Archive of Our Own

It starts with a faulty lightbulb.

Well. Really, it started two weeks before that. It started with a sword lodged in his chest and a will to live burning brighter than he'd ever felt before, and then a scheme far beyond his control pulling him into the fray to save a world he thought he'd left behind for good.

But acting like none of that actually happened is easier. It suits Dan Heng to hole up in the data bank updating the entries as though everything is the same as before.

Because it is. He's still himself. No one else. There's a pile of documents in the corner that he's ignoring, but it's not because the name mentioned in them is his. No, he's just… saving them. For later. For when he's ready.

Sometimes he thinks about burning them. More often, he thinks about reading them- doesn't he, most of all, have the right to their contents?

Then he remembers that's a part of him that shouldn't exist speaking, and that the documents in the corner have nothing to do with him and so it's really neither here nor there whether or not (if ever) he gets around to adding them to the data bank.

Two weeks after the Luofu, a lightbulb in the parlour car breaks. It's least of all the concern of Dan Heng, who spends most of his time- more than he used to- in the archives. He only finds out because the Conductor is handing out chores today and it's his duty as a member of the Express' Crew to play his part in keeping the train in good condition.

Even if he does want to hide in the archives forever. The urge is unwarranted. Nothing is different to before, not really, so he doesn't have the right to act different.

The Conductor is giving their usual speech when it happens. The bulb flickers, rather unpleasantly. Dan Heng looks up in surprise, but Stelle and March just groan. Welt fidgets a little, irritated, and even Himeko seems to scowl slightly.

"You are one more flicker away from a nice conversation with my bat," Stelle informs the ceiling.

"It's not an issue," Himeko says, already keen on damage control. "We can just grab a ladder at the next stop."

Stelle nods, deep in thought. "A sound plan. But what if we stacked up all the chairs from the buffet car and climbed up them?"

"We? Um, no thanks," March cuts in.

"Wait," Dan Heng interrupts them before Stelle suggests something worse- and she was going to, Dan Heng can tell from the look on her face. "We don't have a ladder?"

"We don't," Welt confirms. "Silly, isn't it? But as Himeko said, a faulty bulb is hardly impeding our daily lives. It's certainly not-" He shoots a look at Stelle- "Something worth risking our safety over."

Stelle glances at the floor. "I'd be really careful, though," She mumbles.

"I'm sure you would," Himeko says gently, "But none of us want you getting hurt."

"Aww. Thanks." Stelle's grin is genuine, for a second, than thoughtful again. "What about Mr Yang's gravity shenanigans?"

Welt is quick to shut her down. "It's not safe to try that inside the Express. Besides, patience is a virtue. You could treat it as a test of endurance, rather than one of strength."

"No can do, Mr Yang. Glass cannon is the life for me."

The conversation descends in to nonsense, and Dan Heng is no longer really paying attention. His gaze still lingers on the bulb, flickering incessantly. It's nothing more then an annoyance. The Nameless have handled far, far worse.

But he could fix it. Gravity isn't particularly an issue for him, after all.

The bulb flickers again, and clarity crashes over him. He didn't seriously just think that…?

On the Luofu was one thing. A situation of life and death was one thing, and it should remain one thing. He's not going to bring the power of a monster on to the Express, except… well, he already has, hasn't he? Even if he's never touched it. It's there. It's in him. He can't just cut it off like he did his hair.

His instincts kick in- flight over fight, always- and shut the thought process down. He's being too rash. Not using it is basically the same as it not existing. He isn't foolish enough to treat a parasite like a mere tool.

He gets paired up with Stelle for chores, and her rambling keeps his mind off the lightbulb for the rest of the day.

Only for the rest of the day, though. Dan Heng has long grown used to sleepless nights, but in the version he's learned the insomnia is accompanied by an empty feeling, like TV static. This agitation is new, and he hasn't yet learned how to file it away.

