblings, had disappeared. There was no denying it, no begging and pleading would change his fate. He had grown wings, large protruding feather masses on his back. He tried to swallow down the tears, the fear, yet his shoulders still shook under the weight of his new self, under the weight of his new responsibilities.

The Overworld, Earth, as the humans called it, was no longer his home. Its air would no longer pass his lips, its sun would no longer shine on his skin. He was truly alone now.

He could hear a faint shuffling sound behind his weakened body, and he suppressed the instinctual flinch away when his shoulder was touched. He gathered himself as much as he could, wrapping his arms around his stomach and pulling his hair over his shoulder. When he turned, unbalanced and unsteady, he locked eyes with Sini again. She seemed worried, her eyes wide and fearful, her hands scrambling along his forearm.

He tried to reassure her that he was fine, yet the blood coating his teeth and lips betrayed him. He scanned his eyes along the floor, surveying how far the blood and flesh had flown. He winced internally at the redness everywhere, locking eyes with Sini’s left head. He tried to flash her a smile, to try and soothe her worries. Yet the moment he locked eyes with her, he was sucked into a world he had never seen before.

In this world, everything looked beautiful, everything felt warm. There were flowers, songs, and beautiful fabrics. Everything seemed perfect. His head turned by itself, and in a flash of ice cold dread, he recognized he could not control himself. Time seemed to simultaneously drag on and fly by, and he saw in terribly vivid imagery what happened to Sini in her last few moments alive.

Her arms raised towards the sky, relishing the rain that fell upon her. Si, the right head, was looking up at the sky in wonder. Ni, the left head, was singing a beautiful song. They danced together under the rain, relishing the gift of water and the intimacy the rumbling clouds gave them.

It was with dread in his stomach that he heard a deep rumbling behind the dancing pair, from Si’s ears. She didn’t turn to look, too far into her dance with her soulmate. Ni’s eyes widened, and Si turned her head to look. The last thing she saw was not her soulmate, and the last thing she heard was not the sound of Ni’s singing.

The last thing she saw was the ground coming towards her at great speeds, and the last thing she heard was the sound of their cottage shattering and the rumbling of the landslide. When she next opened her eyes, it was to the sight of his palace, and him exiting the palace with a grin on his face.

He saw more things than just her death, he saw her life flashing before her eyes. Her childhood, growing up with someone who loved her unconditionally. Si learning to weave, Ni learning how to sing and play instruments. They had spent hours awake at night, staring out at the night sky, talking about so many things. They had confessed worries, fears, everything and anything. It had been heartwarming. It had been pure.

When he blinked back to himself, he had tears running down his cheeks. Si was wide eyed, caressing his cheek, while Ni was humming a song to him. It felt warm, and settled his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting it to.

‘These two deserve their own home.’ He thought to himself, his heart crying for the home and the life they lost. ‘They deserve to be together, in peace, with their songs and their crafts.’

He felt something burning low in his stomach, and he reached for that burning. He hadn’t known why, not then, but instinct was guiding him to do so. In his mind, he saw the flame resting in his stomach. It burned as bright as the green crystals, yet felt warm almost. It was calming, kind, coaxing. He brushed his hand across the flame, and felt the flame brush against his mind in turn.

‘Give them happiness,’ He whispered to the flame, feeling it dance in his stomach playfully. ‘Give them their deepest wishes. Give them love, give them kindness, give them happiness.’ 

The flame responded by bouncing around in his stomach for a moment before surging up. He could see it, in his minds’ eye, travelling up his chest and through his right arm. It pooled in his hand, burning brighter and brighter. He brought his right hand up to his chest, disturbing the hand that had been on his arm still.

“Give them happiness, give them peace, give them eternity in their desires. Give them Elysium.”

The Underworld shuddered around him, and he could feel it moving, changing. The ground under him grew warm, and felt like it was moving, rotating, spinning faster than the eye could see. Yet they stayed still, balanced in this room the epicenter of change.

When the earth around them felt still and the air lost the warmth that had been seeping into it, he opened his eyes once more. The Blessed Being before him looked startled, yet he could see a smile pulling itself onto both of Sini’s faces. Si’s hands brushed through his hair once more, and she seemed to grow fuzzier the longer he looked at her.

“See, Wei Wuxian?” Si asked, her smile so very proud of him. “What needed to pass, came to pass.”

He nodded once, closing his eyes before she faded entirely away. He could hear Ni’s singing still, even as the press of skin against his cheek disappeared with each passing moment. Eventually, even the singing stopped. And when he opened his eyes to stare at the blood-soaked throne room around him, he felt a warmth settle in his bones that hadn't been there before.

He was more, now. He was no longer a Divine withering away beneath the land, sequestered away from the eyes of humans. He had a purpose now, to rule, to keep his citizens safe and away from the harm the Underworld could so easily give to the unsuspecting.

He would do it to the best of his abilities.

Chapter Text

As the millennia grew, as he watched humans grow and change, he ruled. He ruled the Underworld, where the dead would come to rest their weary souls. He dolled out punishment where punishment was due, and gave happiness where happiness was due. And, if a soul was neither good nor bad, he allowed them to wander if they so wished. He allowed them to walk his realm, to discover each and every crack in the rock and soil. He allowed them to find their final little corner to spend eternity, and when they finally found a place to rest, he gave them their own little section filled with what they wanted in their afterlife.

As the millennia grew ever longer, so too did Wei Ying. He grew used to his power, to his wings, to his realm. To this place he ruled, and the inhabitants he protected. Yet, even as he protected them, even as he found personal fulfillment in giving the souls exactly what they needed, he was lonely. He was so, undeniably, lonely. The souls of the dead, as entertaining as they were, could only provide amusement for so long.

He wondered, as he sat upon his throne day after day, as he judged soul after mutilated soul, if this was what he was doomed to. Was he doomed to be like this, for the rest of eternity? A lonely husk of power, providing what others needed yet never once getting what he wished?

He spent his days judging, his nights carving. His one source of happiness came in designing the palace further. He made twists, turns, rooms for guests he would never have. He made sculptures of the humans he could remember, created rooms for each one of his siblings. He learned new skills from the human's memories. He learned how to paint, to weave, to sing, to strum the lyre and play the flute.

And, eventually, he found a sort of peace. He created a garden in the heart of the palace, a square little thing situated between winding hallways, sheltered from the wandering souls and prying ghouls’ eyes. He carved out a tree from the stone with his bare hands, the rough scrape against his palms reminding him that he was living. He pulled crystals from his realm, sculpting them into leaves. Slowly, over decades and centuries, he created a paradise around him.

He could not have living plants in the garden, as the Underworld could never host a living specimen too long, so he made do with what he had. He made flowers from his memory, flowers made of gems and bones alike. Emerald stems sprouted into fine ruby and sapphire petals. Wide jade leaves connected into rose quartz lotus flowers. Small birds' spines bloomed into mouse ribcage flowers topped with a squirrel skull center.

Life went on. The dead still died, the living still lived, and Wei Ying would last eternally. The living would all die, eventually. The earth would melt and fade into nothingness, but the dead would still need to have a place to rest.

Then, one day, his realm was flooded with happiness. Originally, he believed his realm was home to only the human kind and their dead. But the decaying happiness filling his realm, diving into the cracks of his rock and burrowing into his soul, told something different. It told the story of a bitter end, of jealousy.

Jealousy that caused the end of the Blessed Beings.

Jealousy of his youngest brother.

After that day, the humans that came to him were different. They no longer had their two heads, nor their four arms, nor their four legs. They had just a pair each, and just a single head. Their bodies were scarred, mutilated more than normal, and the sickness that rose in his stomach was all consuming. His siblings' jealousy stole happiness from something they had promised to protect so long ago.

He wondered, briefly, if he chose wrong all those years ago.

Eventually, he heard from the humans curious little rumors. Stories of divine might, once again reaching the earth. He heard stories of his siblings, their power, and worship for them growing by the day. He heard of new godlings, new little things ascending and taking their place in Olympus. Those humans told him of a pair of siblings, one known for his might in battle and the other for his brilliant plans that led their city to victory. They told him how they ascended, a god of war and a god of wisdom. His stomach twisted as he realized that there must now be a god of war. For if there is a god of war, there must be wars to be fought.

He similarly felt humor as the humans began to worship him. They began to greet him by many different titles. His favorite, so far, was “Death Lord”. It had a pleasant edge to it. Likewise, fruits began to appear near his throne randomly. At first, it was little things. A small orange, a peach, a watermelon. One day, someone offered a pomegranate. The pomegranate became his favorite, and it seemed the humans understood that eventually as well.

Word came to him, through human memories and the dead themselves, of him having a wife. Not just a wife, but a wife who he kidnapped from his siblings. A wife he imprisoned in the Underworld, dooming her to a slow and torturous death. A wife he refused to release. A wife he had doomed to be his for eternity, her identity lost under his iron-fisted ruling.

He couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from his throat when the scarred human told him this, throwing his head back in mirth against the rock throne he sat upon. The throne that had no companion, and never would.

“A wife?” he asked the kneeling spirit, chuckling in between each word, each breath. “Me? Does it look like there’s a woman's touch here?”

He let the spirit go to his afterlife, waving him away in his good humor.

He couldn't shake the rumor from his head, even as he finished off his day's judgment and began to track his way back to his little garden. Through the three corridors separating the throne room from the garden, his mind wandered. It continued to drift, even as he sat himself at the base of the tree and looked out at the sprawling rock ceiling above him.

“A wife…” He murmured under his breath, his wings splayed out behind him against the stone trunk.

Wei Ying was many things, but he was not the type of man to marry a woman.

No, if he was to wed, it most certainly would not be to a woman. He had nothing against them, nor did he find them physically unappealing in any way. He could admire the flashes of flesh the souls tried to use to gain favor, and he would admit to letting his eyes wander from time to time along the more tantalizing of souls. But never in a lecherous way. No, it was merely aesthetic acknowledgement. He would never be able to crave having a woman—or male—body below him that was mutilated beyond identification.

Besides, he longed for someone strong enough to make him bow. He, Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, the Eldest of the Gods. The most powerful of all the siblings, the one who would last far longer than his siblings. He longed for someone who could look down at him, kneeling on the floor, wings prone behind him, and make him beg. He longed to quiver under the eyes of someone who saw him as little, longed to kneel much like his subjects knelt before his throne and beg for Elysium.

He knew, despite his wishes, that he would never find someone to kneel to. Just as he knew he was destined to rule his land alone, no queen or helper by his side. He was destined to live a life of solitude, of confinement. That was his eternal punishment.

The day things changed was a day that started like any other. He dressed himself quickly, his sleeves bound hastily by silver hoops he manifested. His chosen chiton for the day fell roughly at mid thigh, and he was too lazy to make sure it fully tied shut on the side before clasping his girdle on top to keep it closed. The darker red fabric mimicked blood, and he found it amusing how the souls would quake before him when they saw him dressed like this. Had the Underworld had a breeze, he would be exposing himself to every soul before him.

(He wondered if that idea was part of the reason he chose this chiton, because of the risk. He convinced himself, no, it wasn’t. But he knew he was lying to himself. He had gotten good at that over the years.)

He sat himself upon his bed and pulled his wings forward, grooming the feathers as quickly as he could before his day fully began. The feathers had lightened considerably since he first developed them all those years ago. Where they had once been fully black, they matured into bright vivid reds. Streaks of silver gave the illusion of steel, of daggers he had seen the humans use in their memories, and the ends of his largest feathers looked to be dipped in blood. It was very intimidating, and very terrifying, if the spirits were to be believed.

He settled the feathers as fast as he could, glad he didn’t need to pluck out any yet. One of his feathers was still growing in, and having to take care of another growing one would be annoying. He shuffled his wings as soon as he finished, rolling his shoulders and tossing his head back. The feeling of freshly groomed wings always left him feeling a special sort of excitement, yet he snuffed out the burning it brought to his limbs. He did not have time to indulge in his body, as time consuming as it would be.

He clambered out of his bed once again, tripping over sheets and discarded feathers. His floor was a veritable mess with chitons, gems, metals, and instruments thrown everywhere. His feathers also took up a large section of the room, and left it a slippery area that tripped him up more times than he could remember. He picked his way, carefully, across the messy floor and opened his bedroom door.

He whistled a tune to himself as he walked down the palace hallways, passing door after door. As he passed the door to the garden area, he pressed his hand against it briefly and promised himself to stop by it later.

The day continued as normal. He judged each soul that approached him, looking them over for falsities. He would wave for them to approach closer if he needed to get a good look at their past.

His breath stuttered in his chest, though, when his eyes fell upon two fledgling souls. A pair of brothers were clinging to each other’s hands, their faces both blank in their own way when they approached him together. One brother’s face was like stone, while the other one had a kind smile pressed onto his lips. It wasn’t their lifelong masks that caught his attention, nor their bodies. It was the fact that, despite how they died marring their souls, they were whole.

Instead of chunks missing—the signs of a rough travel to the Underworld—and the Great Split scarring, they were complete. They shone brightly, nearly blindingly so, to him.

Wei Ying pushed himself off of his throne, approaching the two quickly. He saw how the smiling brother stepped back, and how the stone-faced one stepped forward to protect him. Wei Ying stopped only feet away from the two, locking eyes with the stone-faced brother to read him.

He was immediately pulled into the man’s life, pain and hatred mixing with punishment and rules. He could hear yelling, screaming, then humming. There was a boy only a few years older than the babe, holding him and rocking him. From that moment, a connection had formed between the two brothers.

A connection that held strong, years down the line. It held strong when their mother passed, when their father killed himself. It held strong, even as the older brother began to smile more to others and cry more at home, when the older brother gave and gave and gave.

The more the older one—Lan Xichen—gave, the more anger built inside of Lan Wangji. And it kept building, even as Lan Wangji began to train, even as Lan Xichen learned the art of medicine to provide for his baby brother.

And it cusped, one day, in gasping breaths and begging for more. The nights of passion between the brothers, something so obscene and taboo, was something that brought a flush to Wei Ying’s cheeks and a burning need in his stomach. Yet he pushed it away as he continued to watch the pain and fear these two boys experienced from Lan Wangji’s eyes.

He watched their final moments, bound together and held hostage. He watched, from Lan Wangji’s eyes, as the competitor he had bested in combat years ago gloated before them. As this competitor, believing himself to be better than everyone around him, took what little happiness Lan Wangji had built. He had to watch, steeped in the emotions Lan Wangji had held inside of him for years, as Lan Xichen was strangled before him. He had to watch as the life faded from his brother’s eyes, as his limbs grew more and more still.

Wei Ying lived through it, through the slow torturous death Lan Wangji had. He felt each stab, each scrap of the knife across skin. He felt as his eyes were cut out, his tongue removed, his body left to fade slowly. He felt him bleed out. He heard his last thoughts, just as he died. He heard ‘Wait for me, Xichen.’ just before he returned to himself.

Wei Ying’s hand was touching Lan Wangji’s cheek, just under the gaping holes in his head. He caressed his cheek, a tenderness building in his chest. He saw himself in him, in Lan Wangji. He saw his younger self, fighting endlessly for his siblings freedom and love. He could feel tears streaming down his own cheeks, yet gave Lan Wangji a smile.

“Let me see him.” He murmured under his breath, low enough for only the two Lan brothers and him to hear. Lan Wangji tensed further under his hold, and Wei Ying reluctantly let his cheek go. “I will not harm him, I swear it. I just need to see him.”

Lan Wangji’s shoulders tensed further, his back somehow getting straighter than it already had been. Wei Ying could tell, from the small shifting of his arms and clenching of his fists, that Lan Wangji was ready to fight him. Him. The God of Death.

(If this was any other time, any other soul, he would have laughed his ass off at the concept.)

Lan Xichen’s hand appeared on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, and even Wei Ying could see how Lan Wangji melted under his touch. Wei Ying ignored the whispers he could hear being passed between the two, his eyes dancing between the two beautiful faces before him and allowing them the moment of privacy before him.

Lan Xichen stepped forward, his shoulders and back straight, yet the worried look in his eyes couldn’t be hidden behind the smile he wore.

“Masks don’t work here.” Wei Ying stated, raising his hand to cup Lan Xichen’s cheek. “You can’t lie to your soul.”

He dove into Lan Xichen’s memories, ignoring the widening of eyes and sharp intake of breath.

He watched from Lan Xichen’s eyes as he took his first breath, his first steps, and said his first words. He watched as he received his first punishment, forced to kneel in snow too cold for his small body. He watched as his brother was born in the world, and the dull and boring life he had led suddenly burst into so much color and beauty. He watched him learn to read, to write. Wei Ying watched him raise his baby brother, spoiling him and painting his world a beautifully vivid picture.

Wei Ying watched from Lan Xichen’s eyes as the world changed. He watched as his mother died from sickness, as his brother cried and begged for her to hold him again. He heard the resolve, the inner promise, to hold and love his brother as much as needed.

He watched through Lan Xichen’s eyes as he learned the things he would need to give up for his brother to succeed. He watched Lan Xichen give away everything—his apprenticeship, his inheritance, his future—to fund and take care of Lan Wangji. He watched their bond grow stronger by the day, and their bodies even stronger. Until they could lead armies if they truly wished it, could take down empires in the name of their love.

He watched as Lan Wangji broke down in Lan Xichen’s arms, tears flowing free and no longer held back by promises and masks. He watched him sob away his fears, heard him plead, saw him shatter in Lan Xichen’s arms and form back into a man who knew his place in the world.

Seeing them cling to each other so completely reminded Wei Ying of a time long past. A time where he would cling to his siblings and hold them tightly. A time where he convinced himself he could protect them from everything that tried to touch them. A time where they grew up within the acidic stomach of a father he—they—hated. He wondered, briefly, if Lan Wangji also felt the pure protection being in a sibling’s embrace seemed to radiate, and if he cherished it as much as it was meant to be.

As Lan Xichen’s life continued to play out, he watched him learn medicine. He watched him try to deny the money Lan Wangji would press into his hand, won from fights and battles. He tried to deny the aid, the pleas, yet it was his brother's wide eyes and tear-soaked cheeks that convinced him to comply.

(In fire-bright flashes, Wei Ying saw them lay together for the first time once more. He could feel the burning desire flooding Lan Xichen, the guilt for such desire. He could feel the press inside, the inevitable stretch, the wet lips and gasping breath. He could feel a scarred back under his hands, grasping scrambling fingers crawling up shivering skin. He could hear the promises they whispered, to never part, to never leave. It was just as beautiful the second time as it had been the first time.)

It felt like only mere moments after they had lain together, foreheads pressed together and breath mingling, that their death had come. He could feel the fear penetrating deep into Lan Xichen’s bones, the terror near paralyzing. He had been dragged out of their home, his heels growing bloody and ragged against the stone. The person behind him had tugged him up into a horse-drawn cart, tying his wrists together with tough rope.

When Xichen had asked why he had done this, why he had taken him against his will and tied him up like this, the man had given him a lecherous smile and had dragged his eyes over his prone body.

“Because your brother needs to learn his place.”

Something hard had collided with his head, and his eyes had fallen shut. When they had opened next, he had been leaning against Lan Wangji’s side, his brother shaking in anger beside him. It had been terrifyingly beautiful, and it had drawn him up short.

They had stayed pressed together, in this bubble of fear and adoration. Wei Ying could tell Lan Xichen had known he was going to die here, his soul settling into something peaceful and welcoming. The brothers had shared one last kiss, one last press of their foreheads, before Lan Xichen had been dragged away.

His breath had been strangled out of him slowly, yet he had only had eyes for his brother. His last image before death had been gold eyes glowing fierce and strong. He hadn’t even noticed when he passed, his eyes only blinking for a moment. Yet when he had opened his eyes, he had been in the Underworld in front of the palace, with his brother nowhere in sight.

Wei Ying pulled himself out of the memories, blinking away the lingering fear and helplessness threatening to seep into his bones.

He could see the uncomfortable shifting around that Lan Xichen was doing, his smiling mask long gone, and dropped his hand from his cheek.

Wei Ying took a step backwards, then another. He kept walking backwards until he was a respectable distance away, his wings shuffling against his back the only telltale sign of his own nervousness.

“Come, come.” He gestured the two souls forward, closer to him, and addressed the rest of the souls in the room. “Move up the rows, in order. I will attend to the rest of you in a few minutes, once my business with these two is finished.”

He turned to the brothers once more, scanning over them and noting down the ratty robes they had come to him in. He made a mental note to get them new ones, if they ended up accepting the idea that popped into his head. “Follow me.”

He quickly rounded the dias his throne sat upon, guiding the two confused souls to the door that swung out into the deeper hallways of the Underworld’s palace. He held the door open as they passed, pushing it shut after them and sliding the curtain back into place.

(He knew he didn’t need a curtain there, just as most of his palace didn't need curtains. There was no sun to block, nor wandering eyes. He thought, maybe, he put it there for a semblance of normality he was missing.)

He led them down only a few doors from the judgment hall, bringing them to an area he jokingly called his office. He reached up to his head and pulled off the bone laurel he had put on just before he had entered the throne room, shaking out his hair and letting it fall in waves down his back and against the elbows of his wings.

“You’re probably wondering why I brought you here,” he stated, walking around the desk and kneeling down on the pillow behind it. He gestured to the ground in front of his desk, cushions of fine fabric appearing before them. “Please, sit.”

Lan Xichen was quick to kneel before him, yet the warrior brother—Lan Wangji, as his memory helpfully supplied—stayed standing. Wei Ying tilted his head to the right just the slightest bit, scanning the defiance etched into each muscle, and gave him a kind smile. “If you do not wish to sit, that is fine. Know the cushion will remain, until you decide to.”

A sharp nod was all Wei Ying received from him, but he accepted it all the same.

Lan Xichen seemed to shift from one knee to the next, his eyes flicking from Lan Wangji to Wei Ying and back again. From the clenching and unclenching of his fists and the wringing of his hands, Wei Ying could tell he was anxious.

“Would you like to ask questions first, or would you like me to explain first?” Wei Ying asked, resting his hands on the desk and clasping them together.

Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen both stayed silent, and Wei Ying took that as the latter.

“Okay,” he started, shuffling his wings once more before settling down. His mind was running a mile a minute, but he forced himself to focus. “What I am going to offer you here is a chance at godhood.” He heard Lan Xichen’s sharp inhale, and he kept his eyes locked on his own hands. “Godhood of my realm. Of death.” He rubbed his thumb over his pointer finger, his eyes trailing the movement. “I apologize that I cannot bless you with the blood of an Olympian, but that is not a domain I reside over anymore.”

Wei Ying recognized the sound shifting fabric, and assumed it was Lan Xichen shifting from side to side on his seat. Movement caught his eye, and he glanced up in time to see Lan Wangji kneel beside his brother and lean in to whisper to him. Wei Ying pretended not to hear the two of them, to give them a sense of privacy.

“Brother, this would allow us to roam again,” Lan Xichen whispered back, and Wei Ying counted in his head how many strokes it would take to carve a piece of rock in their image. “We can be free, with no ties this time.”

“We would be tied to him.” Maybe four hundred strokes?

“He seems kind, so far.” Five hundred?

“The myths state otherwise.” Ah, definitely over a thousand.

He shifted from one knee to another, rocking from side to side, as he pretended to not listen. He could envision the stone already, and how lifelike it would be. Maybe he could put the sculptures in the room with his siblings' sculptures? Ah, no. That would be like him calling them family.

“Myths are just rumors given faith, Wangji.”

“All rumors start with a semblance of truth, Xichen.”

They continued to bicker between them, and Wei Ying quickly drew bored of pretending to be soaked into thought, resting his chin on his hand as he watched the two argue. It was endearing, in a sense.

“That is not particularly true, Wangji. You know this.” Wei Ying’s ears picked up a sigh, and from the tilt of his shoulders and the twist in his smile, he could identify Lan Xichen’s disappointment from a mile away.

“I know that rumors can be told enough times that they become true.”

Wei Ying clapped his hands once, drawing their attention back to him before the bickering could turn to full on fighting. “Okay, you have some hesitance. I understand.”  He crossed his arms then, still leaning against the table before him. “Let me describe what will happen, and you can have a few days to get used to life down here while you think on it. That sound good?”

Lan Xichen immediately nodded, while Lan Wangji stared at him blankly. He watched as Lan Wangji’s head tilted to one side, and Wei Ying got the feeling he was being observed for aggression, or maybe for threats. He made his shoulders soften, uncrossing his arms to rest his forearms on the desk facing straight up.

“I don’t mean harm to you or your brother, I swear it,” he promised, giving Lan Wangji a kind smile. He kept himself in that position until Lan Wangji seemed to sag down.

(Sag down, as in, his shoulders seemed to soften only the slightest bit, and his spine looked like it might still break someone's legs if they ran into it, but maybe not as terrible as it might have before.)

“Explain.” Lan Wangji kept his head tilted to the side, and Wei Ying felt a flash of something jolt down his body into his stomach and lower regions. He forcefully pushed his response to the command elsewhere, focusing on the here and now instead of his fantasies.

“Okay.” He murmured after a moment, pulling himself together. “This is all I can offer you, because like I said earlier, I no longer reside over a domain of life. In fact, my domain rests solely in death.”

He gestured around himself, to the black rock and green glowing gems, to the skulls  sometimes peeking up through the rock. “What I can offer you, though, is godhood. An opportunity to return to a sort of life, in the body you once occupied. But it will be different, things will be different, and there will be rules.”

At the mention of rules, Lan Wangji’s back straightened once again. Wei Ying waved it away, the growing fear in Lan Wangji’s eyes causing his stomach to bunch in some odd emotion.

(He would need to look at it later, that emotion. He both loved it, and hated it. Note to Wei Ying—Look at that Later™.) 

