He Begged Me To Leave Him To His Agony, But I Stayed To Heal His Wounds

The lift groaned its familiar, rhythmic protest as it ascended the massive trunk of the inn. Aether’s fingers tightened around the handle of the woven basket he carried, the weight a small comfort against the unease coiling in his gut. It had been three weeks. Three weeks since he’d last seen Xiao, since their last brief conversation on this very balcony. At first, Aether had respected the silence. He knew the adeptus required solitude, that the burdens he carried were not easily shared. But as days bled into weeks, the quiet had begun to feel less like chosen isolation and more like an absence, a void where a sharp, protective presence used to be.

He had tried to dismiss it. Paimon had insisted Xiao was fine, that he was probably just “brooding,” as she put it. But a cold knot of dread had taken root in Aether’s stomach, a persistent, chilling certainty that something was wrong. So he had come, bearing peace offerings. A container of Almond Tofu, chilled just the way Xiao preferred, and a small bouquet of Qingxin flowers, their delicate petals a stark, living white against the dark wood of the basket. A foolishly mortal gesture, perhaps, but it was all he could think to do.

The lift shuddered to a halt at the top floor. Aether stepped out onto the familiar wooden platform, his boots making soft sounds that seemed too loud in the oppressive silence. Usually, there was a stillness here, but it was the stillness of a predator, the quiet of immense power held in reserve. This was different. This was the dead, empty quiet of a place abandoned.

“Xiao?” he called out, his voice softer than he intended. The wind was the only reply, whistling through the eaves of the inn and rustling the silk flowers tied to the railings.

He walked to the edge of the balcony, setting the basket down on a small table. He scanned the familiar vista of the Dihua Marsh below, the water glittering under the late afternoon sun. It was a view he knew Xiao watched for hours, his golden eyes ever vigilant. But the railing was empty. The space where the Yaksha always stood, a solitary guardian against the encroaching darkness, was vacant. Aether had always been able to sense him, a faint hum of Anemo energy in the air, a whisper of ancient power. Now, there was nothing. The air was flat, lifeless.

The cold dread in his stomach sharpened, turning icy and painful. This wasn't right. Xiao was always here. This balcony, this inn—it was his sanctuary, his prison, his post. For him to not be here felt fundamentally wrong, as if a star had vanished from the night sky. Aether’s gaze swept the balcony one last time before landing on the closed door to Xiao's private room. It was always closed, but now it seemed imposing, secretive. The silence that emanated from it was no longer peaceful, but sinister.

It was then he heard it. A low sound, barely a whisper on the wind, from behind the closed door. It wasn't a word, but a raw, guttural noise of pure suffering, choked off as soon as it began. It was a sound that had no place coming from a being as controlled and powerful as an adeptus. It was the sound of an animal caught in a trap.

All hesitation evaporated. Aether’s hand was on the door before he’d consciously decided to move, his fingers pressing against the cool, dark wood. He pushed. The door swung inward without a sound, opening into the dim, spartan room beyond.

The sight that met his eyes stole the air from his lungs.

Xiao was on the floor. He was curled on his side, his body taut and convulsing in silent, violent shudders. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder, and his exposed skin was a horrifying canvas of writhing, black lines. They looked like veins, but they were a deeper, more absolute black, pulsing with a faint, corrupt light, as if darkness itself had been injected directly into his blood. They spread from his intricately tattooed arm across his shoulder and chest, crawling over his skin like malignant vines. One of his hands was clenched into a fist so tight the knuckles were white, the other clawed at the wooden floorboards, leaving shallow gouges in the surface.

Aether took a single, stumbling step inside, his mind struggling to reconcile the image of the proud, untouchable Yaksha with the broken figure on the floor. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and something metallic and bitter, the smell of old blood and ancient pain.

Xiao’s head snapped up. His golden eyes, usually so sharp and piercing, were wide and unfocused, glazed with a feverish torment. For a second, he didn't seem to see Aether, his gaze looking through him at some unseen horror. Then, recognition flickered, and it was immediately consumed by a wave of panicked fury.

“Get out,” he snarled, the word tearing from his throat in a ragged, broken sound. He tried to push himself up, to put distance between them, but a fresh wave of agony wracked his body and he collapsed back with a strangled cry, his back arching off the floor. The black veins pulsed violently, glowing brighter.

“Leave!” he gasped, his voice strained to the breaking point. He gritted his teeth, sweat plastering his dark hair to his temples. “This is not for you to see. My karma… it will taint you. It is not for mortal eyes.” His glare was ferocious, a desperate attempt to drive Aether away with the sheer force of his will. “You cannot be here. Leave, now!”

For a long moment, Aether stood frozen in the doorway, the harsh command echoing in the small room. He saw the agony twisting Xiao’s features, the desperate, warning glint in his eyes. It was a clear dismissal, a furious attempt to shield him. Any sane person would have turned and fled. But looking at Xiao, helpless and writhing on the cold floor, Aether felt something inside him shift. The ice in his stomach melted away, replaced by a hot, fierce resolve that burned through his veins. This was not a monster to be feared. This was Xiao, and he was in pain.

The basket of flowers and Almond Tofu slipped from his numb fingers, hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud. The sound was small, insignificant against the oppressive weight of suffering in the room, but it was decisive. An anchor point. Aether’s gaze, which had been wide with shock, narrowed with purpose. His expression hardened, all softness gone, chiseled into a mask of pure determination.

He didn't hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees beside the adeptus, the rough floorboards pressing into his legs. He was close enough now to feel the unnatural cold radiating from the black lines on Xiao’s skin, to see the fine tremors that shook his entire frame. Xiao flinched away from his proximity, a low growl building in his chest, his golden eyes burning with a pained, feral light.

“I said, get out,” Xiao bit out, his voice a low, dangerous thing, each word costing him a visible wave of torment.

Aether ignored him. His eyes weren't on Xiao's furious face, but on the wounds—the gouges in the floor, the ripped fabric of his shirt, the pulsing corruption that seemed to be eating him alive from the inside out. He saw millennia of loneliness and duty converging into this one horrific moment. And he saw that Xiao was utterly, terrifyingly alone in it.

He finally lifted his head, his own golden eyes meeting Xiao's. There was no fear in his gaze. No pity. Only an unwavering, unyielding strength that seemed to push back against the suffocating darkness in the room.

“No,” Aether said, his voice quiet but absolute, cutting through the haze of agony like a blade of pure light. “I’m not leaving you. Not like this.”

The words struck Xiao with more force than a physical blow. He froze mid-convulsion, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at the traveler, his pain-addled mind struggling to process the refusal. He had pushed everyone away. He had snarled and threatened and shown them the horrifying truth of his existence, and they had always, always left. It was a law of nature. Mortals did not belong here. They could not withstand the taint.

But Aether was not leaving. He was kneeling in the filth of Xiao's karma, his face set, his gaze holding him steady. The ferocity in the traveler's eyes wasn't aimed at him, but at the pain itself. For the first time, in a very long time, someone was looking at his curse and choosing not to run, but to stand with him against it. Through the searing torment, a single, shocking crack appeared in the ancient walls around Xiao’s heart. He could only stare, breathless, as the boy who shone like the sun refused to be extinguished by his darkness.