Because the thing keeping him up is stupid. Just like Welt said; it's not impeding anyone and can be fixed at the next stop anyway so there should be no pressure on Dan Heng at all, but… part of him just wants to see if he can. And that scares him.

It's lightbulb, for aeons' sake. A silly little bundle of wire and filament embedded innocuously in the ceiling.

And Dan Heng could fix it.

He makes it to three A.M. system time, mindlessly working on the data bank, before the agitation wins out.

He can just… go take a look at the lightbulb. Not to do anything. Just to see.

Dan Heng is admittedly as familiar with the Express at 'night' as he is with its day. Wandering aimlessly through the cars while the rest of the Crew sleep is nearly routine. Wandering them with a purpose is new, though.

The Express' halls are never dark, per se. The starlight just beyond the walls is plenty enough to see what he's doing, but the starlight is cold. Without the warm gold light of human-made bulbs, the Express feels… lonely. Dan Heng cringes as his foot lands a little harder than he intended, a mundane sound amplified a thousand times by the silence. It feels like he's disturbing something. The door to the archives remains inviting behind him, offering a place to hide, to ignore the vastness of the universe and the world where he's something more complicated than a traveller merely offering his services to the Nameless.

Dan Heng squares his shoulders and heads into the parlour car instead.

The bulb is still flickering, apparently oblivious to the Express' day-night cycle. Someone's left a box of bulbs on the table, presumably so the faulty one can be changed out as soon as they get their hands on a ladder. Beside the box, there's a half-finished game of chess and an empty coffee cup.

An out.

Dan Heng picks up the coffee cup and takes it to the party car, immediately declining Shush's offered joke when he enters. He washes the cup by hand. He places it in the cupboard and then rearranges the cups there into neater rows.

His restlessness remains unsatisfied, and he finds himself sitting on the plush seats in the parlour car, staring intently at the flickering bulb, because he can fix it. It would be so easy.

But then it wouldn't be him anymore.

Except… maybe, here on the Express, surrounded by traces of his companions and those cold stars, so utterly indifferent to the past, he can do it. If he's careful, he can keep the colours of the past and his present from bleeding together.

He shuts his eyes- and then opens them. He wants to keep seeing his home around him even while he betrays it. Then, with a simple thought- a tick on a permission slip, a belt clasp coming unhooked- reshapes his skin until the body he wears is someone else's.

His clothes change too; he's grateful for it. This mask wears ceremonial robes, a cold expression, power beyond what any human could hope to wield. It's nothing like him, and it shouldn't be. Dan Heng refuses to grant it what's his. He won't let it become him.

Even though some not-buried-enough part of his brain lights up with comfortable familiarity at the brush of hair against his back. Just the way he likes it, the way he would have worn it if the past hadn't already laid claim.

His nails dig into his palm, shutting off that thought process the moment it springs to life. The lightbulb. All he needs to do is change it, and then he can get some sleep in his own skin and stop stressing about this stupid lump of plastic and wire.

The bulbs on the table are wrapped in a completely excessive amount of packaging, which Dan Heng claws at for a few seconds before accepting that he's going to need scissors or actual claws. The latter would be faster, but… what right does he have to alter a body that doesn't belong to him?

Eventually he finds the scissors in a cupboard and manages to get all the packaging off. Working through such a mundane task, it's far too easy to forget the form he wears. There are too many split seconds where he feels… normal.

It's almost a comfort when he pushes himself off the ground, positioning himself midair just beneath the faulty bulb. To remind himself of the inhumanity that enables him to fix the silly thing in the first place is rather ironically grounding. It reminds him of his goal, of his purpose, of the fact that he only wears this body out of necessity.

The bulb, meanwhile, just keeps flickering. To such basic circuitry, Dan Heng muses, the difference between a human and a dragon and an even Aeon is probably null. All that really matters is that it's not going to be flickering for much longer.