He waved his hand, three cups appearing on small ceramic dishes. A teapot hovered in mid air and hesitated for a moment before pouring out three cups and resting upon the table once more.

“The rules are not harsh, and are only there to ensure that you wouldn’t get pulled back into the tapestry you were meant to live—and die—in,” he started, picking up his tea cup and sipping at it. The warmed ambrosia tasted heavenly against his tongue, and he suppressed a moan.

“Basically, it all comes down to the main rule: You cannot have contact with those you knew in life.” He cupped his hands around the cup of ambrosia, his hands warming against the hot ceramic. “It’s a lot of complicated magic, turning someone into a god. And it can be unwoven faster than it can be cast.”

He heard a sound of surprise, and looked up from the inside of his teacup to see Lan Xichen’s eyes wide as he tasted the tea. Lan Xichen turned to his brother, urging him to taste the tea. Lan Wangji was hesitant, glancing from Lan Xichen’s teacup to Wei Ying and back again before looking at his own cup.

“The myths say if you take food in the Underworld, you can never leave.” Lan Wangji stated, glaring at his cup of tea.

Wei Ying was unable to hold back his laughter, his wings flaring to balance him as he threw his head back in laughter. “Never leave?” Wei Ying asked, through his breathless giggles. “What a bunch of horse shit.”

Lan Wangji seemed to recoil at the vulgar language, yet Wei Ying didn’t let that dissuade him. “No, no. If you enter the Underworld, that’s not what keeps you here.” He used his finger to stir his ambrosia, ignoring the twin looks of disgust he received. “If you are here long enough to get food from me, then you surely will die. But the food isn’t what keeps you here. Plus Lan Wangji— You are already dead. I do not mean to... ” He waved his hand back and forth, trying to find the words he was looking for. “Eating food will not trap you here, even if you did. Because you already died. You are already here for eternity.”

“Pardon me,” Lan Xichen murmured, his teacup clicking down against the table. He folded his hands together, and scanned Wei Ying up and down.

(Wei Ying knew he did it this time, because unlike the other brother, Lan Xichen still had eyes.) 

“But is that not how you trapped Mo Xuanyu down here?”

Wei Ying blinked at that, the odd name throwing him off. “What?”

“Mo Xuanyu. Your… wife.” Lan Xichen elaborated. His bronze eyes locked onto Wei Ying’s silver ones and challenged him in a way that, frankly, turned on Wei Ying more than it threatened him. “The one you kidnapped. And forced to eat pomegranates.”

“My…wife.” Wei Ying raised an eyebrow of his own, meeting the challenge that Lan Xichen was putting before him. “Let me get this right, you think I kidnapped someone to be my unwilling wife, fed them food they didn’t want, and imprisoned them here to do my bidding?”

“And to warm your bed.” Lan Wangji added, his own eyeless head seeming to stare Wei Ying down.

“And to warm my bed.” Wei Ying nodded, crossing his arms as he contemplated these two. “I don’t know how to break it to you, but I’ve never even heard the name Mo Xuanyu before.” He started, ignoring the raised eyebrows of Lan Xichen. “Furthermore, I have never once seen another Divine being down here, besides the ones that reside in Tartarus. And even then, I have only spoken with the Fates. And I know for a fact, none of the Fates are called Mo Xuanyu.” He spread his arms wide, his shoulder raising in a shrug. “I have been alone here for millenia, and I will continue to be alone here.”

Wei Ying could identify a flash of something in Lan Xichen’s eyes, yet it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. He watched the fight drain from Lan Xichen’s shoulders, gesturing to the teapot for it to refill their two cups. Lan Wangji’s cup was still untouched.

“Back to the reason I brought you two in here.” He took a sip of his cup, setting it down afterwards. “Godhood. Rules. Only one rule: don't talk to people you knew in life.”

He nodded to himself, digging around in his head for why that rule was so important. He knew there was a reason, but why—

“Ah, yes,” he remembered. “Have you heard of the tapestry of time, the lifeline string?” He was met with both heads shaking no. “Ah, okay. This will be a bit of…information to take in. Are you comfortable?”

Lan Xichen shifted again, his eyes glancing down at the cushion he was kneeling on. “These are…very thin cushions. And the floor is…very hard.” He gave Wei Ying a kind smile, his hand gesturing down at the very thing he was talking about. “May we get softer ones?”

Wei Ying nodded, his smile returning to split his face. He gestured for them to stand, ignoring the thrum of his blood that their graceful movement made. He summoned a thicker cushion, and placed it on top of the cushions they had already been kneeling on. “Does that feel better?”

He was met with a gentle smile, softer along the edges than the others he had seen so far, and took that as a yes.

“Okay, so, what do you want me to explain first? The tapestry? Or the lifeline?” He swirled his remaining ambrosia in his cup, watching the soft honey color spin. He heard the sound of rough fabric rubbing together, and assumed one of them either moved or shifted.

“Tapestry,” Lan Wangji answered, once it was clear that Lan Xichen could not choose.

“Tapestry! Wonderful choice.” Wei Ying settled himself into a position kinder on his wings, feeling them shuffle against his back. “So, the tapestry. The Fates—I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They prefer to go by the title ‘Moirae’, because it apparently sounds ‘gentler’ than The Fates.”

He rolled his eyes, remembering chatting with the three sisters about the title. “They each have a job. Clotho spins a person’s lifeline, Lachesis measures it, and Atropos will cut it. Together, the sisters weave the tapestry of the world.”

He flapped his hands around, trying to describe the process in more detail. “And, when it comes to Gods—Well, we have a different tapestry from the ones of the world. We have our own. They tell the stories of our past, our present, and our future. Some are unending, and some—they cut off. Those are typically the Divine that are due for death, in one way or another.”

Lan Xichen nodded along with his words, and Wei Ying noticed how his hands were cupped around the cup in front of him. He seemed to be taking in Wei Ying’s words, and he gave him a few minutes to process what he said. Lan Wangji was similarly quiet beside him, and even though Wei Ying could not see his eyes, he could feel them boring into him.

“Do you have a question, Lan Wangji?” he asked, and he watched as the man jolted in surprise.

Wei Ying couldn’t see what Lan Wangji’s eyes were doing, but he felt himself being scanned. There was no other answer from him, yet it was obvious from the tilt of his head that yes he did have a question.

“Can you see it?” Lan Wangji eventually asked.

“See what? The tapestry of the world, or my own?”

“Mn.”

“That…answers nothing,” Wei Ying huffed out a breath, his bangs lifting. When they bounced back down, he gave the eyes a blank look, imitating Lan Wangji’s—assumed—eyelook and facial expression.

He registered the sound of giggling, and for once it wasn’t from him. He dropped the deadpan look from his face, glancing to Lan Xichen to see his hand covering his mouth and laughter ringing from him.

“Apologies, My Lord.” Lan Xichen’s giggles didn’t stop, and under Wei Ying’s watchful gaze, dissolved into tears. Wei Ying watched in anguish as Lan Xichen's shoulders curled inward and his hands clawed at his chest, as if he was looking for the echoes of a heartbeat he no longer had.

It took a few minutes of stumbling over words and “Really, you don't need to—” before Wei Ying understood that he just needed a moment with his brother. He stood up from his side of the desk, rounding the side to pass the brothers. Lan Wangji was clinging to Lan Xichen now, and Wei Ying ignored the sight of tears on cheeks. He pressed a hand against the top of Lan Xichen’s head, running his fingers through his hair. He put on his best older brother's voice, pitching it low enough to be comforting but still heard.

“Grieving takes time,” Wei Ying murmured, his voice low to not disturb the two weeping Lans. “Grieve the life you lost. I will be outside the room, let me know when you are ready for more information.”

He waited until he received a sniffled response before he left the room. The door shut behind him with a resounding thud, and Wei Ying was left standing in the middle of a hallway, no one around, with absolutely nothing to do.

He walked up and down the hallway a few times, glancing at the door with each pass. An uneasiness thrummed through his veins.

He settled for playing Chenqing, a flute he had made out of some Underworld bamboo that had grown along the River Styx. The songs he played were distorted, both on and off tune. He played songs he remembered from a time before, songs that sounded beautiful and haunting at the same time.

He played until his fingers ached and his lips stung, then played still. A lilting melody followed by a playful tune which bled into a lullaby he could barely remember from so long ago.

Wei Ying continued playing for as long as he could, only stopping once he heard the sound of the office door trying to be opened. He heard a loud huff, probably from Lan Wangji, and saw the door move a smidge before not moving once more.

“Do you… want help?” He asked, standing up and hurrying over to the door. He grasped the handle of it, yet yanked his hand away when he heard a loud “no!” from the other side. So he elected to stand by, just in case the opener needed help.

When he door was nudged open a little bit more, enough for him to stick his fingers in, he was able to hear the loud huffs from the person pushing. He barely heard the whispered ‘please’ over the sound of heavy breathing, yet he wiggled his fingers between the door and pulled it open easily.

A flush made itself known on his skin as he took in the sight of a panting, sweat covered Lan Wangji, yet whatever arousal that had been building left the moment he locked eyes on the still gaping holes where Lan Wangji’s eyes were supposed to be. Talk about a boner killer.

“Are you…” Wei Ying swallowed, closing his eyes and counting to ten in his head before reopening them. He felt more centered now, stomping down on the inner horny mess of him that kept asking for him to do something. “Are you ready for more information?”

Lan Wangji nodded once, a barely perceivable dip then lift of his head. But Wei Ying caught it. His eyes darted to Lan Xichen, and Wei Ying felt something settle in his stomach at the sight of a tearless and calm beautiful man.

“Okay.” He hurried himself past the two brothers, seating himself on the other side of the desk and kneeling down on the cushion. “Tapestry? Or what's to be expected if you take it? The deal, that is. The deal that, you know, I brought you in here for. Not the—Not any weird deal humans are thinking I make, because I would not kidnap someone but apparently humans think im just some depraved man taking anything that will offer—”

“Tapestry, please,” Lan Xichen, politely, cut him off.

Wei Ying’s mouth snapped shut, yet he nodded in acknowledgment of the request. He waved his hand, summoning more ambrosia for them before they began. “Well, let’s see…” He nodded to the teapot as it poured out some ambrosia for him, thanking the invisible being that wasn’t even there pouring it. “I can see it, in a way. Both the tapestry of the world, and the tapestry of my own.”

He checked the temperature of the ambrosia with his finger before taking a sip. “The magic I plan to do, to make you a Chthonic god that is, is going to rely on my knowledge of the two tapestries. The ceremony—magic?—I am going to perform relies on me pulling your threads from the worlds tapestry and hoping the Fates don’t hate me too much for that.” He set down his cup, preparing himself to explain the next part.

“Basically, it's going to be a lot of complicated magic and whatnot. It’s why you can’t talk to people you knew in life. It would make a kinda loop? Of sorts? Your strings would be pulled from my tapestry, which grants you the Chthonic godhood, and will attempt to rejoin the original tapestry. But since they would be ripped from my tapestry, they would be frayed and would continually unravel from the original tapestry. Which, well… Results in you two dying. Permanently.”

He eyed the two brothers, judging their reactions to the news. He saw their fingers grasping at each other’s hands, yet no outward distress was seen from the other. If he had to guess from their only slight-bewildered expressions, he would say they couldn’t believe what was happening. He stayed silent for a moment longer before clearing his throat and speaking once more.

“But it’s not all bad. You will gain abilities, depending on what your powers manifest into.” He took another sip of his ambrosia, more for something to do and to buy himself time than to really drink it. “You’ll develop powers into a deity of your own. If I had to guess, considering what I know I need help with down here and from previous iterations of Chthonic pantheons, you might be Judges. But I could be wrong, as always.”

Lan Xichen cleared his throat, Wei Ying watching on as he untangled his fingers from Lan Wangji’s hand and rubbed his hands together. “Judges?”

“Yeah, Judges.” He flapped his hand around dismissively, trying to convey how… Unassuming that role would be. “People would come before you after they die, and you would decide where they go. To Elysium, the place for war heroes and good people, Asphodel meadows, the place where souls linger until they are ready for reincarnation, or Tartarus, the place evil or wicked people go.”

He eyed them both, watching as Lan Xichen’s hand sneaks back into Lan Wangji’s once more. He could see their attachment to each other, knew it intimately from when he watched both of their lives, yet to be able to see it in person warmed something inside of his heart.

“You won't be separated from each other again.” He murmured, his hands lowered themselves to the desk. He rubbed his fingers against the edge of the rock slab, the bumps on the surface keeping him from falling into memories of his own siblings. “I know what it’s like, to spend eternity without your family. To constantly wonder how they are, where they are, if they still think of—”

He blinked away the tears attempting to well in his eyes, unsure why he was taken over with such emotion so suddenly. “You’ll spend eternity together, if you so wish.”

He pushed his fingers hard against the ridges of the desk, unsure if promising this could unravel the very tapestry he was wanting to keep whole. “And, when your murderer makes their way down here, I will allow you to choose their punishments. If you choose to do so, that is.”

Lan Wangji’s head, which had previously been looking judgmentally at his ambrosia, snapped up to stare at him. His eyebrows were furrowed, and Wei Ying could imagine the flickering flames of anger, barely visible but still burning all the same, that would be radiating from those eyes if he still had them. “Do you promise?”

Wei Ying made a serious face, staring into the weeping eye holes before him. He tried to keep the facade up, yet felt his eyebrows twitching as he attempted to hold back laughter. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore, his head thrown back in rambunctious laughter. “Of course I do.” His laughter continued, only cutting off when he saw how tense Lan Wangji had grown. He wiped at the tears that rolled down his face, personally unsure if they came from the laughter or his still lingering sadness over his siblings. “Look, I’m lonely down here.” He raised his hands, gesturing around himself. “I can only talk to the fractured souls so much before I snap. You two are the first souls I'm willing to offer this to—An opportunity to live eternity with someone close to you. The power of the Divine. What do you say?”

Lan Xichen raised his hand, and the amount of fond exasperation that welled in him was too much to handle for Wei Ying’s poor little heart. “Yes, Lan Xichen?” he asked, his head tilting to the right just the slightest bit.

“Why us?” he asked, a furrow in his beautifully fine brows. He did not look bothered by Lan Wangji’s tightening grip on his hand, nor the whispered ‘Xichen-ge…’.

“To become Divine, especially with a deity’s interventions, you need a pure soul. A whole soul. Typically speaking, it’s done with living humans. They become an Olympian, and go up to Olympus.” He rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, picking up his long forgotten tea cup and swirled the lukewarm ambrosia around. “However, with my realm, I deal with the aftereffects.”

He gestured to the two brothers, specifically to their clasped hands. “Souls, very rarely, come to me whole. But you two—you are whole. Somehow, you are completely and irrevocably whole.”

Wei Ying’s silver eyes turned to the dark rock walls of the room, scanning them for a purpose or knowledge he knew they did not hold. They had never held a purpose besides imprisoning him. “Lan Xichen.” He let out a sigh, his eyes dancing along the spidering veins of glowing crystals that ran up his study walls. “You sacrificed so much. You were willing to give away everything for your brother—And you did so frequently. Your own education, and at one point, nearly your life. Just so he would have a chance at happiness.” He raised a hand up to his wings, pulling one forward to rub against the feathers. “And you were a child yourself. So young… And already so selfless.” His throat felt tight, and he swallowed around the lump growing larger with each whole. Usually, if I'm lucky, I'll have enough of it left to piece together their life. You two, though… You two have a full, pure soul. Both of you.”

In his mind's eye he could see Lan Xichen’s past overlapping with a younger Wei Ying’s. He could see the struggle the two men both took to provide for a family that was falling apart at the seams. “You are pure in the purest form, untouched by selfish urges. You are—you are a gift, and had you gone on to become a warrior like you have been planning…you would have become an Olympian without a doubt.”

While keeping his hands on his wings, keeping them busy with the mindless grooming he hoped the two brothers wouldn't mind, he raised his eyes to lock on Lan Wangji’s gaping eyes. “And your soul,” he began, leaning forward the slightest bit. He felt a smirk raising on his lips, and didn’t push down the urge. He could feel a seductive part of himself echoing out, and he allowed it to stay as well.

(The deep sadistic part of him, the very part that screamed to make everyone pay, the very part that told him to tear down everyone who stood in his way, also crowed in happiness. It basked in the negative emotions this soul was seeped in, and begged for more. Wei Ying would not allow it to achieve what it wanted.)  

“Your soul is laced with emotions you refused yourself in life. Anger, hatred, pain, terror, fear. Bloodlust. All the emotions you were taught to hide away, taught by a man who claimed to be your uncle yet treated you like a slave. You knew all that your brother sacrificed. You knew of it, and you hated it. You hated knowing he wasn’t happy because of you. The amount of guilt clinging to you is astonishing.” He leaned back once more, one of his hands raising to run along his hair and pull forward a few locks to plait. “The protectiveness over your brother, and the need to see him smile, is what powered you on. Even through your death, you only wished he was finally at peace and happy. Then you came here.”

He dropped the plait back over his shoulder, the faint brush of hair against his shoulder telling him it was unraveling. “A delectable pair you two are.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows against the edge of the desk and folding his hands together. He rested his chin against it, smiling brightly at the pair of siblings. “Warriors for each other, yet loyal to none. Strong, if it means the other will live on.”

The wonder tainting Lan Xichen’s eyes was a delight to Wei Ying, and he was secretly grateful at least one of the brothers still had his eyes. He could see Lan Xichen’s eyes dancing between his own and where he saw Lan Wangji’s, and he felt delight at being able to confuse such a well-read person. “That is what I’m looking for.” He broke the silence, gentling his smile from the bright happiness he had worn and back to one of gentle encouragement. “I need loyalty. Not to myself, but to each other. If I can have two others with me, even if they do not converse with me, the voices will help the times go by faster. So that is why I am offering my hand to you two. I hope that answered your question as much as possible.”

Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen shared a glance, an unspoken agreement spilling between the two siblings. Wei Ying waited for it, keeping his encouraging smile in place. He ignored the twitching of his mouth, the muscles on his face not quite used to so much smiling after so many years of just… Dealing with the dead.

Finally, Lan Xichen let out a low laugh. The tone sounded besotted, in a way, and Wei Ying watched as Lan Xichen raised a hand to first caress his brother’s cheek before hooking on his nose. There was something whispered between them, pitched low enough where even Wei Ying couldn’t hear it. Lan Wangji’s ears lit up a bright red, and the delight coiling in Lan Xichen’s eyes brought a certain odd feeling to Wei Ying’s heart.

“Okay.” Lan Xichen murmured, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Lan Wangji’s. Wei Ying watched as a small kiss was pressed against lips, a fleetingly light thing that spoke of gentle adoration. “We accept,” was spoken against Lan Wangji’s lips, yet Wei Ying took it in stride.

Wei Ying knew it was definitely not the time for it, but he couldn’t stop his happy yell. “Good!” He stood up too fast and smacked his knees against the stone desk. He yelped loudly, pulling up one of his legs to hug towards his chest. When he hopped backwards, trying to find balance, he tripped over the cushion he had been sitting on. His wings flared out as he began to fall, beating a few times to keep him from hitting the floor. He recovered quickly, giving the two bewildered men a wide smile even as his knees both had bright vivid red marks on them. “Come on, come on, I’ll come show you to your rooms and make you all nice and comfy, okay?”

He brushed at the skirt of his chiton, stretching his arms wide above him before dropping them down with an audible thud against his side. He continued to explain what might—and probably would—happen as they walked towards where their rooms would be.

“It might be painful.” He tried to sound upbeat, purposely walking with a hop in his steps to distract from the pulsing discomfort coming from his knees. “But it's unavoidable,” he shrugged, his wings lifting and dropping in time with his shoulders. “Sadly, power warps those it touches. Power, no matter how small or unsightly, changes you. Mentally, emotionally, physically. It warps you from the person you used to be, and sometimes can turn you into the person you are meant to be. ”

He gestured towards a painting they walked past. In it, a man was depicted sitting before a golden table, with golden goblets and food before him. He was turned to the side, arms stretched wide to accept the hug of the little girl. One of his hands was touching the sleeve of the girl, and from there gold could be seen spreading across her dress and skin. “Most times, though, you will only turn out like King Midas.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment, thinking back on his siblings and how power had changed each of them as soon as they held it in their hands.

“Divines—they are not immune to the corruption of power. When you’re Divine, and power corrupts you—everything you touch burns, and fades, and leaves you alone. It’ll leave you staring out at eternity, at so many things, and leave you wondering what you did to deserve it. You—yYou only did what was asked of you, what was told of you, yet you’re being punished and—” he took a deep breath, consciously unclenching his fist.  “It will feel like you’re being pulled apart slowly, piece by piece.”

He took a moment to build up his smile once more before he spun around, nearly falling over from his momentum. His wings flared out to catch him, rebalancing him before he fell. “You’ll be considerably stronger, though. And trust me—” He playfully winked at Lan Xichen, before very very obviously scanning him up and down. He smirked at the flush that spread on Lan Xichen’s cheeks, and gave a similar scan over to Lan Wangji. “I can see your arms. That will be nothing compared to a Divine's strength.”

They fell into an awkward silence, Lan Wangji not speaking and Lan Xichen looking more embarrassed than willing to chat. Wei Ying rubbed at his nose, letting out a huff of breath.

He eventually spun back around, leading them down a few more hallways. He passed the garden, pressing his hand against the door very briefly before continuing on. As he reached the hallway that led to his own personal bedroom, he hesitated.

Should he put them here? In this hallway, in these rooms closest to his? Or should he lead them down, further away from him, further away from this god they believed would only do harm? He decided to keep them close—for now, just until their powers came in—then he could move them. This was just to watch over them, to make sure they would be okay.

He nodded to himself, turning down the corridor and stopping at the third door. “Here, you may rest here.” He pushed the door open, revealing a bare chamber. It held a bed, an empty wardrobe, and was connected to a bathroom scarcely decorated. “I don't tend to get visitors, so let me know if you need anything?” He gestured for them to enter, leaving the door open as he followed them inside.

Wei Ying watched as Lan Xichen scanned the room, taking in the bareness of it. He heard the sound of shoes hitting the floor, and was surprised to see how quickly Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji had both discarded their shoes.

The excitement in Lan Xichen’s eyes startled Wei Ying, watching as the man hurried around the room and took in each little thing. His hands grasped at the dark red gauze-like curtain around the bed, and the sounds of excitement brought a warmth into Wei Ying’s bones.

“Wangji, Wangji, come feel this,” Lan Xichen called, not hesitating a moment as he tumbled into the soft bed before him. “It's soft!”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji was quick to follow him into the bed, laying on his back and gazing up at the bare ceiling before turning to his side and curling up facing Lan Xichen’s own curled form.

Wei Ying felt his heart soften, taking in the sight of the two men enjoying themselves as much as possible in death. His wings lowered, resting against the ground and giving him room to lean against the doorframe.

He watched how the brothers seemed to gravitate to each other, first hands finding hands then legs finding legs. Their heads tilted together, forehead pressed to forehead, and Wei Ying felt a warmth like warm honey that dripped down his spine. He watched kisses be pressed to lips, and caresses turn into needy embraces. It was heartwarming, and very pleasant to the eye, yet he had to clear his throat when hands began to disappear under chiton folds.

Lan Xichen startled, his eyes rising from Lan Wangji’s face and locking on Wei Ying’s. He raised a hand to press against the top of Lan Wangji’s bicep, yet the stubborn brother kept his hands under the chiton. Wei Ying could tell what he was saying in his actions, yet ignored the possessive challenge he was being given.

“I hate to interrupt you two,” he began, gesturing towards where Lan Wangji’s hand was still up the skirt of Lan Xichen’s chiton. “But we do still need to do the ritual thing before I can let you guys continue.”

Lan Wangji merely bit Lan Xichen’s neck in response, pulling a moan from him. The warmth that pooled on Wei Ying’s cheeks wasn’t enough to distract him from his target, though.

“You can fuck him later, Wangji.” Wei Ying’s voice gained an edge of obsidian, his arms crossing tightly in front of himself. “In fact, you can fuck him while this is going on. But I don’t think you’d like me seeing your brother like that, hm?”

The loud gasp that rang out from Lan Xichen told him exactly what Lan Wangji’s answer was to that. So he rolled his eyes and approached the bed, ignoring the tensing of Lan Wangji’s back as he grew close.

He pressed a hand against Lan Xichen’s bare calf, pulling a startled noise from him. Wangji was quick to swoop in and kiss it away, and Wei Ying tried to ignore the slick sounds coming from between their bodies.

He crawled onto the bed beside them, making sure he was within touching distance of both brothers before starting the ritual. He did his best to ignore the gasps from Lan Xichen and the guttural growling from Wangji. The slick sounds grew louder, and Wei Ying closed his eyes to prevent himself from looking.

With his right hand still on Lan Xichen’s calf, he reached forward with his left hand. In his mind's eye, he could see the sea of time parting before him. His hand on Lan Xichen’s skin acted as an anchor point, pulling him towards the brilliant glittering thread. He grasped the slightly frayed end of it, feeling an odd familiarity with it. He curled the end around his finger, removing his right hand from Lan Xichen’s skin.

He began to unweave it from the tapestry, coaxing it out of the beautiful weave it had been used to make. It shuddered in his grasp, and he could feel the pressure of the Fates pushing down at his shoulders. The longer he held the string, the more difficult the fight became. The more he pulled from the tapestry, the more it tried to replace itself. The closer he drew to the beginning of his life, the stronger its hold became. Until, finally, he found the first knot it made in the tapestry. Using one hand to keep the tapestry still, he yanked.

He felt it pop free, and heard a loud gasp echo around him. But this was the most important part, and he needed to be careful here.

