His Eyes Never Change (Gold like Cor Lapis, Blue as Noctilucous Jade)

Not Ash, but Dust

Childe had always been enticed by the thrill of battle, lured in by the scent of a challenge. He thrived in the chaos. Surrounded on all sides by monsters seeking to take his life, he was in his element.

But even he had begun to wonder when it would end.

Time didn't exist here. There were no fancy strategies, no advanced planning. There was only the fight to keep the enemy at bay. They just had to hold on until Guizhong returned.

Swords. Spear. Bow. Childe had every weapon he could imagine at his fingertips. He cycled through them, decimating the shadowy beasts before him. The motions were instinctive to the point of mindlessness.

His muscles burned from the strain. He sliced and carved and shot through it. Like the way a horse propels itself forward, with a body built to run, the energy of each step recycled into the next and carrying him onward.

Breathe. Swing.

Breathe. Shoot.

Breathe—

A mistake.

What the enemy lacked in power they made up for in numbers. The adepti were highly skilled, with powers most mortals could only dream of. But they were not infallible.

One adeptus caught off guard. Childe heard the scream in his head. Not dead, but injured. They teleported away from the battle. One less ally to keep the monsters at bay.

The fight continued on. One less body was like a ripple in the ocean. But that ripple grew and grew and grew.

Another scream. Another ally lost to the torrent.

The line they'd held for so long began to buckle under sheer numbers.

An adeptus' name repeated in the array, but there was no response. A life taken.

Childe had been too confident. Numbers lacking power were still a threat. Even ants and bees were capable of taking down creatures stronger than themselves.

Even more critically were the puppeteers who had yet to show themselves. Minor gods were still gods. The adepti couldn't hope to stand against them, especially not if they hoped to keep the horde back.

Of course they had Morax in reserve, but how many minor gods could he fight at once? He would have no backup. How many minor gods were watching? How many more would consider joining the battle simply to take out competition? Morax was powerful. Childe was more than aware. He doubted he'd even seen a glimpse of the god's true strength.

Still, a kind of desperation clawed its way into Childe's heart.

Where are you, Guizhong?

A sudden breeze tickled the back of his neck and a familiar shock wave passed through Childe's body. Xiao Ping's typically spotless robes were covered in black stains. Blood beaded at a cut on her cheek. Red flowed from a gash in her back. She gripped her spear, knuckles white, and grit her teeth.

They had been naive, thinking they could compete for numbers slain. Childe had lost count long ago. He cut down dozens of the enemy, only for dozens more to take their place.

Childe couldn't place it, but even as he ripped through his own attackers, he watched Xiao Ping. His eyes didn't leave her. Something—

She turned from one enemy to face the next. Childe watched in horror as the monster she had moved away from managed to right itself. Even as its body fell apart, white bones poking through the darkness and crumbling to sand, it faced its killer. Its body was bulky with sharp spikes jutting out from what Childe assumed was its head, a body made for running headfirst into the enemy as a last resort. It charged.