The process is entirely uneventful, unpleasantly so. Dan Heng unscrews the faulty bulb, fits the new one into place and then that's it. The lights are fixed. He takes the box of bulbs and places it back in its designated cupboard, haunted by anticipation for something that's already happened the whole time. It pulls him just taught enough to feel uncomfortable. Even back in the archives, once again wearing his own skin, he's left feeling unsatisfied. He can't shake the feeling that he's done something terribly wrong.

The rest of the crew conclude, the next day, that the fault must have just been temporary. Dan Heng doesn't tell them otherwise.

2.

The next time is smaller, even less significant than the first. The bulb, at least, he could justify as doing a favour to his companions and to their home.

This, though, he can't explain in any way other than because I felt like it.

The planet is called Calya-II. Sparse habitation, mostly by humans. High but survivable temperatures, dry but with heavy storms occurring every six months or so. The Express stops at a nearby space station to pick up supplies, and Dan Heng notes that the Data Bank contains only rudimentary information on the planet, so he heads out with the goal of learning as much as he possibly can in the day he has before the Express once again departs. The locals are friendly, openly sharing their culture with him.

It's his survey of the local wildlife that causes things to go… well, not wrong. But the direction- his decision- is nonetheless unsettling.

He's supposed to be cataloguing the desert plant species. It's a simple task, one he's carried out on many planets. Not interfering, just observing. Recording.

And then his gaze falls on a shrub in the sand, dry and wilted, only just barely alive, and a quiet sort of sadness wells up in him.

Without really thinking, he conjures a stream of water- small, nothing like the torrential rains that life here is reliant on- and pushes it beneath the sand, to where the shrub's roots can hopefully swallow it up.

Afterwards, he notes down the shrub's height, texture and variations between it and other members of the same species.

And then he realises, a full ten seconds after the fact. What he just did, practically on autopilot, and the fact that he has no idea why he did it- how he did it, what made him do it, there's no question he can ask that gives a satisfying answer, an answer that takes the weight off his shoulders. He needs to make it so it wasn't his fault and he doesn't know how. Was it the heat? Is he just tired?

Did he want to? Never mind that he's never used Cloudhymn in his own body before- he wasn't even sure if he could- why did it come so naturally? Why was it so easy?

It has to be the heat. He would never- not while in his right mind- there has to be something wrong with him. He needs to get back to the Express. It won't do anyone any good if he ends up indisposed out here.

All the while he makes his way back, he can feel it in the back of his head. The broken wall. Spilled ink bleeding onto clean paper. That place in the world that he'd drawn in hard lines and cut out so neatly and labelled as his own, blurring around the edges. He'd been wearing his own body, collecting information for the data bank. He couldn't have been any more Dan Heng than he was in that moment. And yet, without even particularly making a decision, something in him casually forgot the separation he'd so meticulously delineated.

It was just a plant. He had glanced at it and felt that it was a shame it might die soon. So then he'd watered it. Probably not even enough to make a difference. But he'd done it anyway. Even though it was against all the rules.

Dan Heng has begun to realise- and some part of him has always known- that deep down he's not exactly the careful, rational thinker he tries to paint himself as- tries to be. Not without putting the effort in, and sometimes the effort is just beyond him. He hates, more than anything else, being bound. It's his nature to strain and tear at every chain that binds him, both literal and metaphorical. But to think he might rail against his own rules? The ones he made to keep him safe?

He can outrun the past. But how the hell does he outrun himself?

Weeks pass, and he can't forget about it. On more than one occasion he stares at his impassive face in the bathroom mirror and wonders what was wrong with him that day. He wonders if it can ever be fixed.

He makes himself water the plants in the parlour car- the normal way. Calls it penance in his head, like it needs justification As if he somehow owes it to them. At the very least, it turns out to be more soothing than he'd expected, and he'd be lying if he said he feels nothing at all when a leaf spouts or a new bud unfurls.