He kept the thread curled around his left hand and forearm, using his other hand to tug out his own tapestry. It rippled in his hold, the thick darkness of his own neverending thread weaved endlessly on top of itself giving off a very uneasy feeling for Wei Ying. He never liked looking at his own tapestry, the thing too unsettling to look at. He knows his life will play out for a long time, but the visual confirmation of just how long he will live always sets him into a depression.

He forced the grief at seeing his tapestry into the back of his mind, weaving the thread into his own. The blue offset the black, and the feeling of knowing this thread, of understanding it grew larger. He was sure he had seen it before, had touched it before, but he didn’t know how. He felt his body rocking, and the loud cries of pleasure nearly caused him to lose his focus. Yet he pushed them back, just as far back as he pushed his own arousal and need.

Amidst the sound of pleasure-filled cries and exhaustion-laden gasps, Wei Ying plucked those two souls away from their planned fates. He held each glittering blue strand in his palm, coiled the two around his arms, and tucked them away safely in his heart. He could feel them settle inside of him, wound throughout his own tapestry and pulling it together. They worked together, the two blue strands, wrapping around him and tangling with his own fate. Together, they weaved themselves into every little hole that plucked its way into his tapestry—holes he wasn't even aware were there in the first place.

As he watched the strands settle through his mind's eye, he felt something else settle deep inside of him. If he had to put a word on it, he would say that his soul settled. The unease that had been tainting his bones and tugging at his feet—It faded. Perhaps not fully, but enough

And so, as he plucked both of these two souls away from their planned fates, he coiled each blue strand around his arm and into his heart. He felt their strings settle inside of him, on the tapestry he would live through. They wrapped around him in such a binding way, tangling with his own fate and weaving themselves into every little hole and crease he wasn't even aware was there in the first place.

Amidst the gasping and pleading of two men finding pleasure in another, in the struggles of a magical ritual too difficult to be done frequently, he felt something settle in his soul.

It felt like, maybe, he was meant to have met these two. He was meant to have them.

Chapter Text

Sadly, Wei Ying’s prediction was correct. The day their powers came in, only a few days after the difficult ritual (and the furious lovemaking he had been in the presence of), was a day filled with terrible, unending pain for the brothers.

It had, thankfully, started off as normal. He had dressed for the day before he headed off to check on the brothers in their chambers. He peeked his head through the curtain, spotting two naked men curled together. What flashes of skin he could see was littered in red and purple marks.

(A flash of burning want flared down his stomach and deep into his groin, yet he pushed it into the back of his mind.)

He tied the curtain across their doorway, even though no one would have been around to see the two sleeping bare. The door had been removed when they had first moved in, as Wei Ying was not confident in them being able to move it without his assistance. He did not want to trap them, nor did he want them to feel as if they were trapped. So, he had gone traditional, with a curtain across the entrance to give them both privacy and easy accessibility.

Once he was sure no sign of his visit remained—there never would be, since he only ever tugged the curtain to the side and peeked in to check on the two—he followed his normal everyday pattern and walked his ass to the judgement hall. It was another day in the kingdom of the dead, and another day meant another batch of souls to take care of.

Court that day seemed to crawl forward, dragging itself across his eyes and ears. It felt like a mask had fallen over him, and the deep sense of something being wrong began to build. He ignored it, though. He pushed the wrongness from his mind, laughing it off as his own paranoia crawling up from the depth of Tartarus that he had thrown it into.

When he left court, dragging his tired feet back towards his room, he heard the dual groans of pain. He had thought, originally, that it was just the two going at it again. They were frequently busy with each other, and Wei Ying could understand in a sense. They were finally in a place that allowed them to be as affectionate as they wished, and if the constant moans and grunts coming from their room was any indication, the two were very affectionate towards each other.

His thoughts changed, though, when he turned the corner. Lan Wangji was collapsed against the corner and Wei Ying nearly tripped over him. He righted himself quickly, easily catching himself on the wall. His eyes locked on the bloody drag marks from their room, and Wei Ying’s stomach dropped.

He crouched in front of Lan Wangji’s prone body, his hands hovering over his skin. He was hesitant to touch, remembering the aversion to touch Lan Wangji had always sported in life and the vehement hate he felt towards anyone that touched him unprompted. But the growing puddle of blood took precedence.

He pulled the groaning man forward, resting his head in the crook of his neck as he checked over his back. Two masses were already beginning to push out on either side of his spine, and Wei Ying could still remember with terribly vivid memory of just how constricting the feeling was.

He gathered Lan Wangji in his arms, doing his best to not touch the wounds. The most dignified idea would be to hold his back on his left arm and have his knees bent over his right, but that would put too much pressure on the wounds. He settled for trying to hold him like he had seen mothers hold their children, propping the grown man on his hip and keeping him leaned forward to help with balance.

He tried to avoid stepping in the sticky blood in the corridor, yet knew it would only make the track back to the room more difficult. He used his arm not propped under Lan Wangji’s bum to push the curtain aside.

Lan Xichen was on his stomach on the bed, sobs reaching Wei Ying’s ears. He hurried over to the bed, deftly avoiding the discarded chitons littering the ground. He set Lan Wangji down on the edge, still leaning against his shoulder, and tried to coax the man into laying down.

Whines met him in return, the arms that were wrapped around his neck tightened considerably.

“Ah, Lan Wangji…” Wei Ying tried to slip out of the arms, yet he didn’t want to hurt him. “Your brother is here, don't you want him? Lan Xichen?”

A whimper was muffled against his throat, and he suppressed a sigh. He didn’t know how to get the clingy man off of him, and the time was pressing further on. The twin lumps under his skin continued to move and shift, and Wei Ying knew it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

“Lan Zhan?” He whispered, his voice pitched low in a soothing way he had heard human mothers use before. He tried to brush his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair and ignored the sickening lurch in his stomach each time a strand sticky with blood stuck to his skin. “I have you, Lan Zhan, but you need to let go. Lan Huan is right here, don’t you want to see him?”

“Huan-gege?” Was mumbled against his throat, and he nodded. He grazed his hands down Lan Wangji’s spine, trying to coax him to let him go. “Want Huan-gege.”

Wei Ying pressed a kiss against the side of Lan Wangji’s head as he slipped the arms off from around his neck. “Huan-gege is right here, just lay down A-Zhan.”

“Hurts.”

“I—I know, honey.” He kissed the side of his head again, able to—finally—get him to lay down on his stomach. “A-Ying will make it feel better soon, honey, but you need to stay laying down, okay?”

He got a whimper in response, and his heart thudded in his chest. He stroked Lan Wangji’s head, and his heart hurt as he tried to nudge his head further into Wei Ying’s touch. He was just a boy, forced to grow up too fast, with only the kind touch of his brother. What a touch starved man he grew into.

He swallowed down his emotions, resting his hand against the nape of Lan Wangji’s neck. “This might hurt for a minute, but it’ll be okay soon, okay sweetheart?”

Lan Wangji made a weird noise, but tried to push himself further into Wei Ying’s hold. He took that as consent and pushed some of his magic through his fingers. A sharp whine was all he got before Lan Wangji fell silent and limp before him.

He was left with Lan Xichen’s sobbing form, his hands fisted in sheets and his back sluggishly bleeding. He rounded the bed quickly, yet the moment he pressed a hand against the nape of  Lan Xichen’s neck, he was met with screams. He shushed him easily, climbing into the bed and pulling his head into his lap. Lan Xichen’s arms shifted from being tangled in the sheets to being wrapped around his waist, and his heart hurt again for these men.

He leaned down as far as his spine would allow him to, pressing a kiss against the back of Lan Xichen’s head. He held him as he cried, trying to calm him down enough to at least get his consent to knock him out. But the man was inconsolable, and Wei Ying knew he needed to be unconscious for the final moment the wings burst through. So, with a murmured apology into the sobbing man’s hair, he sent a pulse of magic into him.

He slipped out from under the limp body, hurrying around the room to prepare it. He was glad they didn’t get comfortable in this room quite yet, since they would definitely need to clean it afterwards. He stripped them of the last little bit of clothing still clinging to them, including pulling off the white ribbons that they had always worn around their foreheads.

He set the ribbons inside of his chiton, making sure they would be safe from the blood spray when the wings finally came through. He also filled up a small tub of water, making sure it would stay at least somewhat warm. He set cloths all over the floor, and replaced the gauze drapes around the bed with a heavier fabric to catch as much of the blood and flesh as possible.

When as many of the preparations were done as possible, he sat down at the head of the bed and rested a hand against both brothers’ heads. He closed his eyes, and opened his mind's eye and watched as his magic coursed through their veins and tracked their transformations progress.

It took a long period of waiting, and he had to put both brothers back to sleep at least once, before he felt a thrum against his skin. He sat up and scrambled around the bed to sit beside Lan Wangji’s side.

His back had begun to bleed, the skin over the right protrusion already split under the pressure of the wings attempting to rip through. The bed had already been ruined, a mixture of blood and sweat soaked into it. Their hair was, likewise, already matted in blood.

He helped coax the fledgling wings out, and once they were fully revealed, he cleaned them of the blood and flesh that had clung to them. He ran his fingers along the edge of the wounds the wings had made, checking to make sure all the feathers had been removed from the wound and nothing would be blocking the healing.

The wing color both surprised him, and made sense in an odd way. It was a darker navy color, with odd blotted colors along the entirety of the wing. He couldn’t wait for his first molting, and his heart beat faster imagining the bright colors that might develop.

When he was in the middle of placing Lan Wangji’s wings down, he had enough time to dash over to the other side of the bed and cover his own face, to prevent blood from getting into his eyes, before Lan Xichen’s wings burst forth. He set himself to work coaxing out those wings as well, wincing at the state of Lan Xichen’s back wounds. His had appeared more violently, and would cause some additional scarring. He slipped his fingers into the wound once again, murmuring apologies to the whimpering man, and slipped the rest of the feathers out.

Lan Xichen’s wings were of similar coloring, but Wei Ying could already tell the base color was lighter. Where Lan Wangji’s wings were a deep navy blue, Lan Xichen’s seemed to be a cool-toned grey. He wasn't surprised that the purity of Lan Xichen’s soul had bled through into his wings—they were, after all, a manifestation of his powers and his soul, combined into a visual representation of his connection to the Chthonic pantheon now.

Once he was sure that every little bit of the wing was out of their backs, he pressed a tiny bit of his Divine magic into their skin once more. He felt a hum go through his body to theirs, and did little to suppress the shudder that ran down his back. He wanted to seal the wounds, the raw gaping slices would only cause them troubles throughout the next few months as they learned how to use the wings, yet he was not able to fully transfer the lacerations onto himself. They were a trial of their strength, and to transfer them fully might diminish the power they would receive. So he settled on only taking the gaping raggedness they would have caused.

He rested the fledgling wings down on his back and along his body, having made sure that the muscles would be stretched enough to not cause any problems as it continued to develop. Using the tub of warm water, he cleaned off the largest pieces of flesh still clinging to the men. He also cleaned off as much blood as he could, but it would take an in-depth cleaning session to fully rid them of the blood.

He then set about picking up one brother at a time and carrying them to the additional room he had prepared for them.

(He had prepared this room only a few days ago, to the sound of loud cries of pleasure from the room beside it. He had put his heart and soul into this room, in a sense. It held painting supplies for Lan Xichen, musical instruments of every kind for Lan Wangji, and the bathroom had been prepared for the both of them—it was basically just a room for a large tub enchanted to always hold warm water. He had taken his time to paint the ceiling, spending two full days on his back—without sleep—to paint the ceiling a mural of the night sky from their hometown.

He hoped they would appreciate it, but doubted they would think much of it.)

The brothers woudl stay passed out for the rest of the day, which would give Wei Ying enough time to clean them both off and settle them onto the new bed. He laid them on their stomachs, having made sure that their arms at least would be touching. He knew how scared they would be if they had awoken without the gentle warmth of their beloved brother beside them.

He picked up each wing individually, stretching them out fully before bending them at the joint. Once he felt they had been exercised enough, he moved on to the next wing. He tried to ignore the blood smearing all over his hands from the wings, but he eventually gave up. He draped Lan Wangji’s right wing over Lan Xichen, and did the same with Lan Xichen’s left wing.

His heart nearly stopped in his chest, seeing the two grown men—so guarded and protective—relaxed and pressed close together.

He pressed a hand against Lan Xichen’s head, combing his fingers through the blood soaked strands and attempted to tidy the loose hair. He debated, for a brief moment, if he should bathe the brothers as they slept. If they awoke while he was doing so, they might grow angry or offended by his actions. But he didn’t want them to wake up sticky and covered in the proof of their pain.

(In the back of his mind, he remembered his own powers awakening—blood everywhere, flesh stuck to hair and skin and walls alike, his body broken and twisted in a way he would never forget. He could remember the overwhelming helplessness that had swallowed him whole then, that told him just how little people cared for him. He didn’t wish these two brothers to experience this, to experience the knowledge that no one will ever be there for them. They would have each other now, and have him as well.)

With a glance to the side table closest to him, three bowls of streaming water were summoned. A clean cloth rested on the rim of the closest one, and Wei Ying grabbed the middle-most bowl and the cloth first. He wiped down his hands, his stomach recoiling at the bright red cloud that bloomed under the surface of the water. Once the worst of the blood was rubbed off he waved away the bowl of murky water and reached into his chiton, taking out the ribbons and setting them down on the side table.

(The steam that curled against the still air of the Underworld, twisting and coalescing in a wild array of warmth and something he couldn’t place, reminded him of his mother’s smile. He wondered, if she was still around, how she would feel knowing what happened to her first born. He wondered, as he dipped the cloth in the water, if she would be proud of him.)

He pushed down the thoughts of his mother and the memories it pulled of his siblings, locking them into a box in the deep recesses of his mind. His siblings no longer cared, and he had others to care for now. He had a pair of siblings, maybe not his own, that would receive all the love he was willing to give. The happiness and belonging he felt with his siblings so long ago no longer mattered, only the here and now that he made with the Lan brothers.

He picked up the cloth from the leftmost bowl, and stared at the red stains already upon it. He glanced at the two brothers resting upon the bed, their wings cradling each other in a hold so absolute, so loving—he missed this. He missed it, the thing he saw. He missed being held like he was the blessing everyone else couldn't believe. He wished he could have that, just once, just one more time.

He shook his head, forcefully expelling the thoughts from his head. He had a job to do, here. And this job involved cleaning up blood. He needed to keep his mind on that, not on the past and his hopes of the future.

He started on Lan Xichen and the beautifully speckled feathers. Lan Xichen, a voice seemed to whisper into the back of his head and drip its way down his spine. It sounded suspiciously like his sister’s, and he refused to let himself dwell on that. He left the cloth in the bowl to soak up water as he gathered the long hair up from the sheets and pillows it was resting upon.

(It fit perfectly into his hand, a mass of something precious to these men. Long, and sensitive, and beautiful. Strands curled and swayed, yet laid docile in his possession. So very beautiful, so very breakable.)

He combed through the strands as much as he could with his fingers, getting as much of the knots out as he was able to without disturbing the left over blood clots and flesh. He used the cloth to first soak the edges of his hair, squeezing out the blood that stuck the hair together there. As he climbed higher up in the hair, the problem areas made themselves visible. He soaked the cloth once more in the hot water, only squeezing out a little water before placing it on top of the half-dried clots that were making the knots impossible to work through. He removed the cloth once he thought it was sufficiently hydrated enough and used his nails to pick at the knots until they fell away.

As he worked on the stubborn strands, he couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty that humanity seemed to see within these long pieces of hair that were caught in his grasp. They treasured it, this hair. They looked at it and instead of seeing just a body's adornment, like the Divine did, they saw it as a sign of love to one’s parents. They saw it as a way to convey how much they respected those who gave them life.

What a shame, that these two brothers had hair so long. The amount of love and respect they must hold for their parents, despite their parents’ actions. Their father left them intentionally, taking away their mother in the process. They abandoned them to a world which would never allow them to grow, to a place that would much rather see them crumble than succeed. They left them without protection in a cruel world that took and took, that spoke more lies than truth, that stole away the masterpieces they could have been. They left them in a world that they would die in alone, and how pitiful they—indeed—died.

But he was here now. He was here to give them a place, a name, and a reason. He was here to lead them into their new life, one day at a time. It might mean an eternity of pain, an eternity of watching two people love each other and longing for someone to love as well, but he would be here. He would guide them through this new life, and would stay until they felt the need to leave him.

He was making his way through a difficult knot, roughly a fistful of hair resting in his hands and endless strands caught in the mess, when the body he was leaning over began to jerk. His hand paused in the air, the cloth dripping cool water along his thighs. He set the cloth on his leg and debated dropping the knot down as well. He didn’t know what was waking up Lan Xichen, but he thought it might be the water trickling along his scalp. Or maybe it was the flashes of pain that were more than likely still making their way through his body from his back, the wounds still angry and gaping from how violently they appeared.

Maybe it was the lack of the ribbon, usually tied so securely to their head, a weight they were used to, that awoke him.

He was startled into dropping the troublesome lump of hair when a cry of pain rang out from the body below him. The figure tried to jump up, to move, to get away from a threat that he couldn't see but he could sense. Wei Ying held him down, a hand pressed between the still raw wounds running parallel to his spine—between the two large wings expanding and contracting in a rapid motion to try and dislodge his perceived attacker. But the wings were still new, still weak, and unable to throw off the body of the Divine looming over him.

“Shhh, Little Bird,” Wei Ying whispered, leaning down so his lips were near Lan Xichen’s ear. “Be still. Your wings are still new.” He dropped the cloth back into the steaming bowl of blood-tinged water, using the now free hand to caress along the bare shoulder before him. “Be still, be calm. It will go away soon.”

The body still thrashed below him, in pain or fear Wei Ying was not sure, yet he continued to coo to the startled man below him.

“Little Bird, everything is okay, I know it hurts.”

He pressed a kiss against the head, the sudden sign of physical affection startling the older of the two brothers seemingly back to reality. He went limp, his head finally resting back against the pillow.

Wei Ying took that as his sign to continue cleaning his hair, yet was forced to pull his hand away from the beautiful strands as the head turned towards him. There was a guarded look in his eyes, the golden tainted with both trust and distrust in an oddly beautiful manner.

“Where is my ribbon?” Lan Xichen seemed to croak out, his throat raspy from the screams and sobs that had been ripped from it only a few hours ago.

Wei Ying hummed gently, his head tilting from one side to the other, debating on telling him where the ribbon actually was and trying to identify if it might cause further harm. He decided, well, no it wouldn't. It's just a ribbon. “On the nightstand.” He tilted his head towards it, watching the golden eyes flicker to it before resting upon his once more. “Your brother’s is with it too. I didn’t think you would want them to be coated in flesh and blood, so I removed it as soon as your wings began to come in.”

The golden eyes shimmered, molten with fragility and a certain sense of something Wei Ying couldn’t place. Yet they seemed to search his own eyes with a need for reassurance of something Wei Ying did not understand.

“It needed to be removed?”

Wei Ying nodded, sparing the steaming water bowls a glance to heat the water once more. “Yes. I at least believe they did. Have you attempted to get blood out of clothing, Little Bird? Especially white clothing? It is a hassle and a half, I can tell you that much.”

An aborted chuckle was heard from the face he was hovering above, pulling a wide tongue-in-cheek smile from Wei Ying.

Lan Xichen seemed to compose himself quickly, yet his lips were still quirked into a smile and his eyes were finally shimmering with an emotion the elder Divine could understand.

“Ah, I see. It was indeed needed then.” The smile faded from his lips, his head turning to look away from Wei Ying and rest upon the slumbering body of his brother. The mirth drained away fast then, replaced with a sense of serenity. “Don’t tell him you removed his.”

“Lan Wangji?”

“Mn. Don’t tell him.” Lan Xichen turned to look at him once more, his fingers tangled with his brother's sleeping ones. “He obeys the family rules, even now.”

Wei Ying picked up the now soaked cloth once again, draining excess water into the bowl before picking up the clump of hair once again. “Rules?”

He ignored the blush rising on the newly-Divine’s face, the red spreading from the tip of his nose and down his neck. “The ribbon is…sacred to our family.”

Wei Ying raised an eyebrow to the man below him, the water soaking into the semi-dried clump of blood and hair and loosening it enough for him to wiggle his fingers between the strands. “Sacred?...Then I will not say a word, unless it is needed.”

He returned to his work, diligently cleaning off the blood and flesh sticking to Lan Xichen’s hair. He had to ask him to turn his head every once in a while, both to get a better grip against the stubborn blood and to try and get the blood out further up near his scalp.

At one point, he had to clean out some blood that had gotten into the front of his hair. Somehow. Wei Ying had no idea how it got there. But with him leaning so close to try and get the stubborn stuff out, he and Lan Xichen seemed to be breathing the same air, their faces closer than Wei Ying could ever remember someone getting to him.

(If he was shameless enough, he would look the man in the eyes, count the lashes surrounding them and tell him just how many there were. Would tell him ‘gold may be beautiful, but it is nothing compared to your eyes’. Would tell him he could barely remember the sun, but if it were nearly as beautiful as him, then he would be happy he has it back once more.)

He gave the elder brother a wide smile as he finally finished, pulling back from the awkward bubble that had surrounded him, filled with words unsaid and urges left unfulfilled.

“Ah, finally done.” He set the now bright red cloth into the matching red water, conjuring up another cloth with barely a thought and dipping it into the second bowl of clean water. “Now that that chore is done…” He gave the man before him a wide grin. “May I clean your body?”

Lan Xichen startled, his golden eyes rising from the pillow it had been glaring staring at for the past few moments. He seemed to be debating himself, and Wei Ying couldn't help but wonder just what he was debating.

Was it morals instilling in him since birth, the rules of the human kind causing him to be shy and bashful before him? Was it considered improper to the humans to see another bare-skinned? Wei Ying didn’t know, having grown up under the rule of the Divine and the rules that made them what they are, where skin was simply skin. He didn't understand the hesitation, the want to keep something shared so private, yet waited for the human-turned-Divines consent all the same.

Lan Xichen eventually nodded, his golden eyes staring him down in an oddly challenging way. If Wei Ying looked hard enough, he could imagine those eyes as the color of the sky, as the eyes of a brother long since lost and long since hating him—

“I don't see why not. You’ve already washed my hair.”

Wei Ying blinked, startled out of the memories of a family that did not see him as such anymore, and gave the man a wide smile.

He dipped the new cloth into the water and, starting from the neck, began to wipe away the evidence of the past few days that had embedded itself into the man's skin. Dried blood became moist, painting his skin and the cloth and the water a dull muted pink. Dirt and grime from his last days as a human flaked away, revealing the pale peeling skin beneath.

Wei Ying made sure not to make a noise as the old human skin began to peel away, revealing the brand new skin of a Divine underneath.

The Divine blood running through their veins was changing them, just like Wei Ying said it would. It was cleansing all the Human from them—Blood and skin and everything in between. Within a few months, nothing of their human form would remain, shed away to reveal the gleaming purity of the Divine that they had become.

They would still be themselves—Still be beautiful and serene and calm and cold—but Divine. Their human parts would be gone. Just like their wings came in and left them with a wound upon their back weeping the blood of a life now past, so too would their Divine powers come in and leave their human bodys open and weeping that which was no longer needed.

A connection to the living, to their life before they met him. It would be gone and erased, nothing but a memory in their mind.

He set the now tainted bowls of water off to the side, the other male finally fully clean and laid out before him like a statue to worship. If he was a weaker god, he would fall before him and praise the male as what he was—a gift, something to worship and love with all he has. But he is not a weaker god, is only a Divine with the urges of a man, and only a Divine which can feel what he feels and love what he loves.

He shared a smile with Lan Xichen, a seeming understanding passing between the press of their flesh and the smiles pulled from the older brothers of younger siblings, and stood to move to the other side of the bed—To the brother, laying weak and bloodied against the sheets.

Wei Ying gave them a week together without his interference, only peeking his head into the curtain room and checking in on them at the beginning and end of the day. It took a few days for them to begin to get up and move around, their backs healing quickly but not quickly enough for the two of them. He brought them little items throughout their week, slipping into the room and setting them down on the bed within reach. He didn’t expect them to think much of it, but when he saw the aquamarine hairpin resting in Lan Xichen’s hair, his heart thudded in his chest.

But Wei Ying did not push for more interactions with them, letting the two brothers be with just each other for as long as possible. He didn’t want them to stress or to worry about jobs or duties. They just needed to give themselves time to heal.

When he peeked his head in one morning and saw the two sitting at the desk he had made them—not an unusual occurrence, but happening more frequently now—they turned to look at him. Their wings were flat against the floor, not even twitching, which made Wei Ying well beyond worried for them.

He slipped into the room since they had already seen him, intending to check on their health and mobility after everything they had been through. The curtain fell shut behind him, brushing against his wings as it did so.  

“My apologies,” he began, his body planted just inside the door. The ends of his feathers scraped against the floor, and he could feel his wings fidget. “May I speak with you two? For a moment. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes scanned him over, and Wei Ying could hear a low tap tap of fingers striking wood. Wei Ying wanted to scurry away, Lan Wangji’s gaze unsettling in a way he was not prepared for.

His focus was broken by the clearing of Lan Xichen’s throat, and Wei Ying shuddered under the feeling of eyes sliding away from him.  

Despite interrupting the pair, Lan Xichen’s smile did not waver. “Hello, Lord Wei.”

Wei Ying gave Lan Xichen an incandescent smile and plopped onto the ground in front of the table. He propped up his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand while he propped his knee against the edge of the desk. “Master?” A peal of laughter was stolen from his throat, echoing in the crystal-lit room the two brothers had been living in for the past few days. “Aiya, Lan Xichen, I am no Master.” He gestured around the room with his free hand before dropping it to rest against his knee. “I am but a lonely Divine, with way too much time on my hands.”

He tilted his head then, offering his smile to Lan Wangji as well. “I am sure you two have more questions, yes?”