Sometimes, while he transcribes data entries or stumbles through a book less interesting than he hoped it might be, he wonders if that plant back in that desert world survived; he hopes it did. In the moments where he lets his thoughts wander he imagines going back there and finishing what he started, calling forth a storm that could maybe nourish those dry, dying shrubs in a way that actually made a difference. Of course, messing with the weather so drastically would probably make a mess of the ecosystem too and then the plant would die anyway. He doesn't know what he's getting at anymore, what his subconscious is trying to prove. He never used to let it drift so far away from the present.

When he breaks out of one such daze, he fills a glass with water and takes it to the parlour car, just like before. There's no one in there; the Express has been quiet recently. Trailblazing isn't something one can do from within the walls of a docked train, after all.

Dan Heng doesn't recall ever having been addicted to anything, so he can't make a sure comparison, but something gnaws at him. An itch his brain needs to scratch, knowing full well that doing so will only irritate things further.

What if he did it again? Just to see if he could?

Just because he could.

He throws a guilty glance to the door at the other end of the car. Besides him, only Mr Yang is currently aboard the Express (and the conductor, of course). Not that it matters. Neither of them would fault him. But Dan Heng would fault himself if he let them see. He's going to fault himself regardless, and keeping it between him and the plants is the only way he knows to lessen the sting even if only from a break to a fracture.

But he can't not do it.

No desert heat to blame this time. No wandering thoughts. Entirely consciously, Dan Heng pulls a stream of water from the glass. Then a second, a third, more than he cares to count until only droplets cling to the sides, their images stretched into something unnatural as light refracts around them. Guilt sits low and cold in his stomach. Something lighter, more thrilling, fizzles in his chest.

He weaves the water into the soil, trying to imitate the pattern rain might leave.

What is he trying to prove? Who is he trying to prove it to?

He doesn't get much sleep that night, but he wakes to a new flower, stretching out its petals in what Himeko suggests is curiosity.

He realises, to his horror, that the glimmer of warmth in his chest a day earlier might have been pride.

3.

The footsteps outside in the passenger car are definitely March. Their weight, their rhythm, are instantly familiar.

Except for the fact that she's been there for far too long. It's not like her to linger outside his door with what he can only guess is uncertainty. Even when she does knock, it's gentler than her usual, and her call of "Dan Heng?" Is hesitant.

He responds with his own usual, "Come in." March does just that, expression sheepish.

"Hi."

"Hi."

There's no immediate response. March plays with her hands, smiling but not looking particularly happy. "So, uh, is the archivist stuff going well?"

"It's going smoothly," Dan Heng says. He'll indulge her hesitance. If she's not ready to ask, he'll wait for her.

But it doesn't feel quite… right, this time. He wants to believe that everything can be waited out, that every problem will fade into insignificance given enough time. And yet… he suddenly feels he doesn't have the patience for that anymore, or maybe it's faith he's run out of. He doesn't want to wait. Does that make him a good friend? Or does it make him greedy?

Still, to probe March for information she's clearly uncomfortable about would be overstepping. He settles for a neutral, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"What? Pfft, no, I just-" March sighs, slumping. "Man, I'm so obvious. I wanted it to be elegant and subtle like when Himeko does her negotiation thing."

Dan Heng laughs softly- just an exhale, really. "I thought you were decided on a 'plucky heroine vibe'?"

"That was last week!" March folds her arms, pouting rather dramatically for all of two seconds before dropping it. "Anyway, I do kind of need your help. I mean- it's not, like, urgent, so if you can't do it that's totally okay-"

"Slow down and tell me what you actually need first," Dan Heng interrupts gently.

"Okay. So, you know lil' Gui?" Dan Heng shakes his head. "No? That streamer who Stelle was doing that whole ghost-hunting thing with?" Again, Dan Heng shakes his head, and March tuts. "Yeah, because you've spent all of your time since the Luofu in here! I understand you need time to process, but you need space too! And fresh air, and company, which I'm giving to you right now because I'm an awesome friend and- anyway! I got invited to this challenge stream thing that she's doing tonight 'cause Stelle recommended me as a photographer and I had this outfit all planned out and I made sure I had everything ahead of time but then when I was doing the laundry yesterday I forgot to turn the dehumidifier on so my skirt is still wet and… yeah."