Lan Wangji gave him a nod—or what could pass for a nod, with his barely tilting chin—and sat up straighter. Wei Ying watched patiently as he searched for words, entertaining himself by attempting to count how many colors showed up in the golden eyes he could finally see up close.

“What is…expected of us?” Lan Wangji finally spoke, confusion clear in his voice.

“Expected? Like, what do I want you to do? Or what do I think you should be doing?” Wei Ying asked, the edges of his lips tilting up in amusement.

“Are they not the same thing?” Lan Wangji’s voice took on an irritated edge, and Wei Ying delighted in the flash of ice that spread in his eyes and turned them from molten honey to brittle gold.

“They are not.” Wei Ying tilted his knee back and forth, using his finger to draw images in the air. “One is what you should do, one is what I think you should do. Very different things.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head, and Wei Ying took it as a ‘well then?’ tilt. He hoped Lan Xichen’s inner book of ‘Lan Zhan’s Microexpressions: The Meanings’ was still translating his expressions properly.

“Well, first of all—I don’t know what you should be doing, or what you will be doing. You’re the first people I’ve made into Divines. Anything can happen. You might simply be here for eye candy, or you might end up being a major cog of the Underworld. We won’t know until your powers come in.” He raised his hand towards his face, using his thumb to scrape at whatever perceived dirt he found under his nails. “As for what I think you should do…That's different.” He locked eyes with Lan Xichen first over his nails, then made sure to grab Lan Wangji’s gaze. “I think you two should do what you like. Get used to the air here, the realm. Go explore, if you want. You can even go find your own little nook of the Underworld and make it yours, if you like. It could be millennia until your powers come in, or it could be minutes. Just follow your gut, and you shouldn’t be led astray.”

He sat in silence for a few moments, allowing them time to process his words. His wings shifted against the stone floor, and it reminded him of the original reason he had entered the room.

“Ah, yes.” He stood up then, a flurry of feathers rustling behind him. His wings flapped a few times, creating a sort-of wind, and settled down once more. He gestured to the curtain that covered their doorway with his head and rubbed his hands along the short skirt of his chiton. “Follow me?”

He turned and, without waiting for a response from the two Lan brothers, strode to the curtain.

He could hear the—well not quite scrambling—rapid footsteps falling in behind him, the sound of wings dragging painfully across the floor. He spun around to walk backwards, his own wings flaring slightly at his sudden turn in an attempt to keep him fully balanced.

His eyes landed on the pair of wings dragging behind the two men, and he held back a wince at the memory of doing the same thing to his wings so long ago. He knew they were uncomfortable, and he could remember the feeling of every stone and pebble rolling along his feathers and digging into the soft flesh of his wing—even knocking against the delicate bones that made up his wings. His own wings twitched slightly in pain, closing from their flared position and pressing against his back. He would need to teach them how to tuck their wings against their own backs, and he could already imagine the relief they would feel.

“Have you attempted anything? With your wings,” he asked, confident in navigating the hallways backwards after having lived there for so many years. His wings didn’t like it, yet they followed his command and pulled forward to wrap around his shoulder and brush against his arm. He plucked at the feathers in fake boredom, and could feel the twitching his other wing was doing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Ying caught the briefest wince of pain from Lan Wangji, and he felt another pulse of pity for them. Maybe after he had shown them how to control their wings a little better, after he had explained how to move them and groom them—Well, maybe the brothers would be more comfortable around him. Maybe.

(He ignored the images of pale flesh and the sounds of gasping breath. They were already comfortable enough around him to fuck in front of him, but still—He was a greedy man. He wanted as much as he could take. He wanted gasps of his own, and hands of his own, and maybe a flash of pale thighs for himself. He didn’t have a right to want this, but he ignored the scolding his internal older sister was giving him. It was okay to want, as long as he didn’t act on it.

It was okay to want them, but it wouldn’t be okay to have them.)

“We have not,” Lan Xichen said, and when Wei Ying turned his head away from his wing and the same feathers he had been plucking at for the last however long he was in his mind for, he caught a flash of pale flesh curled around Lan Wangji’s waist. From the flexing he could see of Lan Xichen’s shoulder, he seemed to be rubbing Lan Wangji’s back. No doubt to ease the strain they would both be experiencing from dragging their wings.

“Ah, thought not.” He forced a cheeky smile onto his lips, flapping the wing he had been plucking at. He used the momentum to spin back around, turning his back to the brothers. He just needed a moment to get his longing under control. “It took me a few years to even understand how to move mine before I even thought of flapping or—Gods forbid—flying.” He stroked a finger along the decorative holes in his sleeves, keeping himself facing forward and refusing to let himself turn around and cast a wink over his shoulder like he wanted to. “Good thing you’ve got me haunting this place, eh?”

He heard a nervous chuckle, the vocal tone light enough to more than likely be Lan Xichen’s. His ears picked up the faint words spoken in response, but it was too quiet for him to make out what it was. He assumed it was for Lan Xichen, and left it there.

He guided them through the hallways, originally planning to lead them to the front of the palace and let them figure out if they wished to explore or find their place. But as they drew closer to his beloved garden, his steps slowed.

He eventually stopped in front of the door, his right hand pressed flat against the carved door while his left rested on the handle.

His heart was sentimental, staring at the carving. It told the story of his siblings bidding him farewell, the goodbyes he was given the night before he left. The fake goodbyes, the ‘I love you’s and the promises of a future they would all be proud of. He had inlaid rubies for the fire, had carved his siblings’ faces with as much accuracy as he could—but they still felt off. To know that, even then, his memory of them was fading.

(He couldn’t even remember what Jiang Cheng looked like. He didn’t remember the tone Jin Zixuan would take on when he was irritated, nor did he remember the exact sound of Meng Yao’s laugh. His memory was failing, and he hoped their memory of him was failing too. He wished to be forgotten down here, a brother lost to the earth and draped in memories they no longer needed. How beautifully poetic.)

He could feel his nose getting stuffed up, a single tear dripping down from his eye and landing on his arm. The garden—It was his safe space, his heart, and he was opening it to these brothers. It felt monumental, sharing this. But the stone still pressed against his hand, the smile of his sister tilted up at him, and the Underworld was not crumbling around him.

He sniffled once and heard a soft distressed sound behind him, yet Wei Ying powered through the emotions tugging at his heart and trying to pull him down further into a sea of memories he wished to keep locked away.

“There aren’t that many living things down here. None, actually.” He raised his hand to rub at his nose, angry at himself for letting his emotions ruin a good day. Stupid fucking emotions, and stupid fucking memories. He laid his hand back on the door, and with a gentle push, it slid open. “But I did what I could to make this feel like home! Granted, it's still, you know, dead, but I worked with what I had!”

The door revealed a garden surrounded at all sides by different palace corridors, a small square garden. There was a large tree in the middle, with a black stone trunk and glowing green gems glittering on the branches like little leaves. At the bottom of the tree, there was a patch of empty black dirt. It looked worn, like someone had been there frequently. Littered around the ground, outside of the path from the door to the tree, were little flowers made of bone and gems alike.

It was a fragment of imagination, of memory. The flowers were created after memories of Wei Ying’s, memories of a time before he was a king of the dead. Of his childhood.

He walked towards the tree, leading them down the soft dirt path.

“Here, here. One of you starts to sit, and I’ll guide your wings as you go.” He gestured to the base of the stone tree, his silver eyes sparkling with worry and excitement. “I'll help the other one next.”

Lan Xichen went to step forward, reaching up to pull his hair over his shoulder, when he was pulled back by his arm. Lan Wangji was frowning, staring his brother down. They seemed to have a conversation Wei Ying couldn’t understand, a thing between two close siblings, and Wei Ying remembered a time when he could do that with his siblings. It had been a long while since then, years and distance causing his bond with his siblings to break over time, yet he could still remember a time when they were able to talk like that. He missed it.

Lan Wangji finally stepped forward, his hair draped over his shoulder and resting against his chest. His eyes were locked on Wei Ying’s face, and for a split moment, Wei Ying felt a shiver of fear down his spine. Wei Ying was impressed at the power the newly-Divine had already.

He slipped behind Lan Wangji, resting a hand first at the nape of his neck. When Lan Wangji froze, his shoulders curling just slightly inward, Wei Ying lifted his hand until only his fingertips were touching his skin. “This will feel weird. Intimate,” he murmured, low enough to only be for the two of them. “Your wings are sensitive. Especially when they are still new. If you begin to get uncomfortable, or at any point wish me to stop, I can give you a moment or call your brother over. Okay?”

A barely perceivable nod was given, and he leaned down to press a very gentle kiss against Lan Wangji’s nape. He smirked against the jump he felt, knowing the other could feel his lips crook up. “If you get hard, don't be embarrassed.”

“Wei Ying—” Lan Wangji began, but was silenced when Wei Ying’s hands finally touched the aching wings that had been dragged along the ground for long enough already. A very low moan slipped from his lips, and Lan Wangji raised a hand to cover it. His ears were a slight red, just enough to catch Wei Ying’s eye.

Wei Ying stiffled his laughter, stroking a hand along the cluster of downy feathers at the top of Lan Wangji’s wings. Upon closer inspection, the wings that had originally looked black took on a dark blue color, with bright red highlights at the end of his flight feathers pulling the attention of his eyes. The red and dark blue feathers seemed to glow in the hazy light of the green crystals, nearly winking up at him.

“Sit,” Wei Ying commanded, slipping a hand onto Lan Wangji’s shoulder and pushing down. The strong body seemed to pause for a second, as if Lan Wangji was debating if he should submit to Wei Ying’s commands, yet ultimately his knees began to bend. As soon as they did so, Wei Ying’s hands returned to his wings. He coaxed them to fold, smoothing a hand along the flight feathers that hung down furthest.

Once both wings were folded, smooth against Lan Wangji’s back, Wei Ying pressed against them gently.

“Feel that? The bend?” he asked, being sure not to push down and hurt the fragile bones in the wings, but putting enough pressure against them so they felt heavier. “Remember the bend, the feel of it against your back. How the muscles feel. Remember that.”

He released the wings, running his hand once more along the covert feathers before turning his attention to the older brother.

Lan Xichen gave Wei Ying a smile, his golden eyes tender in an odd way Wei Ying couldn’t place. He stepped beside his brother, intending to sit shoulder to shoulder, but Wei Ying pulled him to a different place.

“Wei Ying—” Lan Xichen started, his brows furrowing even as his smile persisted.

Wei Ying gave him a wide smile, his own eyebrows rising in challenge. “Wings are an intimate thing. Wouldn’t you want to learn how to groom Lan Wangji’s?”

Wei Ying held back a cackle at the bright red spreading on Lan Xichen’s face, sharing a knowing smirk with him instead.

“I do not know what you are implying,” Lan Xichen said, his eyes shifting over Wei Ying’s shoulder to land, most probably, on his brother.

Wei Ying smirked at him, giving Lan Xichen a wink. He propped a hand on his hip, poking Lan Xichen in the chest. He ignored the rough feel of the old chiton he was wearing, giving himself a mental note to get them better clothing befitting a Divine. “Sure you don’t.” His lips pulled up further, pulling on a teasing farce. “How dare I insinuate such devotion, hm?”

Wei Ying left Lan Xichen floundering, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as if to deny the statement. But Wei Ying was not fooled; he had seen the devotion they held towards each other when he had looked through the memories of their human life. He knew them just as well as they knew themselves and each other, if not more in some ways. He might not know them as much emotionally, but he understood their core values.

He gave Lan Xichen one last smile before he slipped around to his back, being careful of the wings still laying near-lifelessly on the ground. Wei Ying pressed gentle fingers against Lan Xichen’s shoulders. When he did not flinch away, he pressed his full hand down, and leaned forward to whisper the same warning into his ear.

“I told Lan Wangji, but I will alert you too,” he began, his left hand drifting from Lan Xichen’s shoulder to rest just above the beginning of the scar tissue. He pressed his hand down against his spine, leaning close enough for his breath to brush across the back of Lan Xichen’s ear. “Your wings…are very sensitive. If you get hard, don't be embarrassed.”

“I—”

Wei Ying would never grow tired of the surprised gasp that melted into a moan when his hands pressed against the taut muscles that spanned from his back to the wings. They were worn, and tired obviously, but the feel of them flexing in surprise at the caress always brought a flush to his own face.

Wei Ying gripped the edges of Lan Xichen’s wings with gentle hands, the sporadic blue spots nearly glowing in the green light cast from the tree above them. It was a gentle thing, a very bright and luminescent blue in the middle of a dark blue night sky. It reminded him of years past, when he would lay with his mother and count the stars. He wondered, with these wings in his hand, what they would turn into once the original molting feathers fell off and the full feathers grew in.

He pressed against Lan Xichen’s shoulder with his right hand, still holding his left wing in his other hand. “Sit, please,” he commanded once more, keeping up the pressure until he felt the male beginning to yield. As soon as he felt the body begin to slide down, he grabbed the right wing and mimicked the same thing he had done for Lan Wangji. He pressed the wings into a fold, holding the strained muscles as they got used to this new resting position.

He heard a low groan from the body under his hands, a smirk pulling against his lips at the knowledge of just how good this sudden bend would feel, just how relaxing and fulfilling it would be.

Once Lan Xichen was knelt on the ground across from Lan Wangji, he stepped in between the brothers. With his back to Lan Wangji, he gently coaxed forward one of Lan Xichen’s wings. Once it was across his lap, draped across his folded knees, he turned to do the same to Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying returned the icy glare with a smile, pulling Lan Wangji’s opposite wing forward.

“Now, this is something I assume you two would like to do for each other, since it’s a very…intimate thing,” he began, stepping over Lan Wangji’s right wing and sitting beside the two brothers. His back was facing the tree, giving him an open view of the garden and the two beauties that filled it. “I’m going to show you how to groom your wings and take care of them.” He pulled one of his own wings forward, the dark feathers dotted with red spots throughout. “I’ll show you, first, how to locate loose feathers.”

He ran his fingers over his left wing, the heavy thing resting across his lap. With deft fingers, he straightened out crooked feathers. As he moved along, cataloging every feather that rested on his large wings, he gave each a very gentle tug. As soon as one slipped out, he laid it out beside his lap and returned to straightening out the feathers. He repeated it a few times, pulling out a few loose feathers before looking up at the brothers.

“It seems simple,” he started, his fingers still combing idly through the feathers. “But you need to remember the proper pressure to use. Don’t pull, or you can damage the skin that the feathers connect to. You want to, kind of…tug. Like you’re trying to find a loose whisker on a cat, or…” He furrowed his brows, trying to think of a normal thing to compare it to. “Or… Uhm…”

“Understood,” Lan Wangji said, his own hands beginning to move along Lan Xichen’s wings. His fingers seemed to be mimicking Wei Ying’s movements, yet they weren’t tugging with enough force to pull out the loose feathers. It was just a simple caress.

“No, no.” Wei Ying leaned forward, hovering a hand over the wing of Lan Wangji’s that was draped between the two brothers’ laps. “Can I show you? On your wing?”

Lan Wangji’s face seemed to stare into his soul, the curve of his eyebrows saying, ‘Would you not already?’, yet he eventually nodded his consent to Wei Ying.

With a bright smile, Wei Ying set to grooming Lan Wangji’s wing. His fingers skimmed over the feathers, tugging them into place. Once he found a loose feather, which didn’t take long with the molting the two brothers would be experiencing, he pressed a single finger against it. “Here,” he said, running the finger up and down the spine of the feather. “This one is loose. See how it moves too much when touched?”

Both pairs of golden eyes were watching with rapt attention, staring at his hands and following along on Lan Xichen’s wing. They both found a loose feather, and stared at him waiting for instructions on how to properly tug it off.

He slipped his pointer finger under the feather, keeping his thumb pressed against the top. He wiggled it a few more times to get it a little more loose before tugging downwards gently. The feather slipped completely loose easily, and Wei Ying waited to see what they would do.

He heard a very soft hiss from Lan Xichen, probably from a sudden gentle sting along his sensitive wings. Lan Wangji was quick to place his hand over where he had pulled a feather before leaning forward to press his forehead against Lan Xichen’s. They were silent together, and Wei Ying was hesitant to disturb them. He placed Lan Wangji’s feather beside Lan Xichen’s lap, giving them a few moments of privacy as he returned to grooming his own wings.

Eventually, after a few more hisses of pain and soft apologies, both brothers seemed to remember that they were with another. Lan Wangji seemed embarrassed for the first time Wei Ying could remember, and he passed a smile to the red-eared brother.

“Don’t worry,” Wei Ying began, patting the younger Lan on the shoulder. “I’ll get used to it.”

He gave the two of them silence as he continued with grooming his own wings, humming to himself out of habit.

Time passed quickly in that little garden, the three men simply growing used to each other's presence. Though there was no sun, nor any way to keep track of time, Wei Ying was very aware of just how long he was spending with the two brothers. Just as he was aware of the growing audience in his viewing chambers.

He didn’t want to leave these two, not after finally having company for the first time in so many years. He felt old, and young. He felt like he did when he was a new Divine, new to his body and the powers that welled inside him. He felt, if for a moment, like his soul was free to bound between as much light as it wished.

(It felt, for a moment, like the light had changed from what he had known for so long. For years, he had yearned for the light of a sun he would no longer see, for the light of stars that had long died out and reached their end. He longed for the light that shone on his siblings, that used to shine on him. Yet now, even after so little time, even after only barely a week of truly knowing these two, it felt like that light shone from them. Like the brightness of a calming smile, or the raging inferno of anger, could light up his castle with barely any effort. It left him gasping in the wake of their brightness. He wished to never leave its presence.)

But, sadly, duties did not simply stop because he didn’t wish to attend to them. They only piled up instead.

He stood then, stretching his arms and legs as he did so. His wings also flexed, feathers hitting the top of the crystal tree they had been sitting under. Once he finished stretching, his wings flush against his back once again, he bounced from the balls of his feet to the pads and back again.

“Welp, duty calls,” he said, a smirk bright along his lips. “The dead shouldn’t wait too long.”

Lan Wangji’s brows furrowed, his golden eyes sweeping along the collected feathers then up to the bright crystal tree before finally landing on him once again. “They can wait if you tell them to.”

Wei Ying’s eyes twinkled in mirth, raising his arms to clasp them behind his head. “They could,” he agreed, continuing to bounce on his feet. “But I have already left them waiting long enough.”

“Then go,” Lan Wangji said, their eyes locking together in a nearly challenging manner. “Why are you waiting?”

Wei Ying let out a small giggle, his bouncing stopping as soon as his laughter did. “Do you not wish to attend?”

Lan Xichen attempted to stifle his gasp, yet Wei Ying heard it all the same. He gave the elder Lan his full attention, raising an eyebrow in question. “You would allow…we can attend?”

Wei Ying’s smile slipped from his face, his hands still clasped behind his head. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

Lan Xichen’s smile seemed to return in full force, and maybe it was a trick of the lighting, but for a moment Wei Ying thought it looked different. Odd. Out of place. It felt, for the briefest moment, more real than any other smile he had seen from him.

“I did not think…” Lan Xichen’s smile dimmed slightly, as if there was something being pulled over it and obscuring it, as if—for just a moment—a cloud of doubt brushed across its sun-bright surface and left it faded. It passed in mere seconds, but Wei Ying did not go this many years without learning the intricacies of humans and their lies—to themselves and to others. “Forgive me. I would love to join you. Wangji?”

The younger brother seemed hesitant, and in a way, Wei Ying understood. He understood staying away from someone more powerful, someone stronger, someone who could control his very life with a simple thought. He understood trying to avoid drawing that powerful gaze. He understood Lan Zhan’s hesitance to spend more time than necessary around him, for if he were in his shoes, he more than likely would be doing the same. But jobs were jobs, and duties were duties.

“You do not need to right now,” Wei Ying said, finally dropping the smiling happy-go-lucky personality he had been holding up for the sake of the two Lans’ comfort. “You don't need to enter the chambers, if you do not wish to. I will not make you.”

He crossed his arms, his wings tightly pressed against his back. If he were more relaxed around these two, he could see his wings shuffling. But he wasn’t close to them, not yet, and so he kept himself as still as possible. “However, at some point in time, you will need to. This is not something to be ignored until it goes away or fixes itself. In time, you will need to face what you have become and what you have forsaken.” He slipped his hands behind him, resting both against the small of his back and under his wings. He tried to project a gentle if not wise presence. “When you are ready, you are welcome. But do not push yourselves.”

Wei Ying slipped past the two brothers, making his way to the stone doors. He could hear soft chattering behind him, the brothers more than likely conversing among themselves. Finally, just as he swung open the dark stone doors and was about to step through them, he heard rapid footsteps behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with Lan Xichen. Further behind him, seemingly dragging his feet, was Lan Wangji. His face was blank, but with his shoulders curved down and eyebrows furrowed just enough, he looked like he was being dragged along to a party he didn't want to attend. Wei Ying shouldn't have felt as humored as he did.

He nodded once to the brothers, taking note that their now groomed wings were folded against their backs like he had taught them.

He didn't like doing it, being unnecessarily rude to people. He hated it. But sometimes, when a stubborn individual decided to listen to nothing but insanity, rudeness was the only thing that would break through.

He led the way to the judgment chambers, through the twisting paths of the palace. They passed doors inlaid with gems, carved with scenes of a time long past. Along the ceiling was a line of the glowing green crystals, keeping the path lit even in such a dark place.

As they approached the chamber, screams and pleads could be heard. There were wails of pain, screams of uncertainty, pleading to be let out. People were begging to be freed, to return to life. Others were screaming that they didn’t belong there, that they were supposed to be in bed, or seeing their daughter. It was the sound of suffering, mourning, fear. It was the sound of a room full of the dead.

He led the two brothers to a small door, a small side entrance for the chamber. The main entrance was saved for the souls as they made their way to him, for the stumbling and broken ghosts of people to float through and find a seat amidst the rows of black rock pews.

“You might want to close your eyes,” he prompted, just before he opened the door. “You are no longer one of the dead, but a Divine. The Veil keeping the Divine and Humanity separate will be gone, and you’ll see what they truly look like.”

Lan Xichen’s head tilted slightly to the right in confusion, and it reminded Wei Ying of a hellhound. He shuddered at the memory, yet the sentiment was still the same. An adorable, if terrifying, expression.

“Look like?” Lan Xichen asked, his hand resting just slightly above Wei Ying’s over the handle. “What do you mean?”

Wei Ying’s brows furrowed, his hand rising from the handle as he turned around to face the two winged Divines. His face showed shock and a lack of understanding, as if he couldn’t truly understand their statement. He blinked at them, his silver eyes wide in confusion before liquid understanding finally filled them.

“Oh!” He wrung his hands in front of himself, beginning to rock on his feet once more. “There’s uhm—a veil,” he tried to explain, waving his hands around quickly. His speech picked up as he tried to explain it to the brothers.

“There’s this thing, called the Veil—or it used to be, a long time ago. But it—it kind of…it changes what humans see...?” His sentence ended in a question, as if asking if the brothers understood. When they still looked confused, he continued.

“Take for example when you first got here. You two looked like yourselves, right? And you looked normal? Like an everyday Human, hm?” Once he got a nod from both brothers, he continued.

“Well, that? That's the Veil. It cloaks the unnatural—the Divine—from the Humans. When you were Human, you saw what you wanted to see. That works the same down here just as it did above. The Underworld itself is completely and wholly Divine. I am not just the Divine of the Dead—I am the King of it. So, the Underworld is also me? But I am also it. I became it when I accepted my powers, when I understood my fate and what was laid out for me.

“And, in doing that, the Underworld became a pure Divine creature instead of simply a place for the dead—not like it wasn’t before! The previous King was Zhao Zhuliu, and he was known for—” He could see their eyes were shadowed in confusion. “I’m getting caught up, but, basically, once you enter, the Veil covers your eyes. You only see what you would believe? Or what makes sense. It’s like looking at water, and seeing water. Except there is no water down here—this is the land of the dead, and water brings life.

“The only water down here are the lakes of punishment, which are not really lakes per se, but—getting carried away again. Basically, once you come down here, and the Underworld knows you are human, then it tricks you in a sense—you see the things that would make as much sense as possible. You don’t see what's really there, only the things you wish to see. A Divine can choose to raise the Veil. But until then, the Veil remains over you. That means, now, you will see the other dead as they were truly meant to be seen and not simply as the Veil tells you to see it.”

Wei Ying took a deep breath, and smiled gently at the two—very—confused brothers. “Basically, before you didn’t see what killed them and how they died. But now you will. You’ll also see scarring from the Great Split, which means the human body might seem odd or feel weird. But that's just Divine magic messing with stuff that shouldn’t be tampered with.”

Lan Wangji nodded once in understanding, and touched Lan Xichen’s arm. In a moment, they seemed to steel themselves against whatever they might see.

“You ready?” Wei Ying asked, resting a hand on the handle once more, yet not turning around to face the door until he had gotten their nod of approval.

Once both brothers had nodded, Wei Ying nodded himself and turned to the door. With a shove, the door slid open. The ominous creak left the chamber of souls silent, the wailing and pleading cutting off in a split second. Just as quickly as they had fallen silent, the screams began again tenfold.

Wei Ying winced, covering one ear with a hand. He strode quickly onto the dias, approaching the black rock throne with the grace he was raised with...if said grace could even be seen, with such a piercing headache killing him. He sat down quickly on the throne, clenching at his head. The screams became even louder once he fully appeared in the green glow, and they only subsided when he raised a hand to the crowd.

He began judgment, glancing at the brothers who seemed to have decided to stay beside the door they had entered from. Lan Xichen’s face looked green, either in disgust or horror, Wei Ying couldn’t tell. Lan Wangji’s was as still as normal, yet his fists looked to be clenched tighter than he’d seen except during the growth of their wings. While he would have loved to give the brothers his full attention, the judgment needed his attention instead.

And so it proceeded, as slowly yet just as quickly as normal. He called forth a soul, asked their name, asked their story. He asked how they died, why they died, who they angered. He asked about what they saw as sins, about their moral compass. He asked them seemingly meaningless questions, judging their capability and tendency to lie. If a case was especially difficult, he would call them forth to his throne. Close enough to them, he could read their soul and determine the truth in what they had told him.

Rinse and repeat for each soul, just as he had been doing for the past so many years. He grew bored quickly, even though there were some more…erotic looking souls. They believed themselves to be in the height of their youth, their beauty and sexual appeal desirable to anyone. The appeal drained quickly, however, when instead of a beautiful youth, Wei Ying would be met with a mutilated body. Even if their bodies were intact, as much as they could be while dead, the souls were never really whole.

He allowed himself to look, but he was not a human, nor would he fall to the temptation of human flesh to satiate a desire inside of him. He had lived so long without the fire quenched, and he could live even longer.

At the end of the day, with a few souls left that had trickled in as he was ending the session, he raised himself from his seat. He told the ones that just entered to come to the front, and to take a seat in the frontmost row. He would attend to them the next day, after he had rested and given his mind a break from the hundreds of memories weighing down on him.

He forgot, for a moment, about the brothers. He had fallen into a pattern of millenia, a pattern he had lived by for so long. He was surprised when he approached the door behind his throne, his shoulders sagging and his wings nearly dragging against the floor. Once he saw the brothers, he forced himself to smile. His shoulders straightened, and his wings were pressed against his back once more.

The mask he slipped on to hide his exhaustion, a mask made years ago, seemed near perfect. Yet the two brothers had seen how he was acting when he forgot they were there, and now they saw through the upbeat and happy mask he gave them. As one, they fell in step beside him. Lan Wangji opened the door as Lan Xichen slipped a hand around Wei Ying’s waist and kept him upright.

“Aiya, so forward?” Wei Ying joked, yet his eyelids were heavy. He would have dreams that night, of the lives he had witnessed. His brain was already sluggish, trying to process all of the human thoughts and memories. Whoever said the Divine were all-powerful beings were talking out of their ass, Wei Ying thought. He couldn't watch hundreds of lives in one day and not be tired.

Lan Xichen smiled at him, his head only slightly higher than Wei Ying’s, and tightened his hold around the elder Divine's waist. “You are…dead on your feet.”

Wei Ying burst out in laughter, allowing himself to lean on Lan Xichen as they walked down the corridor, Lan Zhan trailing behind him. “Who would have thought you would have a sense of humor?”

A snort was audible behind them, and Wei Ying didn’t even try to hide the smile forming on his face. He tossed his head back, leaning more heavily against Lan Xichen’s side. “Why, was that a snort I heard? From the silent brother?” he gasped out, and he felt his smile grow even wider when there was another soft snort.

He tilted his head to the right, resting it against the—surprisingly—muscular shoulder of Lan Xichen. Wei Ying’s shoulders felt tight, heavy. He was worried for the two brothers, for how their powers would continue to manifest. He wondered how they would react to the world around them, the full expanse of it now it was finally visible to them.

He looked forward to the wonder they would experience.

They slowed the further from the throne room they went, until they eventually reached a standstill in the middle of the hallway. Wei Ying’s eyes slid open at the stop, glancing along the hallways before tilting his head up. “Hm? Why’d we stop?”

Lan Xichen gave him a gentle smile, one that portrayed the confidence he did not have, and turned his head from one way to the next. He seemed to settle on turning right, dragging Wei Ying’s confused smile along with him.

Behind the two a voice piped up, humor tainting each word. “Brother, you don’t know where you are going.”

Wei Ying tried to stifle his laughter, he did. But at the sight of Lan Xichen’s eyebrows furrowing and his lips parting in shock was too much for the ancient deity.

“Bwahaha—” His head tilted downward, his left arm coming up to grasp at the worn fabric draping down Lan Xichen’s arm. His giggles continued for a few minutes, his eyes crescent shaped from the mirth he felt. “Ahh… It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed like that.”

A yawn ripped itself from Wei Ying’s mouth, surprising the three of them. He leaned more heavily against Lan Xichen’s side, his eyes sliding closed once again. He practically fell asleep standing, his cheek smushed against his shoulder.

“We took a left and a right from the garden to the…audience chamber?” was the last thing Wei Ying heard before he fell asleep against his new little godlings. It had been a long time since he had fallen asleep walking to his rooms.

He woke to the sound of quiet humming and the feeling of fingers in his hair. For a moment, for the briefest second, Wei Ying thought he was a child once again. His head turned into the gentle hand, into the kind touch of someone else. It had been so long, so long, since someone had touched him kindly, if at all.

“Mama…” slipped from his lips, a sluggish hand searching its way through sheets and cloth to grab at the warm wrist close to his head. “Missed…”

The humming stuttered for a second, almost like the tune had been lost or escaped in some way. Then it picked back up, and another hand made its way into his hair.

He rested in the inbetween for some time—a place between wakefulness and sleep. When the humming would stop, he would whine and beg for his Mama to continue again. It would always pick back up, and Wei Ying would fall into the rhythm of being patted and hummed to.

“Missed this,” Wei Ying murmured, nuzzling his head against the wrist hovering over his face.

He wanted to stay there, in the warmth and softness and quiet, but when he blinked his eyes open, he was met with golden eyes and long dark hair. He had to blink a few times to convince himself that he was seeing what he thought he was and not some weird dream escaping into reality. But it was real.

He was lying on a bed with a man before him, and he could feel the presence of a man at his other side. He blinked once more before releasing the wrist to rub at his tired eyes. When he opened them and still saw the beautiful man before him, reality crashed into him.

“Oh,” he murmured, a yawn cutting off the rest of what he was going to say. He propped himself up with his arms, his stomach lifting from the bed as he did so. His wings flapped once before settling flush against his back. He moved to roll over, but then he felt the brush of air against his chest.

He glanced down at his body, wincing at the sight of scars staring back at him. He was not embarrassed of his body, but was aware that the scars from his...transition into death-godhood were not the most beautiful to look at.

“You were moving around a lot,” the man on the other side of him said, and names clicked once again in Wei Ying’s memory-muddled head. “We unpinned the shoulders of your chiton. We were going to remove the rest of it, but you…did not like us touching you, in your sleep.” With the kind smiling brother before him, that meant that Lan Wangji had spoken behind him.

“Ah, sorry.” He turned over fully then, searching in the sheets and furs for the shoulders of his chiton. “Not a lot of people down here, usually things touching you in sleep aren’t pretty little birds.”

He winked at Lan Wangji, finally finding one of his sleeves and shoulder pieces. He slipped his arm in the sleeve, making sure the silver hoops were laying where they should before he pulled a set of hoops from the air. He held one in his mouth as he went about trying to pin up his top. “Iths jus sumthin n’ sed oo.”

“Pardon?” Lan Xichen asked, blinking repeatedly at Wei Ying.

He clasped the sleeve successfully, pulling the hoop out of his mouth as he started pinning up his other shoulder. “It’s just something I’m not used to.” He smiled as he got his chiton fully on, brushing down the front of it.

“Ah…” He tapped his finger against his chin, looking both of the brothers over as he leaned back against the soft pillows. He nearly fell off the bed, expecting the wall to be behind him like it normally was in his room. But instead, there was simply air, and he scrambled for a moment trying to find his balance again.

The sounds of laughter above him brought a smile to his face, even as his wings twinged in unhappiness at being bent so awkwardly.

“Apologies, Wei Ying,” Lan Xichen said around his laughter, his smile wide and pulling at his cheeks. “We did not know where your bedroom was, so we brought you back to ours.”

“Brother got lost multiple times, and refused to listen to me,” Lan Wangji deadpanned, giving Lan Xichen a flat look.

“I did not.”

Wei Ying flicked his eyes from one brother to the other, his lips quirked up in amusement at the gentle bickering between the two. He settled into the pillow, his wings draped over the edge of the bed and resting against the stone floor. His lips curled up the longer he listened to them, eventually pulling a loud laugh from his lips.

“Aiya, it’s okay.” Wei Ying smiled widely, his cheeks straining against the odd expression. “My room is the door at the end of this corridor.”

Lan Wangji blinked owlishly at him, his eyes wide and unbelieving. To Wei Ying’s right, Lan Xichen snorted under his breath and leaned forward to tap Lan Wangji on the forehead. “Told you he was close.”

Wei Ying listened to the brothers talk some more, his hands combing through the tangled mane of his hair. He was surprised when, instead of paying attention to his brother, Lan Zhan reached forward and swatted away Wei Ying’s hands. His fingers dove into the mess of his hair, combing through it and absentmindedly braiding it. The two Lan brothers continued chatting, even as Lan Wangji braided his hair.

He eventually interrupted them, swatting away Lan Wangji’s hands in the process. “As fun as this has been, I believe you two need to learn some more about your wings.”

Lan Xichen tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows raising just the slightest bit. It amused Wei Ying, the curling brightness in his stomach burning brighter.

“There is…more?”

Wei Ying hummed, lifting his own wings from the stone floor and pulling them over his lap. He caressed them, murmuring a gentle apology to them in his mind, before patting at the feathers. “What do you think the wings are here for, entertainment?” he joked, a smirk pulling itself across his lips. “What do wings normally do, besides weigh down the thing they are attached to?”

“...Fly?” Lan Zhan stated—more like asked, but he seemed confident in his answer.

“Fly!” Wei Ying nodded, tossing his new braid over his shoulder. “Don’t you want to learn how?”

The brightness that illuminated both brothers’ eyes was nearly blinding. If Wei Ying was a weaker man, a weaker god, he would have shrivelled under its magnificence. Instead, he merely basked in the glow it gave him.

The brothers were quick learners, once they were given the knowledge they sought. Granted, they could not fly immediately. Just as a baby could not walk without first building up the strength in their limbs, so too could the brothers not fly immediately.

And Wei Ying, as the Divine that blessed them—well, it was his duty to teach them. But when they were able to—seeing them fly, free in the Underworlds air… It was breathtaking.

He loved how they looked, draped in robes he made for them, bathed in the light of the crystal tree. They looked wretchedly beautiful, a haunting guise of beauty and grace. Such a beautiful thing to his eyes. As they finally flew, the robes draped gracefully around them.

He had given them so many robes to choose from, made them an endless supply. With each new robe he made, the two brothers seemed to light up, as if being given an irreplaceable gift. If Wei Ying were to think of it, of the wonder in their eyes and the adoration in the curve of their smile, he would think of their human life.

The brothers came from a large family, no question about it. Their father had been a strong man, a warrior. Their mother had been a scholar, a wonderful woman.

(He remembered speaking to her, as much as he could remember at least. She had told him about the two boys she had, one made of pain and the other made of suffering. He remembered thinking ‘What a cursed family’ and giving her Elysium. He wondered how the two brothers would feel, knowing the truth of their birth, of their mother’s thoughts on them. He did not wish them pain or suffering, as their mother seemed to believe they had been born with, but they deserved truth all the same.)

The two boys had been abandoned by that family, left to fend for themselves in a world unforgiving. They had done all they could to survive, to live together and fight together. They had succeeded as much as possible. And now here they were—alive, together, for eternity and longer. They would never leave each other’s side, would fly beside each other until the last feather fell and they could no longer soar along the wind of a freedom they had fought so hard for.

How wretchedly beautiful, indeed.

He blinked out of his reverie as Lan Wangji landed before him, Lan Xichen only mere seconds after him. Their robes were dust-ridden, and the sheerness of Lan Zhan’s top did little to hide the sweat beading on his skin. The smiles on their faces were bright and happy, and in the back of Wei Ying’s mind, he knew they were smiles they had never worn in life.

He was happy to give them this, this freedom to live and be as they wish. Together, at last.

Lan Xichen dashed for him, his mouth split into a smile so very wide, Wei Ying wondered how it had not yet ripped his cheeks. “Oh powerful Death God, come fly with us?”

Wei Ying patted Lan Xichen’s hand as it wrapped around his upper left arm, giving the godling a doting smile. “Not now, not now. Go continue to play with your brother, Little Bird.”

Wei Ying was hit with a full on pout, Lan Xichen’s eyebrows dipping and his smile disappearing. For a brief moment, a stab of pain hit Wei Ying in the chest. To pull this sort of look from him, this look of utter betrayal—it hurt.

The flash of pain disappeared quickly, but the sentiment still remained. He eventually sighed, pulling an expectant and excited look from Lan Xichen. “Fine.”

The brothers both seemed to light up, and Lan Xichen was bouncing on his feet like a child. It amused Wei Ying, tickling something deep in his stomach. He laughed at the smiles, at the freedom that painted itself through every little crack of these two brothers now.

He flapped his wings a few times, a smirk plastered across his face. “Race you to Styx and back?”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji’s eyes lit up, and from the bouncing of Lan Xichen, Wei Ying could tell he was excited too.

“First one back gets one wish.” His thighs and calves tensed, long since used to taking off from the ground. “Ready? Set. Go!”

Wei Ying came out the winner, to no one's surprise.

Chapter Text

Flying together became a habit, something they did every morning before judgement called. Wei Ying had fun showing them his realm—One of his favorite moments having been when he showed them Elysium. Their eyes wide in wonder, their face split with a smile—It was something that lived on in Wei Ying’s mind for days afterwards.

Very rarely, though, did Wei Ying join them in flying. He loved to watch them fly, and the joy in their laughter would pull a smile on his face each time.

As the days turned into months, his loneliness melted away. The crystalized shell of ice around his heart melted, and in its place stood two men. Two men, willing to stand with him and stare eternity down.

It was too much for him, some days. Those days, he would cry alone in his room. Those days, he would listen to the coupling of the brothers and wish to be between them. Those days, he wondered how much it might take for them to allow him one night. Those days, he refused to even take himself in hand and find release.

(It felt wrong to him. It felt wrong to fantasize over those in his command, those duty bound to follow his every word. Even thinking of it, of bending them over and commanding them to take everything he gave them—his blood turned to ice just thinking of it. He could never—would never—)

But those were the nights after his raw days, the nights when having people near him was too much. Today is not one of those days, nor is it one of those nights. No, today Wei Ying is flying with his darling little Divines, showing them how to move with the currents of the Underworld.

(“There’s air currents in the Underworld? How?”

“Tartarus.”

“The place where the punished go?”

“Yes and no. Tartarus isn’t just a place—Tartarus is a Divine being as well. An Uncle of mine, but one I’ve never spoken to. He sleeps, and his breath gives the air currents.”)

It was good practice, Wei Ying thought. Maybe, they would be able to travel to the world above. Maybe, they would be able to ride the wind. Maybe, they could leave the Underworld far away, with Wei Ying waiting for their return—

He harshly shook his head, dislodging the viscous thoughts trying to burrow into his mind. The brothers had already been here for months, and they did not leave. Their powers, likewise, had yet to come in.

“My Liege.” Lan Xichen flew slightly under him, unable to fly beside him because of the sheer size of Wei Ying’s wings. “My wings are growing sore. Can we rest?”

Wei Ying scanned him over, eyes catching on the sweat beading on his neck and sliding under the edge of his chiton. He nodded, both to agree and to hide the involuntary swallow he had done at the sight.

“Great! I’ll tell Wangji.”

A couple of rapid wingbeats put Lan Xichen beside his brother, and Wei Ying watched them converse. He swerved to the side a smidge, barely avoiding a stalactite.

Wei Ying heard a river before they saw it, and called out to the brothers to begin their descent. Landing was still something they were struggling with, and watching them try to learn the proper speed was something that always brought him humor.

He touched down on the banks of Lethe, watching as both brothers attempted the land.

Lan Wangji stumbled a few times as he touched the ground, going to his knees after a moment. But it was still the steadiest landing he had done so far.

Lan Xichen, on the other hand, seemed to land pretty steadily… At first. His wings beat twice after he landed, and Wei Ying could tell the moment it overbalanced him. He fell face forward, and Wei Ying barely caught him before he fell onto a half-buried ribcage.

“Many thanks, My Liege.” Lan Xichen murmured, pushing himself up and wiping at the soil stuck to his chiton.

Wei Ying felt his lips tilt up, briefly, in humor. He reached forward, rubbing at a small piece of dirt that had somehow landed on Lan Xichen’s cheek. He felt—and saw—the cheek under his finger redden.

The clearing of a throat rang out behind him, and Wei Ying was snapped out of the light trance he had found himself in. His blood was boiling, quivering and shaking and wanting. He wanted Lan Xichen. He wanted him so bad. Him, and Wangji. He wanted the two below him, begging for release. He wanted them above him, holding him down, making him kneel.

Something flashed through Lan Xichen’s eyes—Perhaps it was understanding, or maybe it was lust as well. It was burning and bright in its entirety, yet faded all too quickly.

“Brother.” A hand slipped its way between Wei Ying and Lan Xichen, and Wei Ying blinked. He stepped away, pulling his hand back from Lan Xichen’s cheek and wrapping it around himself.

“Wangji.” A brief kiss was shared between the brothers, and Wei Ying politely looked away.

He glanced at the ground, noting the peeking bones and rotted grass. Across Lethe stood the beginnings of a city, and pulses of magic quivered the air. They were just across the river from Elysium, a place both brothers had loved to visit from time to time. Maybe a visit there would distract them from… Whatever it was had just happened between him and Lan Xichen.

“My Liege?”

Wei Ying tilted his head to the side, staring out at the city still. “Yes, Little Bird?”

“Come sit with Wangji and I?” Footsteps crunched against the fragile bones, crumbling them underfoot. “Lethe seems to be slow today. Is it safe to swim in?”

Wei Ying hummed, turning his gaze away from the city and approaching the spot the two brothers had set out for themselves close to the river bank. Lan Xichen’s extra fabric was laid across the ground, preventing the creeping soil from grabbing at them as they sat.

“No,” He began, sinking down onto the silken fabric and kicking off his hated sandals. “Not unless you want to forget everyone you’ve ever known, and everything you’ve ever done.”

Lan Wangji’s wings shifted, and Wei Ying could see the unease in his body. He attributed it to being so close to a fabled river, and settled on telling them more about the rivers.

“Do you know what its name stands for? Lethe?” Wei Ying probed, bending his arms behind himself and leaning back against them. Had he been on the surface, he would have been basking in the sunlight. Now, it was just basking in the glow of crystals and death.

“No.” Lan Wangji’s wings rustled again, and this time Wei Ying caught how his hands clenched and unclenched at his thighs. “Never got that far.”

Wei Ying closed his eyes, bending his head back to stare at the stalactites on the ceiling. “Lethe. Oblivion. Forgetfulness. It makes you forget all you have done and all you have suffered. You, sometimes, need to drink it to get those effects. Most times, as long as you simply bathe in it, it will take effect.”

Lan Xichen made a noise of understanding deep in his throat, something Wei Ying heard clearly from where he sat right beside him. “Ah. That makes sense. I didn’t know if it meant Lethe in oblivion or forgetfulness, but it means both.”

A similar noise was heard from the other side of Lan Xichen, and Wei Ying leaned back just enough to see the edge of Lan Wangji’s face. It was tense, his brows furrowed from what little he could see. “Mn.”

“Then, My Liege, what of the other rivers? You’ve told us there are more, but not their names.” Lan Xichen turned his head, and Wei Ying ripped his gaze away from Lan Wangji just in time to meet Lan Xichen’s inquiring gaze. “What are they? What do they do?”

“Hungry for knowledge, are you?” Wei Ying winked, drawing a faint reddening of Lan Xichen’s ear in return. “There are five all together. Styx, which circles the Underworld. The name means hateful, and most people dread coming across it.” Wei Ying sat up, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “It's the river alongside the palace, if you know the one I am speaking of.”

“Mn.”

“Across the way,” Wei Ying nodded with his chin before dropping it back to his knees once more. “Phlegethon. It just means fire. And, well… That’s what it is. A river of fire. When you get close enough to it, you can see the flickering flames. It's a good indicator of what you’re close to. It protects the opening to Tartarus.” He tilted his head to the side, resting his head against his knees and staring out at Elysium. “Father is spread down there, in pieces. As are a few of my Uncles and Aunts, the ones that sided with Father at least.”

Shifting feathers and fabric was heard beside him, and an arm snuck its way around his waist.

“What was he like?” Lan Xichen’s voice sounded so close, and the feeling of a body pressed close to his made his skin tingle. “Your father.”

Wei Ying leaned to the side, just slightly, just enough to press close into the first full body anything he had been given in years.

“He was a good man before.” He murmured, eyes slipping closed as memories welled up. Memories he thought he had sealed away long ago. “Or, not as bad, I guess. I am older than my siblings by a long time, did you know that?” He felt hair brushing against his shoulder and heard the faint rustling of moving fabric. He didn't hear a yes, though. So he continued. “By at least five thousand years, maybe more. I am the firstborn, but it also meant I had the longest time with them. With Father and Mother.”

In his mind, he saw the child version of him running Mount Othrys as if he owned the place, maids yelling after him and scrambling to get him into his robes.

“I was a menace,” He whispered, watching in his memories as his child self was picked up by his father and thrown in the air a few times. “But well loved. I was the start of a new generation, the first of my own kind. Just as powerful as my parents, but a descendant. Where they were Titans, I was a God. The first of them. Divine.” He sighed, opening his eyes and banishing the memories of his father. “But Father was busy, and I was a needy child. So the Fates took me in, they raised me. Taught me how to weave, how to measure. They taught me to speak, and to laugh. In them, I found a family I never had with Father and Mother.”

He shook his head then, a self-deprecating laugh echoing out from his lips. “But it wouldn’t last long. The happiness. I helped some Titan child out— I don’t remember their name, I don’t think I ever got it. But it made Father angry. It was some—” He swallowed, staring at the bright crystals of Elysium as if they could burn away his memories. “It was just a kid. Barely a hundred years old, still looking like a human toddler. But it was the kid of some Titan that Father didn’t like. He saw it as insubordination. I argued with him. He told me I was a disgrace to him and my family, and so he banished me. Here.”

The arm around his waist tightened, and Wei Ying felt something wet touch his shoulder.

“But you left.” Lan Wangji spoke up, startling Wei Ying as it rang out from his other side. He felt warmth settle beside him, and another arm wrapped itself around his waist. “You were banished here, but you left.”

Wei Ying nodded, his cheek rubbing uncomfortably against his knees. “I got out.” He murmured. “I got out, but it didn’t last long. There was a celebration when I returned—All the Titans were invited. Even the kid I protected. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was an adult by then—” He let out a shuddering breath. “I had wondered how long I spent down here, and seeing him told me it was a while. The first time I was here, it was struggling to breath, and struggling to survive. Each moment was draining me of life, each step a fracture against my soul.”

“But you lived.” Lan Wangji’s head rested against his shoulder, and he felt it bury itself in his hair. “You lived, and you still live.”

“I didn’t think I did, not at the beginning.” Wei Ying felt like the sky had been lifted off his shoulders, his mind feeling less strained than he could ever remember it being. “I thought I died. I thought I was left in purgatory, for whatever I did wrong. I wondered if that was what life was like when a Divine died—if we were left to wander for all eternity, never resting, never sleeping, always in movement. You can’t stay still for too long, or the soil swallows you. You can’t move too fast, or it aggravates the air and attracts things.” He rolled his head forward, fully hiding his face in his knees. “There were moments I wish I had died. Some days, when my memories feel too heavy and my wings feel even heavier— some days, I feel like I had. I won’t move from bed, I won’t go to judgement. I need time. Time to—time to convince myself I’m still alive. I’m still me.”

Silence rang out between them, long and oppressive. For a moment, Wei Ying thought he spilled too much. Wei Ying was ready to pull it all back, constructing the smile and the excuses in his head, when Lan Xichen cut his thoughts right off.

“On those days,” He began, and Wei Ying felt his arm tighten around him. “We will lay with you, and convince you that you are alive.”

Wei Ying’s heart fractured. In a single sentence, from one person, his heart shattered into a million pieces. It lay scattered along the floor, and Wei Ying was scared of the implications.

“I would never ask you to do that.” Wei Ying’s voice was thick with emotion. “I would—I would never.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji’s head lifted, and a press of warmth was pushed against the side of his head. A kiss. “That is why we offer it.”

“You would never ask for it. You would never take it.” A hand ran itself through his hair, and Wei Ying could feel the blubbering mess he was becoming. “That is why Wangji and I offer it freely.”

Wei Ying tried to swallow back the sob’s threatening to escape his lips, his shoulders shaking under the strain. A hand rested itself between his shoulder blades, and he felt his body being pulled to the side and pressed against a warm chest.

“It’s okay, Wei Ying.” Lan Xichen’s voice murmured behind him, and he felt gentle hands running along his wings. The hands began to groom, he assumed absentmindedly. “Wangji gives some very comforting hugs.”

Wei Ying’s shell broke. On the bankside of Lethe, between two brothers who cared so much for each other, Wei Ying fell apart. In this moment, he was not a Divine, or the first of his generation, or even a king. Here, cradled between arms and hands, he was merely Wei Ying.

After Wei Ying had calmed down, his tears half soaked into skin and half soaked into sheer fabric, he continued the small mini-lesson the brothers had requested.

“Rivers, right.” He sniffled wiping at his nose once. Sometime during his cry fest, they had migrated to laying across the fabric. Lan Xichen was pressed against his back, the weight of both of Wei Ying’s wings resting on top of him. Lan Wangji was in front of him, and Wei Ying was still breathing in his scent. “There’s only two more—Acheron and Cocytus. Sorrow and lamentation, respectfully.” He reached up a hand and rubbed at his eyes, and he hid a yawn against the flesh of Lan Wangji’s neck. “Archeron carries the souls to their rebirth, after a thousand years. Cocytus is… Interesting.”