Dan Heng blinks. "Your lung capacity is impressive."

"I know!" March throws up a peace sign, like she's posing for this award Dan Heng has given her. "So can you, uh. Dry it?"

"Dry… it?"

"Uh huh." March remains eager as ever. "You know, like sort pull the water out?"

Dan Heng's throat goes slightly (ironically) dry as he finally figures out what March is asking, and why she was so hesitant about it.

March, meanwhile, seems to take his silence as disdain. "I'm sorry! I- I know it's a rough topic for you, but you remember when I joined the Express?" She doesn't wait for Dan Heng to answer, rushing onwards instead. "After we figured out I could make six-phased ice, I was really freaked out because I thought I might turn myself into an ice cube and lose all my memories again- remember? But then you guys told me that if that happened, you'd just unfreeze me again, and then we could use my photos to jog my memory." Her voice is soft now, none of the rambling quality from earlier. "I don't really know what I'm trying to say, because I guess I can't say for sure what's going on in your head. Back then I was convinced that something bad would happen, but now I use my six-phased ice magic all the time and everything's fine. And I'm happier because I don't spend all my time worrying about it."

"I'm glad," Dan Heng says, and he means it, but March is having none of it.

"Nope! Stop right there! Don't make this about me. It's about you. Because what I'm saying, Dan Heng, is that I think you'd be happier not worrying too. You already seem so much more comfortable now that you don't have to hide your past from us anymore. So I'm telling you now: we're not scared of you hurting us or losing control or whatever. So stop beating yourself up over it."

The smile on her face and in her voice is so genuine and yet she's so wrong that Dan Heng feels almost sick. It's not the same. He's not the same as her. Her courage is something he'll never have.

"It's not… about control," He says haltingly. Or rather, it's not the magic he fears losing control of, but rather everything else. It's sort of like organising the data bank. Every entry has a fixed category, definite links. If data is uncategorised, if no lines are drawn, the whole thing would bleed into a chaotic mess. Likewise, the only way Dan Heng can hope to keep his identity intact is by distancing himself from irrelevant data. The past that isn't his stays shut in a box on the bottom shelf, and if someone else moves it into view, Dan Heng will put it back where it belongs. "Not… the kind of control you're thinking about, anyway."

He tries not to think about what it might mean that sometimes he thinks about moving the box off that shelf. About the too-many times he's already made an exception and opened it.

It feels more futile by the day, if he's being honest. He draws his lines in the sand, and then the tide comes in and smooths them over, and so he redraws them again. It's a constant upkeep, and whereas the data bank builds connections and categories all on its own, here, there's no one to help him.

He looks up again at March's smile, so hopeful even as it falls a little. Hopeful for him. For him to help her, and more than that, for him to be happy. He thinks that explaining his desperate struggle would make her sad.

Dan Heng wonders, not for the first time, when the question changed from what if I'm like Dan Feng to what if Dan Feng was like me. Because March's smile falters at his uncertainty and he doesn't feel any guilt at all at the prospect of letting her down. He hasn't even considered the prospect, and he certainly hasn't considered the consequences of not considering it.

He'll make the exception for her. Just this once.

And the next once, probably. Then the one after that, too.

"I can still give it a try," he says softly. He wants to hate how pathetic he sounds.

March's eyes go wide. "Wait, you're sure?"

"Well… you make a good case."

Her surprise melts into something more vulnerable. "Wow, that's- honestly, I didn't think I was going to convince you at all! Wait here, I'll go get it!" She scurries off, and Dan Heng opts to return his focus to the article he was transcribing rather than think too hard about anything else.

She returns pretty quickly, placing the skirt in front of Dan Heng with an awkward, "Well, uh, here it is. Whenever you're ready." Her smile, too, is awkward, but just as genuine.