He pushed himself up, turning to sit facing the two brothers. Lan Wangji looked irritated that his cuddle buddy had disappeared, whereas Lan Xichen looked worried at the position Wei Ying took. He cradled his knees to his chest once more, smiling down at them.

“Cocytus is for those who committed a terrible sin in a moment of passion, but lived to repent it for the rest of their life.” He waved his hand around in flippant, exaggerated movements. “After a year in Tartarus, they are sent down the lake. If they return to my palace, then the lake deemed them worthy of redemption. If they did not, then they would return to Tartarus for another year. Rinse and repeat.”  

Lan Xichen’s eyebrows were furrowed, and his head tilted to the side. “Redemption?”

Wei Ying nodded, catching Lan Wangji shifting again out of the corner of his eye. He noted how he reached for his chest and rubbed at it. “Redemption. Or, I guess, reassignment. To the fields of Asphodel, or to Elysium.”

Lan Wangji’s irritation just continued to mount, and Wei Ying could spot the exact moment that Lan Xichen noticed it.

“Wangji?” Lan Xichen sat up and leaned over his brother, his hands dancing across skin and fabric alike. “Is something wrong?”

Wei Ying was sceptical, eyeing each movement of Lan Wangji’s. When he reached up and cupped the center of his chest, a fluttering of hope settled in Wei Ying’s own.

Lan Wangji rubbed again at his chest, his eyes flickering between Lan Xichen and Wei Ying before settling on Wei Ying. “I feel tugging.”

Wei Ying’s face split into a wide grin. “Tugging?”

Lan Wangji nodded and pushed against the edge of his sheer chiton. “Tugging.”

Wei Ying leaned forward, close enough to kiss Lan Wangji if he was brave enough. “If it’s tugging you… Why don't you follow it?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened, and Wei Ying caught them darting down to his lips before meeting his eyes once more. He grinned and licked at his lips, noticing them drop once more. (Something to think on later, he told himself.)

“Follow?” Lan Xichen questioned, and Wei Ying felt a hand press against his elbow. “My Liege, what do you mean ‘follow’?”

Wei Ying nodded towards Lan Wangji, raising his hand and resting it on the middle of his chest. “This is tugging you somewhere, so follow it.” He leaned forward once more, his lips barely brushing Lan Wangji’s. “Your powers are calling, Little Bird. Your destiny awaits. All you need to do… is follow the call.”

Wei Ying identified a flash of lust, followed by an overpowering need that lingered in Lan Wangji’s eyes. Lan Wangji’s hand shot out lightning fast, and Wei Ying was yanked down by his neck. His lips came in flush contact with Lan Wangji’s hungry ones, and he was devoured in a mere moment. The kiss did not last long, but it lasted long enough to tempt Wei Ying.

“I will be back.” Lan Wangji’s eyes flashed with heat. “And we will talk. About this.” He pressed a kiss once more to Wei Ying’s lips, and it stole what little breath he had gathered. “Brother deserves a kiss too.”

Wei Ying watched in a daze as Lan Wangji pressed a kiss to Lan Xichen’s lips as well before his wings flapped twice in preparation for take off. With one last lingering look to Wei Ying and Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji took off.

Wei Ying was left with Lan Xichen and with fire burning in his veins. From the look of Lan Xichen—The hungry eyes, the slightly tented crease at his hip level—he was hungry. And Wei Ying was a meal made for him.

“My Liege.” His voice was rough and gravely, and it shook Wei Ying to his core.

“I was Wei Ying not too long ago.” Wei Ying tried to quip, yet saw the fire that fed instead.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Xichen’s voice spoke of promises, of burning nights and blistering mornings.

Wei Ying shifted from side to side, debating just how much he would need to bribe the Fates to allow him to disappear into the dirt under him. He didn’t entertain that thought though, instead standing up and brushing at his chiton skirt. He was glad that he had decided to wear his knee-length one today, as his normal one would definitely give away too much.

“Wei. Ying.” Lan Xichen’s hand reached out, and Wei Ying quickly slapped it away from his thigh.

“We get to the palace first.” Wei Ying said, answering the confused and hurt look Lan Xichen had given him. “So Wangji knows where to find us.” He swallowed once, shifting his eyes to the sight of Elysium. “You can do what you want with me, once we get there.”

The frantic sound of rustling fabric met his ears, and he nearly fell on his ass when the fabric under his feet was yanked out from under him. His indignant squawk met avoidant ears, Lan Xichen draped in his long fabric already. His wings were already flapping, building up a breeze.

“Well?” Lan Xichen’s eyes had a mischievous glint in them which melted into a challenging one. “Another race, Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying’s wings flapped once, his anxiety draining and giving way to excitement. “Oh you bet.” His wings flapped once more, launching him into the air. He heard a whoop of laughter behind him, followed by frantic flapping wings.

Good thing Wei Ying’s were made for flight.

Their touch down at the front of the palace was frantic. Wei Ying tried to dash inside before Lan Xichen found his balance, yet felt himself yanked back just as fast.

He was pressed against the rock outside, his back flush against the cold stone. It only served to show how hot his skin was, his blood pumping fast and hard. His hands were gathered together and pressed above his head, and his mouth was descended on hungrily.

Wei Ying’s world slowed and sped up, focused entirely on the press of flesh and slide of fabric. A moan rang out in his ears, and he felt Lan Xichen’s lips disconnect from his own. Heavy pants brushed across his face, and his eyes slid open to lock on Lan Xichen’s own molten eyes.

“Wei Ying.” He murmured, and Wei Ying could feel the brushing of lips as he spoke. “Wei Ying, you have tempted us for so long.”

Wei Ying smirked, or tried to. He shifted his hips, and his hard cock brushed against the rough fabric of his chiton. His lips tingled, aching in their loneliness. “Can you really tempt something, if you never think you can have it?”

Lips descended on his once more, pulling a moan from his throat. A tongue brushed against his bottom lip, probing and gentle. Wei Ying obliged and parted his lips, unsteady at this new form of need. A tongue tangled with his, and his hips rushed forward begging for contact.

Hands were pressed hard on his hips, and Wei Ying’s body was manhandled into place. His legs settled on either side of a leg, and the next time Wei Ying’s hips rushed up they were met with a grind of their own.

Wei Ying broke the kiss, throwing his head back as a cry of pleasure left his lips. Lan Xichen took the opportunity to pepper his way down Wei Ying’s throat. The hand on his hip kept him rocking forward, and the pleasure pulsing in his veins was near overwhelming.

“Ah!” A bite against the side of his neck caused him to cry out, his hips rolling a few times on their own violation. Wei Ying’s face grew bright red, yet Lan Xichen only chuckled.

“Wangji will love that.” His head raised just enough for Wei Ying to lock eyes with him. “He has a thing with biting.”

Wei Ying’s head fell back, and laughter rumbled against his throat. He tried to tug his hands free from where they were pinned, yet was met with another bite in return.

Wei Ying whined low in his throat, and was met with another laugh from Lan Xichen. He felt the hand on his hip hike him up a little higher, and under impulse, Wei Ying wrapped his right leg around Lan Xichen’s waist.

Immediately the change in grinding was made obvious. A press against himself that he wasn't ready for. His hunger for more was building, his hands tugging more at the single hand keeping him still.

“A—Ah..” The idea that this godling over him, this fresh little Divine, was able to hold him down and move him as he wished—His cock pulsed in need. Being pressed into stone, made to beg, showed how small he was in the might of this other person’s power—it flooded him with need. He needed this, he needed it, he was so very close— “Close, Gege. Close—”

“You’re going to cum like this?” Lan Xichen whispered into his ear, managing to be both encouraging and dissatisfied at the same time. “Riding my leg and whining like a bitch in heat?”

“Xichen-ge…”Wei Ying whined, his hips thrusting rapidly against Lan Xichen’s. He was just there, so very close. He just needed a push. Just a little bit more—

Lips smashed against his own, slamming his head against the stone painfully. His head throbbed and ached, pain blistering out behind his eyes.

Yet it didn’t matter, as his vision was already covered. His body shook under the hands that held him up, jerking softly. Whimpers spilled out from behind his lips, words tumbling out. Most nonsense, but some understandable as Lan Xichen’s own name.

His hips thrusted a few more times, chasing the lingering pleasure once more. When his body calmed, his eyes slid open. They met soft delighted ones, tainted in wonder.

“You’re beautiful.” Lan Xichen murmured. He seemed wonderstruck, and Wei Ying was confused why.

“Hm?”

“Beautiful.” Lan Xichen bent his head down, and Wei Ying tilted his head up just enough to meet his lips.

His leg dropped down to the floor, and the uncomfortably sticky front of his chiton brushed against his skin. His wrists were also released, and Lan Xichen rubbed at the red marks apologetically.

They parted after a few moments, Wei Ying having offered to help with the problem Lan Xichen had. Lan Xichen had merely smiled at him, nudging him down onto a seat.

“No thank you, Wei Ying.” Lan Xichen said, settling himself beside Wei Ying on the steps leading up to the palace. “I will wait for Wangji.”

Wei Ying hummed in disapproval, yet leaned against his shoulder and stared out at the empty darkness of the Underworld. The sticky front of his chiton was getting irritating, and he cast a loathful glance down at it. The stain disappeared in a mere moment, leaving him with clean fabric and a better sense of comfort.

They sat for a few minutes in silence, the faint rushing of Styx giving them something to listen to. The sound of wingbeats eventually reached Wei Ying’s ears, and he sat up fully to listen better.

“I'm not supposed to be here! I—There’s a war! I’m not supposed to be here!”

Wei Ying did not recognize the voice, and from Lan Xichen’s furrowed brow, neither did he.

Lan Wangji finally came into view, and Wei Ying’s breath caught in his throat. His normally clean and tidy Divine was speckled in blood, his face smeared in it. Flesh hung off of his arms and in his hair, and his aura was filled with danger. His eyes were glowing a bright golden color, almost illuminating his path.

But it wasn’t the sight of Lan Wangji that drew Wei Ying to a stand still. No, it was the fact that Lan Wangji held a man by the wrist. The man’s body was severely mangled, appendages missing. There was a large chunk out of the side of his waist, and Wei Ying could see right through his organs.

Lan Wangji landed down in front of him, the mangled body standing still on its own. Even without a leg, it seemed to balance fine on its own.

“My King.” Lan Wangji bowed his head, his hair sliding forward over his shoulder and dripping gore against the soil. “A soul.”

Wei Ying had judged the soul quickly, right then and there outside of the palace. He was stunned, but he couldn’t help the growing pride in his chest. The moment the soul had been sent to its place—Elysium, since he died in battle—Wei Ying had walked up to Lan Wangji and hovered his hands over his chest.

“Let me—” Wei Ying cut himself off and gestured around himself dismissively. “Let me see you, come here.”

Lan Wangji stepped one step closer to him, their chests nearly brushing. If Lan Wangji saw the marks on his neck from Lan Xichen, Wei Ying would not know, but the sudden stiffening of Lan Wangji’s body got his attention.

“Knock the horny down for a moment.” Wei Ying murmured, pressing his hand down onto Lan Wangji’s chest and sending a pulse of magic into him. “Wait for me to finish checking you over, then you can become a horny fiend as much as you like.”

Hands placed themselves on Wei Ying’s hips and kept him in place as he dived into his magic.

“Mark your words.”

Wei Ying winked, closing his eyes afterwards to give the magic his full attention.

His magic first checked for any wounds, pulsing across Lan Wangji’s body and diving into every crease of skin. When he confirmed there were no wounds, he dove into Lan Wangji’s magic. His own brushed against the magical core inside of Lan Wangji, a barely-there caress against the protected area.

Instead of getting pushed away, Wei Ying’s magic was pulled in greedily. Inside, the magic was unstoppable, roiling, coiling around Wei Ying and pulling him in further. It was wicked and quick, protective and hateful. It was all the bad and all the good, and yet none of that at all.

At the very center of his magic lay a sword, stained in blood. It drip drip drip’d against the surface Wei Ying found himself standing on, yet the blood did not stay on the floor for long. Around it, chains had been wrapped. The sword was imprisoned inside of him, locked away from the eyes of any prying person.

It was the manifestation of Lan Wangji’s rage, of his bloodlust. Of his powers.

As he approached, the sword seemed to shudder. The pale blade seemed to gravitate towards him, and Wei Ying reached out a hand. The moment his hand touched the handle, the chains gave way. (In the physical realm, Wei Ying heard a loud gasp. A cry of someone’s name. Pressure against his arm.)

The blade glistened in his hand, bright and white against his normally dark tones. He raised the blade and looked for an inscription or a name of some sort.

‘Bichen’ was engraved on it, and he said it out loud.

“Bichen.” He pulled his magic away, tugging the glowing sword along with him. He felt resistance, at first. But it quickly melted away to submission. He pulled his left hand away from Lan Wangji’s chest and opened his eyes, taking in the shaking figure of Lan Wangji and his worried brother.

In his right hand lay a glowing sword, dripping in blood.

Wei Ying’s whole body shuddered, but he raised the blade and rested it across both hands. He presented it to Lan Wangji, his head bowed over it.

“Here, Lan Wangji.”

“What is it?” Lan Wangji asked, his voice threaded with uncertainty and unease.

“You.” He pressed his hands forward, urging Lan Wangji to take it. “A manifestation of your powers. With it, you are stronger.”

Lan Wangji’s hand hovered over the hilt, his eyes lit with uncertainty still. “Do I need to be stronger?”

Wei Ying dropped his eyes back to the glowing blade, most of the moist blood already dropped off. All that was left on it was the dried remainders of it.

“With this, you could leave if you wanted to. The Underworld, that is.”

Lan Wangji’s hand settled on the hilt, and Wei Ying’s stomach dropped. He kept his smile up, but the idea that leaving had been what convinced him to take the sword—it hurt. It stung the hope that had begun to fester inside of him.

“Then I will take it.” Lan Wangji swung the blade twice, Wei Ying assumed it was to get used to the blade. “Only to prove that I will not leave.”

Wei Ying’s breath lodged in his throat, blocking whatever words he tried to say.

For the second time that day, Wei Ying felt like crying. For the second time that day, a tear fell down his cheek and landed on the sheer—albeit bloodstained—fabric of Lan Wangji’s chiton.

Wei Ying’s lips, however, split wide into a grin. It was ecstatic, open mouthed. His glee was vibrant, and it felt all empowering. He looked up at Lan Wangji’s eyes, a tear spilling over his cheek.

“You have a lot to prove, then.” Wei Ying quipped back, his hands grasping at Lan Wangji’s chiton.

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji’s head bent forward and his free hand slid behind Wei Ying’s head. He was pulled up into a gentle kiss, so innocent and loving in its entirety. It welled in his heart and overflowed into his body, leaving him mush under Lan Wangji’s hand.

It didn’t take long for Lan Wangji to make due with his promise from the banks of Lethe. They had only just split from their gentle kiss when Lan Xichen had pressed against Lan Wangji’s back.

“Wangji.” Wei Ying pulled his head back, catching sight of lips caressing flesh. “Dear brother, you should see how our King looks in the throes of pleasure.”

“Mn?” Lan Wangji’s head tilted to the side, a kiss pressed against the side of Lan Xichen’s face.

“Mn.” Lan Xichen’s lips raised, pressing flush against Lan Wangji’s.

Wei Ying could see a brief flash of tongue, and he felt warmth pooling in his stomach once more. He tried to pull back, to give the brothers a moment together, yet the hand that cupped his head fisted in his hair. It pulled a loud moan from Wei Ying’s lips, his eyes half-lidded.

The slick slide of lips against lips ceased, and through Wei Ying’s slitted eyes he could see the look Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen shared. The hand tightened in his hair and it pulled another low moan from Wei Ying, his knees weakening.

“You like that, Wei Ying?” Lan Xichen asked, his hand slid over Lan Wangji’s shoulder and slipped into his hair as well. It fisted against his scalp, and Wei Ying felt like—in that very moment—their holds on his hair was the only thing keeping him up.

Wei Ying tried to nod his head, but it just tugged at the hands in his hair.

“Use your words, Wei Ying.” Lan Xichen’s eyes flashed in challenge, and Wei Ying wanted to meet that challenge himself. A want to rebel ran alongside his need to follow this command, and he chose to obey instead of fight against it.

“Yes. I—” He swallowed around the moisture that filled his mouth. “I like it. A lot.”

“Is that so?” The smirk that settled on Lan Xichen’s lips unsettled Wei Ying in a very delicious way. “I'm sure Wangji and I can do something with that, can’t we?”

One of the hands slid from his hair, settling on the nape of his neck. His scalp tingled where his hair had been fisted, but the warmth in Lan Wangji’s settled the ache. “Mn.” Lan Wangji’s eyes were like molten honey. “We can.”

The next few minutes was a blur of lips and feathers. Lan Wangji kissed him hard, pushed him back into the palace. Lan Xichen walked in front of them, guiding them where they needed to go. His hand in Wei Ying’s hair acted as an anchor, keeping him steady in this sea of new sensations. He only knew of what he was in that moment—A man, crumbled to his basest instincts.

It took a few stumbled turns, his lips being pulled away from Lan Wangji more than a few times, before they reached the brothers’ room. He was pulled away from Lan Wangji roughly, pulled up to Lan Xichen’s eyes and then his lips. The harsh grip in his hair loosened, but the relief was short lived. Another hand snuck into his hair, and while it didn’t fist immediately, the threat was enough to cause Wei Ying’s legs to shake.

“You submit to Brother well.” Lan Wangji murmured into his ear, and Wei Ying felt his body press up against his own. He didn’t focus too hard on it, though. Lan Xichen kissed his sanity away, and he happily took all he was willing to give.

Wei Ying’s hands pressed flat against Lan Xichen’s chest, one hand on flesh and the other pressed against silky fabric. He wanted it gone. The fabric. He wanted it gone.

His hands scrambled up, unlatching the cloud broach keeping Lan Xichen’s chiton up. He felt the fabric fall, unraveling from Lan Xichen and pooling on the floor. His hands explored the flesh given to him now, danced between the valley between his pecs and down the grooves of his abdomen. They circled around to his back and grasped at the smooth skin, traveled along ragged scars.

His hands were pulled away, his lips disconnected from Lan Xichen as an arm wrapped around his chest. Rough hands tugged at the top of his chiton, at the rings that kept his chiton up and on him.

“Off.” Murmured a thick voice behind him, and Wei Ying shuddered under the power that tone held.

He reached up with shaking fingers and wrestled with the metal ring, his irritation growing as it continued to get stuck.

“Fuck it.” Wei Ying hissed out, ready to rip off the whole damn outfit.

A hand grabbed at his hands, and he turned his head just enough to lock eyes with Lan Wangji.

“I can fuck you with it on.” Lan Wangji murmured, his eyes molten with desire.

Wei Ying’s stomach shuddered, and he felt himself respond to that very assertive response. His cock, which had been sluggish to join the party, was suddenly very much interested in that idea.

(His mind supplied an image—Him, bent over the arm of his throne, his chiton skirt thrown up just enough for his ass to be exposed. He was being fucked on one side, and on the other end of the throne, his mouth was stuffed full with the other brother’s cock. His head was held down, and the only real time he got air was when his hips were pulled back, and he was able to take down a gasp of air before his mouth was pressed into once more—)

Wei Ying pushed himself back against the solid body behind him and an arm reached up and behind him and cupped the back of Lan Wangji’s head.

“Can you?” He smirked and pressed his ass back further, the feel of a hard thing slotted between his cloth-covered cheeks.

His hips were grabbed then, pulled back harsh as he was pressed into from behind. “Mn.”

“Didi, share him.” Greedy hands grabbed at Wei Ying’s sleeves, and he was pulled away from Lan Wangji’s needy hands.

“You had him already, Gege.” Lan Wangji’s hands tried to grab at Wei Ying and pull him back.

“Mine is easier to take first.” Lan Xichen pushed him down hard, and he bounced on the bed a few times before settling. His wings tinged at the sudden weight being pushed onto them, yet he ignored the discomfort as Lan Xichen crawled on top of him in all his naked glory. His eyes travelled along the planes of his body, resting at the member rubbing against his stomach.

Lan Wangji didn’t voice any complaints, and Wei Ying felt the bed dip near his head. His eyes raised from Lan Xichen’s abs and throbbing cock, and locked eyes with Lan Wangji. He reached up his hand, ready to cup it around his cheek and pull him down into a kiss, but his hands were grabbed and pinned in Lan Wangji’s lap.

His knuckles brushed along something warm and rigid, and he wrapped his fingers around it. It throbbed in his hand, and his momentary confusion flew away. Wei Ying tried to move his hands, to stroke at the cock in his hand, yet the grip on his wrists tightened.

Lan Wangji’s eyes were half-lidded, and there was a threat deep in his irises. The hands on Wei Ying’s wrists traveled up to his hands, wrapping around them and tightening the hold he had on Lan Wangji’s cock through the fabric. They squeezed around his hand twice before returning to Wei Ying’s wrists and moving them to rest against the bed.  

While Lan Wangji had distracted Wei Ying, Lan Xichen had managed to slip off the metal girdle Wei Ying used to keep the bottom half of his chiton up. The back of his chiton felt looser, and as Wei Ying’s hips were turned each way to slide the girdle off, the back of his chiton went slack. It could be taken off now, if the brothers had wanted to. But they kept him clothed.

Lan Xichen flipped up the ends of his chiton, pushing it up to rest near his armpits. His lower stomach and below was exposed to the cool air, and the feeling of a hand wrapping around his own cock jolted Wei Ying’s body.

The myths told tales of his sexual adventures, but Wei Ying was merely an untouched man. The feeling of someone else’s skin against his own—it brought him to a stop, his breath shuddering out.

“M—More.” He demanded, thrusting his hips up.

A hand pressed his hips down flush onto the bed, and Lan Xichen smirked up at him. “I don’t believe you’re in the position to make demands, My Liege.”

Wei Ying gave a high pitched whine and attempted to thrust back up. Yet he was well and truly pinned down. His cock gave an interested twitch, his head thrown back to rest against a muscled thigh.

Slick sounds met Wei Ying’s ears, and each stroke was punctuated with a needy whine from Wei Ying’s lips.

“Please—” He begged, turning his head to mouth at Lan Wangji’s thigh. “Xichen-ge, please— It feels so good, Xichen-ge—”

Lan Xichen tightened his grip, and the next time his hand reached Wei Ying’s tip, his finger swiped over and rubbed at the head. It cut off Wei Ying’s words, his hips jerking harshly against Lan Xichen’s hold.

He felt so close, and the feeling of hands rubbing and squeezing at him drawing stuttered gasps from his lips. “Ge— Ge, i'm so close, just a little more, please—”

The rubbing stopped, fingers tight and restrictive against the base of his cock. It caused him to cry out loudly, the first of many sobs ripped out from his mouth.

He heard the sliding of fabric and felt a small piece of fabric being wrapped around the base of his member. By the time Wei Ying looked down to see what Lan Xichen was doing, he had already tied it off.

Wei Ying tried to thrust up and find release, but Lan Xichen wouldn’t let him move.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Xichen leaned over him, and Wei Ying could see just how hungry his gaze was. “You can’t cum until Wangji and I have had our fill.” A smirk was on Lan Xichen’s lips, and Wei Ying felt like prey in its presence. “Do I make myself clear?”

Wei Ying nodded, tears welling and spilling down his cheeks.

“Use your words, Wei Ying.” His tone sounded satisfied.

“Y—Yes, Xichen-ge.” Wei Ying had to swallow a few times, but he eventually got his words out.

“Good boy.” Wei Ying’s cock pulsed, and he was unable to prevent the needy noise from slipping out of his mouth.

Lan Xichen seemed to mentally note that down, his eyebrow raising just enough to tell Wei Ying that he heard it.

Wei Ying felt a hand begin to run through his hair and he tilted his head back, locking eyes once more with Lan Wangji. His eyes looked hungry, and Wei Ying wanted to help him, but his hips were pinned down, his hands in Lan Wangji’s grip. He was well and thoroughly pinned, completely under their command.

“Tears look good in your eyes.” Lan Wangji leaned down, and pressed a fleeting kiss against Wei Ying’s forehead.

Wei Ying swallowed, looking down at Lan Wangji’s lap before locking eyes with him once more.

“Ignore that.” Lan Wangji pet his hair once more, his touch so very gentle. “Can deal with that later. Focus on Gege.”

Wei Ying nodded and dragged his eyes away from Lan Wangji’s and immediately locked them with Lan Xichen’s. Whose face was… Very close to his.

“Lan Xi—”

Dissatisfaction reflected back from Lan Xichen’s eyes, and Wei Ying cut himself off.

“Do not distance yourself from me now.” Lan Xichen leaned down, his nose brushed against Wei Ying’s. “I was just Xichen-ge a few minutes ago. Now I am Lan Xichen again?”

Wei Ying heard the teasing note, yet fell for it all the same. Maybe he was in an indulging mood.

“Xichen-ge.” He murmured, and was given a kiss in return.

A hand trailed down from Wei Ying’s hip to between his legs, and Wei Ying tensed. He knew, theoretically, what happened between two males when they had penetrative sexual intercourse, but it had never been done to him before. He tried to close his legs, yet Lan Xichen’s leg kept his slightly parted.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Xichen pulled his hand away, and Wei Ying saw the lust drain from his eyes. They became filled with worry instead, and Wei Ying was hit was a lungful of guilt. “Are you okay?”

“I—” Wei Ying cleared his throat, coughing against Lan Wangji’s thigh. “I— uhm. I’ve… Never done. This.” He gestured with his chin towards their lower halves. “This. Stuff. With uhm… A man. Or woman.”