"Okay."

That's it. He's in. No backing out anymore.

(As if he was going to.)

As always, calling on the magic itself is frustratingly easy. Nothing Dan Heng can do will reverse the however-many-millennia of practice sitting uninvited in his subconscious. He reaches forward with invisible hands, latching onto the water soaked into the fabric, and pulls.

It's more delicate work than he'd anticipated, to be fair. His instinct, used to battle, is to show little care for how much force he uses, but he's never going to be able to face March again if he rips anything. It quickly turns from something unpleasant to a fun challenge. The extracted water hovers around his hand, and he has the distinct sense that it's awaiting his instruction.

March watches him intently the entire time. Her mouth is slightly open in something a little too excited to be called awe, even though she's pulled off much more impressive feats with her six-phased ice. Dan Heng does find it strange not to be treated like a monster for the power he wields. Now that he thinks about it, he never really has been, he just… always expected to be. The weight of all the grudges against him- no, against the person he isn't- is unbearably heavy, but no one has ever faulted him for his capacity to hurt. No one except Dan Heng himself, at least.

He can't help but think the world has its priorities mixed up, for better or worse.

Eventually, he determines the skirt to be dry. "I think it's finished."

He's given no warning before March launches herself at him, wrapping him in a hug. She doesn't even notice when he drops the gathered water (though none of it seems to land on the skirt, thank Akivili). "That was so cool! I can't believe that worked!"

Dan Heng only smiles into her shoulder. He believes the part where it worked. He's still struggling with part where he agreed to it in the first place.

She pulls back, observing the wet floor. "Oh. Uh. Oops." Then she looks back to Dan Heng. "But it's fine, because you were amazing! Nearly as talented as me, in fact."

"What an honour," he deadpans, grateful for the customary banter. "I'll go grab a towel. I need to get out of the archives anyway, like you said. Don't do anything too stupid on your stream."

Then he leaves before she can ask why he won't just clean up the water the easy way. He isn't really sure either.

4.

Why is he here?

There's no Stellaron. No grand plot to save or destroy the world. Dan Heng alights at a perfectly average IPC-owned planet, looking to pick up some supplies-

And finds a Stellaron Hunter instead. He doesn't know or want to know why. None of the others are here, as far as he can tell. It's just Blade, because of course it is, because of course Dan Heng knew to lock eyes with him across the street in the late-evening light without even knowing he was there.

All he'd tried to do was leave. Even that, apparently, is a crime punishable by death.

And the worst part? Dan Heng could be back on the Express by now. He could be back five times over.

Except he can't kill Blade. If he hurts Blade again, knowing what he knows now, what he's remembered, what does that make him?

Something less cruel than what he is right now, surely. Every time he sees the fatal opening and hesitates, he's making things worse for the both of them. It's maddening. Their meeting is nothing more than an awful coincidence and Dan Heng is entirely capable of putting things right, and yet some part of him refuses. This isn't what was supposed to happen, it screams and Dan Heng neither knows nor wants to find out which particular mistake of his it's referring to.

He catches a glimpse of Blade's smile in between one strike and the next and the expression is utterly feral, nothing that belongs on a human face. They haven't even exchanged words, just adrenaline and body heat and one blow after another. Dan Heng knows how Mara works. The only true mercy he can grant is death, however fleeting, so why can't he do it?

He hates them both. He hates the world that put them here.

And underneath it all, buried deep where the important bits of him tangle together with the unwelcome ones, Dan Heng feels betrayed. Because they promised. Because Blade had promised him just a little longer and he'd promised in return that he'd see things through, stop running, defy their pointless fate by embracing it instead, and it had felt like closure for the first time in all their bloody history but for some reason they can't hold each other even to something so simple. It's not even either of their fault- the thing he's fighting against is barely as much Blade as Blade is Yingxing- but blame has always been the very foundation of whatever it is they are.