His cheeks were flaming, yet the possessive flash of greed that tainted Lan Xichen’s eyes told a different story all together.

“Is that so?” Lan Xichen ran his hand up from between Wei Ying’s legs and brushed his hand along Wei Ying’s waist. “Never?”

Wei Ying shook his head.

“Have you explored yourself, then?”

Wei Ying shook his head once more, but more hesitantly. “I have… Stroked myself to completion a few times. But not in a long while.”

Lan Xichen hummed, yet his hand stayed placed on his hip. “Do you wish to try this? Taking Wangji and I?” He tilted his head to the side, and Wei Ying’s heart was filling up rapidly. “You don’t need to. You can say no. We will stop.”

Wei Ying struggled against Lan Wangji’s grip on his wrists, and felt the tightness give way. He reached out with his arms, lightning quick, and wrapped them around Lan Xichen’s neck. He pulled the man down, ducking his head to rest against his neck.

“Your worry just proves how right of a choice I made, Xichen-ge.” He murmured, his face pressed against Lan Xichen’s rapid pulse point. “If I truly don’t want you or Wangji to do something, I will tell you. If you go too far, I will stop you. Do not worry.” Wei Ying pulled back, cupping a hand against Lan Xichen’s cheek. “I trust you, Xichen-ge. You and Wangji both.”

Wei Ying leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Lan Xichen’s lips, which started off simple and slow but quickly divulged into a hungry craving mess. His hands were pulled back once more, this time pinned in one hand. When Wei Ying pulled away to see why, a thin fabric was pressed against his wrists. It was the same fabric that was wrapped around Wei Ying’s cock, and it took him a moment to place what it was.

It was their forehead ribbons.

He struggled to get his hands away, but the look Lan Wangji gave him stopped him in his tracks. The ribbon was wrapped a few times, then tied off securely. Lan Wangji then stuck a finger between each coil of the ribbon, wiggling it around.

“Enough room?” Lan Wangji asked, and Wei Ying nodded. “Good.”

Lan Wangji pulled him up, and Wei Ying yelped at the sudden shift in position. His wings were draped on either side of Lan Wangji’s lap, and his head was propped on his chest. It would be an uncomfortable position to lay in for long, but Lan Wangji shifted around behind him. They eventually both reclined the slightest bit, enough so there would not be any strain against his back and shoulders.

Lan Xichen watched on with amusement in his eyes, and Wei Ying rolled his own at that.

“So far away, Xichen-ge?” Wei Ying teased and fluttered his eyes like he had seen the feminine spirits do. “Only looking?”

Lan Wangji’s hands, both on his hips now that Wei Ying’s hands were thrown around his neck, tightened against his hips. “Do not tease brother.”

Lan Xichen’s hands returned to his hips, but they trailed down his legs instead of going between them. Wei Ying was unsure what was going on at first, until Lan Xichen bent down and pressed a kiss against his left ankle. Then he was just more confused.

“Xichen-ge?” Wei Ying asked, shifting his leg away from Lan Xichen’s grasp—or attempting to, that is.

Lan Xichen tightened his grasp on Wei Ying’s foot, and Wei Ying was forced to watch as kisses were placed along his calve and across his knee.

“Wei Ying deserves to be worshipped.” Is all that Lan Xichen replied with, and Wei Ying felt those tears from earlier return.

A kiss was pressed against the bend of his knee. “Wei Ying is kind.” One against the outside of his thigh. “Wei Ying is thoughtful.” One against the top of his thigh. “Wei Ying is loving.” A kiss against the outside of his hips. “Wei Ying is benevolent.” Kisses were trailed along his abdomen. “Wei Ying is compassionate.” A kiss against his right hip. “Wei Ying is stubborn.”

“Xichen-ge, I get it, you can stop now.” Wei Ying tried to pull his leg away again, but his protests fell on deaf ears.

A kiss against his right outer thigh. “Wei Ying is generous.” A kiss against his inner thigh. “Wei Ying is unshakeable.”

“I—I highly doubt that, Xichen-ge, I feel pretty shakeable right now.”

A kiss against the bend of his knee. “Wei Ying is persevering.”

A few more kisses were placed along the rest of Wei Ying’s right leg, compliments whispered into his skin, but Wei Ying could not hear them. He sniffled loudly, and his heart was beating out of his chest.

“Most importantly.” Lan Xichen sat up and leaned over Wei Ying’s prone body, his eyes alight with adoration. “Wei Ying is our King. Our kind, benevolent, amazing King. We love him, so very much.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying tried to laugh it off, his head turned to the side. But having heard praise for the first time in so long—his heart felt too full.

“I already said yes to being bedded by you, you don't need to keep seducing me.” He tried to joke, but a sigh was heard from behind him. Lan Wangji’s arms rose from his hips to wrap tightly around his chest. He didn’t say anything, but Wei Ying understood the sentiment.

He shifted a little bit, awkward in the face of these compliments when he was so exposed.

Lan Xichen took pity on him and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Wei Ying does not need to accept it, just know that is how we feel. Make no mistake—We adore you, Wei Ying. So very much.”

He traveled back down Wei Ying’s body, and Wei Ying was both so happy and so sad about that at the same time. He wanted more kisses, but he also wanted to experience this with them—whatever this is. This love, this passion, this need.

He propped up one of his legs and hooked it over one of Lan Wangji’s, his legs spread wide. He kept his head turned away, yet heard the sharp intake of breath.

“Go on then.” Wei Ying murmured as he stared at the wall, his cheeks burning as if on fire from the Phlegethon itself.

“Oh, I shall.”

A weight settled against Wei Ying’s hips, and warmth surrounded his cock in one fell swoop. It startled a loud cry of Wei Ying’s lips, and he threw back his head hard against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He buried his head in Lan Wangji’s neck, stifling his cries of pleasure as he suckled marks into Lan Wangji’s skin.

Lan Xichen seemed disappointed to not hear his moans, but got over it quickly. His hands travelled back between Wei Ying’s legs, and he felt a finger rub at his entrance. It was dry, though, with no lubrication to help it along. So it just brushed a few times before drifting away.

The warmth on his member disappeared, replaced with the cool air of the Underworld. It mingled with the spit, causing a harsh shudder to travel down Wei Ying’s spine.  

“Didi,” Lan Xichen began, his hand held out expectantly to him. “the oil, please.”

Lan Wangji let go of Wei Ying for a moment, and Wei Ying felt himself being s t r e t c h e d as Lan Wangji reached for the oil on the bedside table. He was happily situated back in place eventually, and Lan Xichen was given the oil to do with as he pleased.

Wei Ying’s cock had been quickly swallowed down again, yet this time when a finger pressed against his entrance, it was slick and able to slide slightly in. His hips began to pull away, and the uncomfortable feeling was not something Wei Ying was used to. He whined at the cold oil, at the stretch, at the unease.

“It will get better.” Lan Wangji murmured into his ear, and Wei Ying returned his head to the curve of his neck. “Give Gege a moment. He makes it easy.”

Wei Ying did as he was told, his eyes fell shut against the warmth of the neck he was pressed against. He forced his body to relax against the intrusion, and the mouth on his cock really helped matters along. In hindsight, it probably also helped that Lan Xichen had seen how he reacted and had kept his finger still.

When Wei Ying felt settled enough, he pushed down against the finger. It shifted in him, and the feeling was… Odd. Not bad, but nothing to be too excited about. He didn’t expect to really like it all too much, if this is all sex was.

Lan Xichen pumped his finger in time with his mouth, but besides the fact that Lan Xichen was currently sucking him off, there was no real pleasure.

That idea changed, though, as Lan Xichen pushed in a second finger. It felt like too much, like he would burst. But it also pushed something else into him. A hunger. It didn’t feel amazing, but the idea that he can take something in there—He wanted more.

He began to roll his hips in time with Lan Xichen’s thrusts, and they seemed to find a decent rhythm. It felt too easy, like Wei Ying was missing something he wasn't privy to, but both Lan’s were. He knew something about this must feel amazing, why else would they both cry out in pleasure during their nights together.

He opened his mouth to ask the question, and it seemed that was the moment Lan Xichen’s finger brushed across something inside of him. It pulled a loud yelping moan from him, stars bursting behind his eyelids.

“Found it.” Lan Xichen sounded prideful, and Wei Ying could understand why. If that is what sex is about—

Lan Xichen began to attack that spot with a vengeance, and Wei Ying didn’t even notice when two fingers became three. His mind was a rush of pleasure, of gasps and pleads. He felt himself getting so close. He was so close to release, he just wanted to cum so bad.

“X—Xichen-ge—” He gasped out, each breath punctuated with a gasping whine. “X-Xichen-ge, ple—Ah! Please!”

Just before he felt like he could cum, ribbon be damned, the mouth pulled off of him and the fingers slipped out.

He cried out in frustration, his heels dug deep into the bed. “Xichen!” He cried out, his hips thrusting into empty air.

Chuckles met Wei Ying’s ears, and he whined even louder. Besides the chuckles, they sat in complete silence. They waited until Wei Ying wasn’t so close to the edge, and then his leg that was not thrown over Lan Wangji’s leg was picked up and placed on Lan Xichen’s hip.

Something blunt was pressed against Wei Ying’s entrance, and Lan Xichen leaned over him. His hands were placed on either side of Lan Wangji’s chest, just slightly above where Wei Ying’s wings pressed against the bed. He hiked Wei Ying’s leg up higher against his hip and adjusted his grip before he began to sink in.

Wei Ying threw back his head as his hands scrambled for purchase from where they were pinned between Lan Wangji’s back and the bed. A whine leaked from his lips, and Lan Xichen’s groan echoed in his ears.

It felt like an eternity until Lan Xichen bottomed out, but the stillness when he did was unsettling. He wanted him to move, to press into him, to push and pull Wei Ying as he saw fit.

“Xichen-ge, please move.” Wei Ying pleaded, his hips rolled. “I am not getting any younger.”

Lan Xichen chuckled softly, yet he leaned down and pressed a kiss against Wei Ying’s lips. As their lips were pressed together, he pulled out until the tip was barely in him. He snapped his hips forward, and Wei Ying’s world shifted focus. His focus was not on his kingdom—no, it was on this. This carnal push and pull of flesh, of being filled.

Each pull out was life changing, and each push in filled him was reason. It felt like too much emotion was being put into this carnal desire, but it felt right. Like this is what he was meant to be. A warm hole, made for these two to rest inside of.

“Come back to me, A-Ying.” Lan Xichen murmured, one of his hands cupping Wei Ying’s cheeks. “Get out of your mind, and pay attention to me instead.”

Wei Ying whined, but did as Lan Xichen requested. He dropped his thoughts away, and only felt in the moment.

Lan Xichen smirked at that, and one of his legs was thrown over Lan Xichen’s shoulder. He leaned forward once more and bent Wei Ying in half. His thrusts picked up pace, and from the gasping breaths and rapidly forming sweat, Wei Ying felt like he was close.

“Xichen-ge.” He murmured as he pulled his arms out from under Lan Wangji and draped them around Lan Xichen’s neck. “Xichen-ge fills A-Ying so good.” Wei Ying moaned as that spot from before was slammed into hard, his vision going blurry.

Lan Xichen tilted his head forward, and his hair draped across Wei Ying’s head and obscured his vision of the room. All he could see was Lan Xichen, all he could feel was him, all he could smell was him.

“Fill me up, Gege.” He tightened his arms and pulled Lan Xichen in for a sloppy openmouthed kiss. He swallowed each moan that escaped Lan Xichen’s lips.

Lan Xichen’s hips sped up, and each thrust hit that place inside him that made his muscles tingle. Warmth was building low in his stomach, and he wanted so desperately to cum. He tightened around Lan Xichen, the warmth both cresting and hitting a wall. His own cock jerked, yet he didn’t cum. He was left sobbing out in Lan Xichen’s arms, against his lips.

Even as he sobbed and wished for release, Lan Xichen continued to fill him up. Each pump slammed him against that wall, and it was such an ecstatic pain.

“A-Ying.” Lan Xichen hissed out as he gave a final few pumps as warmth flooded Wei Ying’s lower half.

He felt full, but he craved more. He rolled his hips a few more times, whining up to Lan Xichen.

“More, Xichen-ge.” He murmured, tightening around the rapidly softening cock inside him. “Still hungry.”

Lan Xichen huffed and tilted his head down, a kiss pressed against Wei Ying’s forehead. “Wangji is hungry too.”

Wei Ying perked back up immediately and tilted his head back. He locked eyes with Lan Wangji, whose eyes were completely overtaken with lust.  Wei Ying felt his body shudder, and the shudder only seemed to egg on Lan Wangji.

“Have fun.” Lan Xichen whispered into his ear and nipped at the side of his neck. “He’s a very hungry man. You can’t cum until he’s finished with you.”

Wei Ying pouted and stuck his bottom lip out. “Xichen-ge.”  His feathers fluffed up, accentuating his pout.

Lan Xichen smirked at him and tugged his arms up from his neck. He spun Wei Ying around, so he faced Lan Wangji, and settled his arms around his neck once more.

“Want him like this, Didi?” Lan Xichen asked, his hand having slipped between Wei Ying’s legs. He pushed a finger inside of him, and Wei Ying whined into his ear.

“No.” Lan Wangji grabbed at Wei Ying’s hips, pulling him up. “On his knees.”

Wei Ying heard some rustling, and felt the finger get pulled out of him. He felt something begin to leak from him, yet he didn’t have to think too long on his leaking asshole. He was manhandled around, first onto his stomach then onto his knees. His face was pressed against Lan Xichen’s shoulder, and he used it to bury his head into.

A weight settled behind him, and warm hands grabbed at his hips once more. He was pulled as far back as he could go, his tied wrists flush against the back of Lan Xichen’s neck.

He was about to ask what Lan Wangji was doing when a hand settled in his hair. It fisted against his scalp, and it was the only warning he got before he was pulled back hard. Pulled back onto a waiting cock.

A yelp echoed out from Wei Ying’s lips as Lan Wangji slid in, and his wings flexed in the open air. They settled back against the mattress after a moment, but it seemed to give Lan Wangji an idea.

Lan Wangji released his hair after he bottomed out, and Wei Ying had assumed that would be the rest of it.

Hands were placed on the juncture of his wings and back, and he felt the grip tighten. An experimental push was given to him, and he felt his body rock forward involuntarily. A slight pull  was all that was needed to pull him back onto Lan Wangji’s cock hard.

Lan Wangji continued to use his wings as leverage, and the wet slap of skin on skin echoed in Wei Ying’s ears. His wings were throbbing and were screaming at him, but his body was encased in heat.

“Didi—” Wei Ying gasped out, tugging against the ribbon hard. Lan Wangji gave a particularly hard thrust after that, which drew a loud high pitched whine from him.  “Didi, do you like this?” He tossed a look over his shoulder and locked eyes with Lan Wangji’s molten ones. “Do you like fucking something your brother already did? Do you like your Xichen-ge’s sloppy seconds?”

A hair raising growl echoed out behind Wei Ying, and he felt his wings get released. He was thrown off of Lan Wangji’s member, thrown harshly against Lan Xichen’s chest.

“Untie his hands, Gege.” Lan Wangji hissed out, and Lan Xichen was quick to comply.

The look Lan Xichen gave Wei Ying—it looked pitiful and amused. The ribbon gave way quickly, and the red marks caught Lan Xichen’s eyes. He pressed a fleeting kiss against them before relinquishing Wei Ying to Lan Wangji’s full power.

Wei Ying felt hands grab at his hips, and he was pushed into all fours. The ribbon slipped around his neck and was tied off with shaking hands. The moment of softness was quickly covered with harsh need. He was shoved onto his back, one of his wings getting crushed under his weight.

Lan Wangji bore down on him and grabbed both of his legs, tossed them over his shoulder and bent down to sneer in his face.

“Gege may have fucked you first,” Lan Wangji began, his normally calm face completely warped into one of furious lust. “But I'll be the one to breed you.”

He pulled out nearly all the way before he slammed down hard, and Wei Ying felt the bed bounce. One of his hands scrambled for purchase across the bed sheets while his other hand covered his mouth in attempts to hide his loud cries.

Lan Wangji seemed irritated at that, his mouth biting harsh marks across Wei Ying’s skin. Each thrust was punctuated with a new sting of a bite mark and a loud cry of pleasure from Wei Ying.

His world became a mix of push, bite, pull, moan. His cock throbbed, but his body already knew not to expect release. More than once, he felt liquid spill inside of him. But after the first time, he fell into a haze of need and pleasure.

At one point, Wei Ying was sure he had cum from just Lan Wangji’s thrusting alone, but he physically couldn’t have.

When they did allow him to cum though, hours after they first tied him off to begin with, he was sobbing for a solid ten minutes. Just sobbing, and shaking, and crying.

Lan Xichen held him against his chest the whole time as Lan Wangji laid behind him. They laid there until Wei Ying was ready for a round—Well. Whichever round they were up to then.

Chapter Text

Wei Ying awoke to his back being rubbed and a gentle voice talking above him. He whined for them to quiet down and pressed his head against the soft pillow under him. But his pillow wasn’t soft. And it was moving. Rhythmically.

He sat up fast and his hands scrambled to close his chiton up, his eyes barely cleared from the sleep that smeared them.

They cleared a little when he blinked, but what truly drew him short was the confused and tired blinking of Lan Xichen’s eyes. He looked like he had just woken up, as if Wei Ying jumping up had woken him.

Wei Ying opened his mouth to apologize before a hand settled against his back once more. His head whipped around and locked on Lan Wangji sitting beside him.

“Lay down, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji murmured, his golden eyes warm with something Wei Ying could not place. “You had a long night. Rest.”

He didn’t want to lay down—To lay down was to accept what happened, and to accept what these two were offering him.

“I think we need to talk first.” Wei Ying murmured. He summoned a silver girdle, and tied his toga back up with it. The metal around his stomach was a welcome grounding piece.

“I don’t think we do.” Lan Wangji snapped back, and his hand pressed more insistently against his back. “You have my ribbon. You have Brother’s ribbon. There is nothing to discuss.”

“Nothing?” Wei Ying’s voice gained a higher pitch of uncertainty. “I very much think we have something to discuss. I—” He forced himself to stop, to take a moment to breathe. Last night had been passionate, and his body still ached with the evidence of it. “It would help me to speak about it, even if you feel like you do not need to.”

Lan Wangji’s brows furrowed, but he nodded his consent all the same. Lan Xichen sat up from where he had still been laying down and pressed a kiss against Lan Wangji’s mouth.

“Morning, Didi.” Lan Xichen murmured, and received a ‘morning’ in response.

Lan Xichen turned to him, and Wei Ying did not react fast enough to avoid the quick peck against his lips. “Morning, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying flinched, not terribly but it was bad enough to draw both brother’s attention.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Xichen sounded worried, and Wei Ying just felt worse.

“We—We need to talk about last night.” He whispered, his nails idly picking at the edge of his chiton.

Lan Xichen was silent for a long moment, and Wei Ying took a deep breath to explain himself. But as he opened his mouth to speak, Lan Xichen cut him off.

“Did you not like it?”

“What?” Wei Ying’s eyes widened, but he shook his head. “No, it's not—Yes, I enjoyed it. That’s not it.”

“Do you regret it?” Lan Xichen pressed on.

Again, Wei Ying shook his head. “No. I don't regret it, and I liked it.”

Lan Xichen let out a long breath. “Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

Lan Wangji hummed along with that, and for the briefest moment Wei Ying felt his world shrink. Not in a good way, though. It felt like he was alone on an island, stranded between two different worlds, each just out of reach.

“That is exactly the problem.” He swallowed around the lump that threatened to choke him alive. “Neither of us regret it, all of us enjoyed it.”

“I don’t understand?” Lan Xichen reached for Wei Ying’s hand, and Wei Ying pulled it away before he could touch him.

“Everything,” Wei Ying began, his hand shaking in his lap. “Everything I love rots away.” He spread his hands out and stared down at his palms. “Everyone I love leaves. And I am lost here. Alone. Under. Forgotten.” A tear hit his hand, and he turned his head away from the brothers so he could have a moment to wipe the tears away. “I am scared this will disappear too.”

Lan Xichen seemed to struggle against what to say, and Lan Wangji spoke up in his stead.

“We are already dead.” Lan Wangji deadpanned, and the words startled Wei Ying just as much as the attempt at reassurance did.

It didn’t settle him, but it did bring him some amusement. A laugh built up in his throat, and it bubbled out sluggishly.

Wei Ying should be embarrassed about how quick his laughter changed to sobbing, but he felt more raw these days than normal. He was gathered into arms, and his face was pressed into a strong shoulder.

“Shhh…” Lan Xichen murmured against his head, and Wei Ying felt fleeting kisses pressed against his scalp. “It’s okay, Wei Ying. Nothing could take us from you.” A snort was felt beside him, and he felt a warm body press against his back.

“As if Wei Ying would ever allow someone to take us, Brother.” Lan Wangji’s voice sounded confident, and Wei Ying was hit with just how much these two trusted him.

A second wave of tears spilled from his eyes.

It took a few minutes for him to feel normal again, and the moment he was he apologized to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji.

“I’m not normally his... “ He gestured to his face as he rubbed at his cheeks, chuckling away his sniffles. “Leaky.”

Lan Xichen laughed, but Wei Ying could see the worry melting from his eyes. “Emotional vulnerability—It is something I doubt you have had the ability to experience before.” His hand raised, and Wei Ying tilted his head into the pats he bestowed. “It’s something new for all of us. But we will work on it.”

Wei Ying took a deep breath, and pressed his eyes closed.

“I’m not sure how well of a lover I’ll be.” Wei Ying confessed. “I don’t know if I’ll be what you and Lan Wangji want, but—I’ll do my best.”

Lan Wangji huffed from behind him, and Wei Ying felt him curl up against his back. “Lan Zhan.”

“Hm?” Wei Ying turned his head around and locked eyes with Lan Wangji.

“I am Lan Zhan to you, now.” Lan Wang—Lan Zhan pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Brother is Lan Huan. Or just Xichen. But we are not distant now. We are close.”

Wei Ying gave an awkward smile, unsure of how to reply to that. Lan Zhan already used his name, as did Lan Hu—hm. That sounded off. Xichen. Yes. Xichen already used his birth name as well.

“I think,” Xichen cut off his thoughts and effectively drew Wei Ying’s attention back to him. “What Wangji is trying to say is: We don’t want you to be perfect. We want you to be you. That is all. We will be us, and you will be you. And together, we will be one.”

Wei Ying couldn’t place what was off about that day, or even if there was anything different at first glance. He awoke in his bed, surrounded by silk and darkness. He did his normal morning routine—dressed like normal, washed himself like normal—yet there was a tension building underneath his skin. A tension pulling at his stomach and his legs, pulling him in every direction and yet keeping him in place. It was unsettling, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.

He stopped by the room the two brothers shared, and was met by emptiness. Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen had probably woken up hours before, and knowing the two, he didn’t doubt that they had flown off to their duties. It brought a smile to Wei Ying’s lips.

He walked his normal path to the throne room, his eyes caught on each painting he passed. Lan Xichen’s paintings were truly heartwarming, if not wretchedly beautiful. They spoke of a knowledge he gained, of power brought through death.

The God of Peaceful Deaths. The humans called him Thanatos. Wei Ying liked his given name better and found the flow easier on the tongue. Thanatos was deceptively calming, much like Xichen himself was.

But painting was Lan Xichen’s escape from his job, a call back to his life and what he used to be. A scholar, a painter, an artist. When he painted, he could process the deaths of those he escorted. In a sense, Wei Ying could understand. Crafting to Wei Ying was what painting was to Xichen.

As he drew closer to the throne room, he was met with odd shouting. Shouting was normal when he wasn’t in audience, as the confused souls cried out to be heard.

No, the oddness of the shouting was who was shouting. From the timber of the voice, the deep-set anger, Wei Ying knew it was Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, his normally silent stoic little Ker, was shouting.

He hastened his steps, speeding his way to the small door. He pushed it open, slipping into the darkened hollow area behind his throne. The moment he entered the room, the shouting gained substance and he could understand the words.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” an unknown voice was screaming, and Wei Ying could pick up the agitated beating of Lan Zhan’s wings.

“Silence.” Lan Zhan’s voice was lower in volume now, and Wei Ying would have been hard pressed to believe that he had truly been shouting earlier.

“Dead! Dead!” The unknown voice began cackling, the laughter quickly dissolving into sobs then picking up hysteria and turning into laughter. “You’re supposed to be deaaaad! I did it—I made you dead!”

Wei Ying’s stomach tightened, his ears ringing. He rounded the throne to lock eyes with Lan Zhan, and his stomach sank.

In Lan Zhan’s hand, half knelt and half slumped against his legs, was his murderer. His crazed laughter rang out in the large room, bouncing off the walls and magnifying tenfold. He saw how Lan Zhan tried to shift his body away from the gnarled hands that wrapped themselves around his thigh just as clearly as he saw the disgust twisting his features.

“Wangji…” Wei Ying’s voice drifted off, his eyes locked on the twisted body clinging to Lan Zhan.

“Summon Brother.” Lan Zhan’s voice was like broken ceramic to Wei Ying’s ears—It was broken, and shattered, and so very sharp. When Wei Ying did not immediately follow his command, he lifted his head. Wei Ying could see the anger, the bloodlust, the hatred—they were all reflected in his eyes. It froze the blood in his veins.

“Of course, Wangji.”

Wei Ying hesitated a moment more, his eyes lingering on Lan Zhan’s own. He cleared his throat after a moment, raising his voice and pulling at the power laying deep within him.

He lifted his eyes to stare at the ceiling, clearing his throat. “Xichen. Return.”

The Underworld shuddered at his power, buckling and shaking under the command. His feet grew unsteady, the realm under and around him moving to his every thought. In that moment, he could feel it. The very heartbeat of the earth, of the Underworld. It beat ba-bump against his feet, against his own rib cage. He could feel the command travel through the Underworld, racing across his skin and diving into his veins. It echoed out around him, the earth breathing his command along soil and skin alike.

He reached up to his shoulder, brushing off pebbles and euphoria alike.

Wei Ying knew it would take only moments for his darling Guide to return, yet was surprised at how fast he returned. He knew that, according to his two Guides, the pull of a command was ceaseless until fulfilled. He just didn’t expect how quickly the response would be.

(“You’re our king, right?”

“In a sense.”

“Can you command us to do stuff then?”

“Probably.”

“Would you?”

“Not unless it's an emergency.”

“Why?”

“Because it takes away your freedom. I promised you two your freedom, and I won't break that promise. Not if I have a choice.”

“What a kind king we have.”

“What a foolish king you have.”)

“Wei Wuxian?” Xichen looked dazed, his wings still faintly beating. A soul was dangling from his hand, and Wei Ying could tell he had already been on his way back to the Underworld when he had received the summons.

Wei Ying gestured to Lan Zhan, watching for the very moment when Xichen recognized who it was.

“Su She…?” Lan Xichen sounded confused for a moment, and Wei Ying felt happy at his brief moment of innocence. It quickly shuddered away, though, and in its place landed a wickedly evil sneer. “Su She.”

Xichen dropped the soul, and the thick thwap of spirit hitting rock didn’t deter from the thick atmosphere around the four people there.

“I made you a promise.” Wei Ying nodded toward the man clinging to Lan Wangji’s chiton. “A deal. And my side will be upheld.”

Xichen nodded, and Wei Ying watched as he landed beside his brother. Silent communication went between them, and this time Wei Ying could read it.

‘This is the man that killed us?’ said the rise of Xichen’s eyebrow.

‘I wouldn’t be this angry if it wasn’t,’ the tilt of Lan Zhan’s head returned.

‘He shouldn’t have killed us to begin with.’ Xichen’s sneer screamed this answer, and Wei Ying thought it was best to interrupt them.

“Love,” he began, drawing Lan Zhan’s attention. “Bird,” Xichen’s eyes raised to him. “I will keep my promise, but I still need to interrogate the soul.”

Lan Zhan’s hand went tight on the collar of the soul’s chiton, and Wei Ying tried to wave away his concern.

“I am a Divine, A-Zhan.” He stepped up the dias to his throne and sat down, his legs thrown wide and his body slumped against one of the arms. “He can’t hurt me. Bring him up here.”

Lan Zhan tried to take a step, but the soul just refused to budge from its place on his foot. Wei Ying found it amusing, at first. But it quickly descended into irritating.

His finger twitched and, with a very faint pulse of magic, an apparition of a large skeletal hand appeared and wrapped around Su She’s soul. He didn’t want to ruin his stone floors, but he didn’t wish to waste all day judging someone who would already go to the pits of Tartarus. But rules are rules.

Su She screamed the moment the skeletal hand grabbed him, yet Wei Ying didn’t care one bit. The hand forced him to kneel and kept him in place.

“What is your name?” Wei Ying pulled ChenQing out from where it was tucked between his girdle and chiton.

“Su She,” the spirit hissed out.

“What was your occupation?”

“...Carpentry.”

Wei Ying let out a slow breath from his nose. “You should know better than to lie to the king of the dead. I am the one person you don’t want to piss off.”

Su She snorted, and Wei Ying could tell he would not like the next few things out of this soul's mouth.

“You want me to respect you? You’re sleeping with two inbreds, King. You could have done better at a human whorehouse.”

Wei Ying let out a breath as he nodded along to what Su She said. He stood from his throne and began to pace before it.

“Anything else you would like to inform me about my Guides?” Wei Ying kept his tone polite and jovial, and Wei Ying was proud of his Guides for not showing a moment of distrust.

“The older one—Lan Xichen! He was known for spreading his legs for whoever paid enough gold!” Su She was smirking up at Wei Ying, and each glance at the soul's face filled his stomach with tar. “It was said that he opened them first for only the elderly, that he preferred anyone that looked like his uncle—”

Wei Ying raised his hand, and the soul fell silent in a mere moment.

“Tell me about Lan Wangji,” he requested, sending a mental apology to both of his Guides for having to listen to this.

“Lan Wangji!” Su She cried out, his voice tainted with adoration and sprinkled with lust. It spoke of an obsessed man. Just hearing him speak of his beloved filled his stomach with unease. “A stuck up bitch. He would only allow perfection near him. Who woulda known he rode his own blood brother! He pretended to be a civilized man, an esteemed warrior and yet—he was no better than a barbarian!”

Wei Ying felt like he had heard enough, but Su She kept talking.

“He always looked down on everyone,” he began, and Wei Ying could hear the insanity creeping in. “Even me. He thought he was better than me. So after I killed Lan Xichen in front of him—I carved out his eyes. He couldn’t look down on me anymore! The last thing he saw was his barbarian brother die at my hands! It was wonderful!”

Wei Ying had definitely heard enough. He turned to give his judgement, his mouth already parted to give the ruling for Tartarus, when his eyes caught on Xichen’s. Xichen looked stunned, and it occurred to Wei Ying that they had probably never discussed their own deaths. Xichen didn’t know how Lan Zhan had died.

He cleared his throat, forcefully centering himself on the moment at hand.

“Tartarus. You did not live in repentance for your sins, so you will never sail across River Cocytus.” Su She wailed loudly, but Wei Ying spoke over it. “The two you wronged in life will decide your punishment.”

The skeleton hand hauled him up and carried him down the dias once more. Lan Zhan reached out for him. His anger tainted the air with the thick scent of viscera and blood. He had begun to approach Su She when Wei Ying spoke.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called. “Xichen. Come.”

Xichen was jolted out of his trance, and Wei Ying was proud of how fast he responded to his command. He knelt before Wei Ying the moment he reached the topmost stair of the dias, yet Lan Zhan refused to come one step closer to Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying hissed. He slipped a hand into Xichen’s hair in an attempt to give Xichen something to ground him to the present. “Come. Here.”

Lan Zhan hesitated once more, but he finally approached the dias and knelt before him as well.

Wei Ying slipped a hand into his hair as well and tightened his hold just a little bit. Just enough to tilt their heads up to look at him, instead of at the ground.

“Do you have an idea?” Wei Ying inquired, a jolt of arousal curling low in his belly at having his lovers knelt before him. But now was not the time for that.

“His eyes,” Xichen murmured, and Wei Ying was ready to push the topic of Lan Zhan’s eyes to another day when Xichen continued. “Have his eyes. Plucked out.”

Lan Zhan tilted his head a little bit—what little he could from Wei Ying’s hold on his hair—and seemed to contemplate that punishment. “Three times a day.”

Wei Ying smirked at their decision, a part of him finding pleasure in just how well-fitted this punishment was. “Sounds wonderful,” he murmured, and he leaned down to press a kiss against Lan Zhan’s lips, then Xichen’s.

He was seated upon his throne, judging as he often did, when a tingling started at the base of his skull. It spread along his neck and swirled along his jaw. Previously, some humans had attempted to enter his realm, so these tingles were something he had experienced before. As the tingles reached his eyes, his vision blurred. Before his eyes stood a stone cave entrance, grassland spread before it. Only mere feet away from the entrance, a young man stood.

His appearance might change and flicker, but Wei Ying could recognize those stormcloud eyes anywhere.

He sat up higher in his seat, beckoning for one of the brothers to approach his seat. With his eyes still closed, he could not fully tell which brother it was, but the voice that answered him told him all he needed to know.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Xichen’s voice spoke to his right. A hand rested on his shoulder, sliding down his back to rub at the bend of his wings. Definitely Lan Xichen.

“There’s a visitor at the Pompeii entrance.” His fingers danced along the gems embedded in his throne. “Bring him here. Safely.”

A kiss was pressed to his forehead, feather-soft and fleeting. “Yes, My Liege.”

Wei Ying kept his eyes closed, watching his youngest brother hover near the entrance. He seemed hesitant, his shoulders curled in on themselves and his hands wringing together. The pacing brought back memories long since buried, memories of lotus flowers and laughter.

He opened his eyes when Lan Xichen got to the entrance, trusting his Guide to follow his bidding.

He reached up to his hair, pushing it over his shoulder before pulling it forward once again. His left hand began to fidget with the rings keeping his right sleeve together, spinning them to the left and shortening the opening before spinning them right and widening the opening.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called, and, when he glanced to his left, he could spot a figure rapidly approaching.

Lan Zhan knelt before his throne, one of his hands reaching out and grasping at the end of Wei Ying’s skirt. It pulled it further down, ensuring his manhood was properly covered.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.”

“Do I look fine, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying reached toward his left sleeve, ready to start messing with it again. His hand was intercepted by Lan Zhan’s, who encased his trembling hand between his own.

“Wei Ying looks fine.” Lan Zhan uncovered his hand just enough to place a kiss against the back of it before resting his forehead against it. “Wei Ying looks like a king.”

Wei Ying laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss against Lan Zhan’s bowed head. “I don’t feel like a king.”

Lan Zhan made a noise deep in his chest, and Wei Ying could pick up on the irritation in it. The shifting wings also gave away Lan Zhan’s annoyance. “If Wei Ying does not feel like a king, he is still a king.”

Wei Ying did not agree, but he pressed another kiss against Lan Zhan’s head all the same. “Come give his king a kiss, darling. I might need it for what’s coming.”

Lan Zhan lifted his head, and Wei Ying could see the playful irritation dancing in his eyes. A hand slipped behind his head lightning quick, and a smile was barely able to plaster itself against his lips before he was pulled into a hungry kiss.

Wei Ying’s hand guided Lan Zhan up, pulling him into his lap and gripping greedily against his waist. He squeezed once against the flesh, pulling a low moan from his darling Guide. He separated their lips, kissing his way down Lan Zhan’s throat and biting over barely-faded marks. His hands were close to slipping under Lan Zhan’s chiton and grasping at actual hard flesh, when he felt a fond pulse of amusement from Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen, who was very close to the throne room. With their guest.

He whined against Lan Zhan’s neck, pulling a low huff of amusement from him.

“You live to tease me,” he murmured against warmed, freshly marked flesh.

“I live to serve you,” Lan Zhan quipped back, pulling Wei Ying’s face from his neck and pressing a fleeting kiss against his lips. “And to distract you.”

“Tease me,” Wei Ying corrected, watching his lover slide off of his lap. He reached forward, tugging Lan Zhan’s chiton back into place. The sheer top tempted him still, and there was a flash of heat in Wei Ying’s gut as he saw that his marks would still be visible no matter how Lan Zhan tried to cover them.

(His mind also ignored that that was the whole reason for that outfit. Lan Zhan loved the claim they had staked on him, and he loved when others knew it.)

“Serve.” Lan Zhan fixed the placement of his seal, centering it against his stomach.

“Tease.” Wei Ying nudged it off center, slightly to the left. Just enough so he could get a clear view of Lan Zhan’s abs.

“Serve.” Lan Zhan tried to fix the seal once more, getting his hand slapped away by Wei Ying.

“Tease and serve. Touch the seal again, and you won’t be leaving bed for a week.” Wei Ying playfully glared, and was met with a slight roll of Lan Zhan’s eyes.

“Is that supposed to be a threat, My Liege?”

Wei Ying sat up fully, his hands still hovering over Lan Zhan’s waist and the seal. Behind him was Lan Xichen, and behind Lan Xichen would be—

He swallowed, pressing his hands forward just enough to grasp at the fabric of Lan Zhan’s chiton, his fear coming back tenfold.

It had been endless years—millennia—since he had seen his brother. Since he had heard his voice, felt his touch, and now his brother would be before him and he couldn't bring himself to see him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother, at the years that had passed.

“Hiding still, Wei Ying?” a bitter voice rang out, and Wei Ying’s shoulders fell forward. He leaned forward just a bit more, pressing his head against Lan Zhan’s stomach.

He needed a moment, just one moment, just some time to figure out what he needed to say.

“Not saying anything, huh?” Wei Ying flinched, and for a moment he wished he was still in bed with his lovers. He wished he had not woken up that morning, had not welcomed him into his realm, had not guided him to his throne room.

But Wei Ying was no longer a child, had not been a child for millennia. It was time for him to face the facts, and face them he would.

He tilted his head up, resting his chin against Lan Zhan’s stomach. He found Lan Zhan’s face already tilted towards him, worry and confusion in his gaze.

“Step aside, Lan Wangji.” His voice shook, fragility making itself known in the soft crack of his lover’s name.

He knew Lan Zhan must be surprised at the use of his courtesy name, but he moved aside when Lan Xichen grabbed his shoulder. They both stood to Wei Ying’s right, and with his sight no longer blocked, Wei Ying was able to see his brother for the first time in too long.

“Brother,” Jiang Cheng said stiffly.

Wei Ying nodded at him, yet kept himself seated. He forced a relaxed posture, tossing his legs over the right armrest and reclining against the left. He propped his head up with his hand, summoning a green gem to toss up and catch with his free hand. “Long time, no see, brother.”

Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan both seemed to startle at his address of the figure before them, and Wei Ying could see the moment they figured out who he was. Where Lan Zhan’s demeanor grew colder, Lan Xichen’s shoulders seemed to sink slightly from their tensed position.

“You still bother to call me that?” Jiang Cheng’s lips lifted into a sneer, his eyes flashing with lightning quick anger. “How kind of you, thinking we’re still family.”

Wei Ying tilted his head to the right, moving his eyes off his brother to look at the bouncing gem. “We still share blood, dear brother. And parents.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed, and Wei Ying could imagine the eyeroll that accompanied it. “To share anything with you is a curse in and of itself.”

Wei Ying laughed aloud, his eyes catching on the very irritable shifting of Lan Zhan’s wings. “Well,” Wei Ying began, throwing the gem up once more into the air. It disappeared with a gentle pop. “There is some truth in that statement, if I’ve ever heard any.”

Wei Ying’s eyes caught on a pair of souls sneaking in, seating themselves at the end of his judgement queue. He gestured Lan Xichen forward, keeping his motions easy and relaxed.

“My Liege?” Lan Xichen knelt before his throne, and Wei Ying ignored the disgust twisting his brother’s face.

“Escort the souls out, please. Lock the doors as well, we don’t want anyone to overhear this.”

“Yes, My Liege.” Lan Xichen pressed his hand against his chest, bowing just so to Wei Ying. The kneeling, the bowing—it was games they all enjoyed playing. But now was not the time.

“Xichen,” Wei Ying murmured as he began to stand, drawing the attention of both brothers. “Take Lan Zhan with you. Do not enter until I call you.”

“My L-”

“Go.”

Lan Xichen bowed then, more out of habit than playing the game, and Wei Ying ignored the lingering gazes of his lovers. He watched them leave, the souls following along with them. His brother stewed in silence as the souls moved around him, and Wei Ying was proud of how Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan moved around him without touching him.

His darling, protective, petty, beautiful Guides.

Then, well, he and his brother sat. In silence.

Through the millennia, Wei Wuxian learned a very special talent. One that, for all intents and purposes, his father would have been proud of him for.

Wei Wuxian learned patience.

He learned when to stay silent and listen, how to change his plan of attack based on how others reacted. He learned to deceive and plan just as much as he learned to attack. Ruling the dead came with many perks, something he knew Lan Zhan would scoff at if he heard and Lan Xichen would laugh besottedly at. But it was true. Ruling the dead came with the ability to speak to the dead. Which involved, well…being able to learn from them as well.

While he didn’t have the best strategists in his grasp—Nie Huaisang was the best he could remember off the top of his head, enough to be made into the God of Battle Strategies according to his beloved Guides—he did have some of the best. And those souls, well…they had nothing better to do for the rest of their afterlife, and nothing to entertain themselves with. So they taught him.

And one of the things they taught him was the wonders of silence.

That had been broken by his brother, whose patience seemed to have only gotten shorter in the years since their childhood.

“Return them.” His brother would not meet his eyes, but Wei Ying thought he knew what Jiang Cheng meant. But he still wanted proof.

“Return who?” Wei Ying sat normally then, twisting his body away from the sides of the chairs to face Jiang Cheng head-on.

“The two that were just here. The Lan brothers.”

Wei Ying scanned his brother, cataloging the changes he had experienced through the years. At this moment, Jiang Cheng was confident. Wei Ying wondered, for a moment, where his little brother went. He wondered when his little brother was replaced by the man before him. But he already knew the answer.

“Of all the things to ask me,” Wei Ying began, leaning back on his throne. “You ask me for the one thing I will not give you.” He waved his hand dismissively, gesturing towards the walls of the judgement chamber. “Ask me for something else.”

Jiang Cheng was hesitant and, for a moment, Wei Ying could see his baby brother. But it faded quickly, replaced with a defiant curl of his lips. “No. I want them.”

Wei Ying felt a bitter anger festering in his chest, and it felt like it would bubble out at any moment. “I already said no.”

“Oh,” laughter rang out from Jiang Cheng’s lips, and Wei Ying could see something bitter and angry settle in his eyes. “So it’s yes for everything I don’t want, but no for what I do? What happened to the older brother who would give me whatever I want, just for a smile?”

Wei Ying pushed down the emotions welling up in his chest and ignored the hatred brewing in his veins. He allowed a smirk to settle on his lips, bright and vibrant and everything Wei Ying knew he was not. “He died.”

What little emotion Wei Ying could read from his brother shuttered away, hidden behind storm clouds. Wei Ying imagined that the tears dripping from his brother's eyes had also come from those storm clouds. It made this conversation easier on him, for now.

“Of course he did.” A clap of laughter rang out once more, and Wei Ying didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. “Good. Good! The evil Wei Wuxian is gone! How good!” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the walls around him, gesturing to the Underworld around him. “Then what is all this? Is this my imagination? Have I come here to speak to a ghost? A ghost that wears my brother's face?”

Wei Ying stood. He wanted to run from this conversation, but he knew that was not the correct decision to make. He needed to stand here, to listen to his brother. Maybe this would help them. Maybe this would help everyone. Maybe this would help him.

“Not all death is permanent,” Wei Ying answered, crossing his arms. “Sometimes, one needs to die to truly experience life.”

“Life?!” Jiang Cheng’s eyes were thunderclouds, his voice lightning to Wei Ying’s ears. The air smelt of ozone, and the hair on Wei Ying’s arms stood up. “What life?! There is no life here! There is death! There is decay!”

“Now that’s just rude to the people who live here, A-Cheng, really. I tried to make it as nice as poss—”

“Listen to you!” Jiang Cheng took a step forward, pointing one shaking finger towards him. “Listen to you spouting this—spouting this bullshit! If you came here to pay for some perceived mistake, then it's been paid! You’re free! You can leave, Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Ying’s anger rose, and he forced it down under a swallow and high-pitched laugh. “I am not here to pay for anything. I am here to live.”

“You are here to die!” Jiang Cheng stepped forward, and Wei Ying stepped to the side of his throne. He was ready to duck behind it, should his brother try to tackle him. “You are—You should be dead! I should have found a realm without a ruler, and yet I found you! With two men, with a kingdom—” Jiang Cheng, for a moment, looked brittle. Like he could crack at any moment. “I came here expecting to see proof, to see you dead, and you are alive. You are alive, and breathing, and you never once reached out to any of us—”

Jiang Cheng stepped forward, one of his feet resting against the first step of the dias, and Wei Ying was ready to take off at a moment's notice. His wings rustled anxiously.

“Even now, you avoid me!”

Wei Ying sighed, leaning his weight against the side of his throne. It shifted slightly against his weight, and he noted it down in the back of his head. He would need to talk to Lan Zhan about that.

“Why are you really here, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Ying asked, his tone tired. He was tired of this—He just wanted the conversation to be done with. He covered his eyes with his hand, a migraine beginning to throb against the back of his eyes.

“What am I really here for—Are you stupid, Wei Ying?”

The sound of feet rapidly approaching him caught his ears. He opened his eyes, barely able to jerk away before Jiang Cheng touched his skin. His wings beat twice, bringing him nearly to the ceiling and safely out of his brother’s reach.

Jiang Cheng stomped his feet once, anger in his eyes. “Wei Wuxian! Come down here, damn it!”

Wei Ying kept himself hovering, the physical distance giving him a bit of relief.

“I’ll ask you again, Jiang Cheng. Why are you really here?”

Jiang Cheng huffed, and Wei Ying could feel a crackle of static in the air. “Guess, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Ying wished he was seated in his throne, but he could do this in the air if he really needed to. “I don’t know, Jiang Cheng. It’s why I’m asking you.”

“What a good brother you are then, huh? You know your siblings so well.” Sarcasm tainted each word that reached Wei Ying’s ears, but they felt like they were coated in poison instead. “What an all powerful sibling! Our oldest brother, everyone! Born to rule the realms!” He turned to an audience he didn’t have, his arms spread wide once more. “Gaze upon his glory! This man who dotes on his siblings, kidnaps gods, forces marriage, and steals from Olympus! What an object to worship!”

Wei Ying lowered himself a little closer to the ground, still well out of Jiang Cheng’s reach. “I never said I wanted worship, Jiang Cheng.” He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. “Is that what you’ve come down here for, A-Cheng? Have you come down here to throw blame on me, to accuse me of an evil you know I would never do? Would I seriously kidnap someone, force people to stay down here, force someone into marriage?” He shook his head, his tone soaked in disappointment. “I ask you, A-Cheng, did you come down here to make me repent these supposed sins you believe I’ve done? Or did you come down here hoping to flee your own? To cleanse yourself of your own sins?”

“What would the fearsome king of the dead not do?” Jiang Cheng laughed, throwing his head back. Wei Ying could hear desperation in the wheezing laughter, but the eyes filled with hatred destroyed whatever gentle image Wei Ying thought was breaking through. “My sins? What sins have I committed?” He puffed up his chest, and Wei Ying no longer saw his younger brother. No, it was not Jiang Cheng before him. It was their father, in each and every word. “What can the king of the gods not do? Someone speaks badly of me, so I smite them. The humans would not listen to my commands, so I split them right in two. Happiness? They can find it themselves. They don’t deserve to just have it, they should earn it! What right do they have for happiness, when us Divine must fight for each moment we have?”

Wei Ying let him ramble, watching how his brother’s shoulders sagged at the end. His laughter turned to sobs, and Wei Ying wished above everything else that he could hug him.

“What right do they have?” Jiang Cheng continued, his legs crumpling under him. “Why are they happy? Why do they get to be happy?” A broken sob echoed in the empty judgement hall. “Why is it that the last thing humans can see before eternal happiness—Why is it you? Why can humans see you, but your family can’t?”

Wei Ying allowed himself to settle on the ground once more, his wings draping across the floor behind him. He crouched close to his brother, reaching out a hand before pulling it back once more.

“A-Cheng…” Wei Ying murmured, planting both of his hands flat against the ground. “A-Cheng, if you’ve come here for your own absolution, you have come here for nothing.” A sob cut him off, but he powered through the guilt burying itself in his heart. “You came down here grasping at faded strings, and you hoped there would be something at the end. I don’t know what you expected it to be, but I can guess.” He sat himself down fully, folding his legs under him. “You came down here and hoped that I would come with you. Back to the surface. If not that, you hoped for this: Clean air. A hug. A brother returned. But that can never happen.” He summoned the green crystal from earlier, holding it in his hand. It glowed faintly, the surface covered in a countless number of scratches. But it was still whole. He placed it on the ground, pushing it with the tips of his fingers until it bumped against Jiang Cheng’s leg. “I cannot do any of those things. I can’t go to the surface. I can’t be the brother I used to be. I can’t hold you as you cry anymore, nor can I wipe away your tears. We may be closer in age, now, but the years still stretch before us. To touch you is to kill you, to return to the surface is to kill you.”

A sobbing laugh rang out from Jiang Cheng, and Wei Ying watched as he grabbed the glowing gem. “Even after all this time, you’re still protecting me?”

Wei Ying felt a tear drip from his eye, and he let out a soft chuckle of his own. “Of course I am. You’re my little brother.”

“A-Ying—”

“Don’t,” Wei Ying murmured, his hands tightening into fists on the stone under him. “Don’t. Please, don’t. Please don’t make me want to hold you again.” A soft plip, plip, plip sounded between them. “Don’t do that to me. It’s already so hard seeing you, don’t make me—”

Wei Ying’s own sob cut his words off, his shoulders curling in. He wanted to hold his brother like he did so long ago, wanted to grab at his hand and pull him close, wanted to press kisses against his hair and rock him.

But he couldn’t do that anymore, no matter how much he wished he could.

“Wei Ying, I—” Jing Cheng sniffled, and Wei Ying wished he could wipe at his face. “I forgive you, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying gave him a tear-stained smile, wiping at his own cheeks. “A-Cheng, I have nothing to forgive.”

“What’s this?”

“Something special.”

“What’s special about this scuffed up crystal?”

“It helped me find my way, when I first fell here.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a glowing rock?”

“Find your way to happiness.”

(Somewhere, deep within the Palace of the Dead, lie three men tangled together.

Two brothers, with their King between them.

The King lay pillowed on two wings, wrapped between arms and legs. His eyes rested, yet his mind ran astray. To his left lay the older of the brothers, face tucked close to the King’s. A hum echoed out from his throat, his lips kissing away each tear track. To his right lay the younger brother, seething in fury but seeped in worry. The older brother kept him calm. Together, the two brother’s soothed the aching heart of their King.

They promised an eternity to the King, and the King begged them to keep their promise. The King begged to never be left alone again.

The three lovers did not take court the next day, nor the day after. They instead lay in bed, curled together in a nest of feathers and kisses, pleasures of flesh burning bright between them. They lay in that nest until the King's eyes ran dry, until the King was ready to face his future once more.)