He's trapped. He's trapped and he can't run and he can't fight in any way that's meaningful. He fights in spite of it all, blocking and deflecting attacks so mechanical yet so relentless that if time stared looping in on itself he isn't certain he'd notice, leaping away from Blade much more often than towards him. Their weapons meet, caught against each other like rusted gears in a broken machine, and Dan Heng pushes them apart at just the right angle to leave Blade's chest exposed, his heart poised and inviting, practically begging Dan Heng to tear clean through it, and-

And nothing, again. He shifts into a defensive stance instead of taking the opportunity.

It's dark. The sun was setting when Dan Heng landed here. He was supposed to be gone before it disappeared. It must have started raining at some point because he only now notices the crisper taste of the water mixing with his sweat. He wants this to be over. Not further pain, not further means for revenge, just… rest.

The rain stalls in the air around him, just for a moment, giving the impression that time itself is hesitating.

Dan Heng has time to think absolutely not before Blade notices it too, snarling and throwing himself into an attack once more. The Mara has sunk its claws so deep that he doesn't even taunt Dan Heng like he normally would (why do they have a normally?)- if the sinner is dead, why do you wear his face, his power? Then again, he was never as weak as you. He wouldn't have held himself back against a monster- Dan Heng can practically imagine the words, is somehow familiar enough with Blade's voice to shape it as he pleases in his head, but right now he sees only rage, so disconnected from anything remotely meaningful. Dan Heng isn't fighting an old companion or an old enemy. He's fighting a puppet, and he hates it.

Desperation gets the better of him, and he tries to focus on whatever power he'd called by accident just seconds ago, only half-expecting a response- it's not his to use, after all, not really- but he gets… something. A ripple. A flicker. He isn't really surprised, but it feels better to pretend like he is.

Blade lunges again and Dan Heng loses his grasp on all but the spear in his hands- he blocks, redirects the momentum, puts as much distance between them as he can in what little time he's afforded. Catches the last waves of the ripple, and grips it more firmly this time. He doesn't know what to do with it, but- he does, or his body or his subconscious does and that shouldn't be enough for him to be willing to lean into it but he's weary and desperate and he just wants to go home.

Even when it pulses beneath his skin, tugging at the very framework of his cells like it wants to rearrange them, he pushes past the apprehension. Should he be concerned that whatever he's unleashing is powerful enough that his human body can't contain it? Perhaps. Curiosity seeps through the cracks in his composure, not quite remembering why the subject is forbidden, but the question is secondary, a background process. Above all else, he wants to end this pointless battle.

For Blade's sake as much as his own. That comes as a surprise, that he could even admit it- he's tired, after all, he can get into it later-

(He won't dare to think about Blade once he has everything in order again and he knows it).

The transformation as it permeates through him is eerily blissful. What discomfort he feels at the unfamiliarity of a body he's worn enough times to count on his fingers is secondary to the relief as the exhaustion melts from his muscles and power, surging and unquantifiable, fills every crevice left in its wake. Faintly he feels almost embarrassed that he'd restrict himself to a human's strength just for the sake of something as ephemeral as identity, because this new power fills him with new arrogance makes him dare to wonder if this could be him, too.

Blade freezes in place and Dan Heng swears that, just for a moment, his eyes glow with more recognition than rage, before the monster consumes him once again-

He knows what it's like to have any semblance of choice wrenched away from him. It's haunting to watch in real time as exactly that happens to the man who's supposed to be his executioner.

If he can give them peace, however momentary- please-

His hands move in patterns he knows but doesn't quite understand, gathering mist and faint light, and for once he lets them. What had felt like ripples, vague and nebulous, becomes fluid and alive. Even as Dan Heng is forced to divert more of his attention to weaving between Blade's attacks, it lingers and dilates and moves with him- is him, maybe? Until he senses something like completion.

He forgets to hesitate. His current body might be much less susceptible to exhaustion but his mind hasn't healed in the slightest. It takes palpable effort from somewhere more innate that just his muscles but Dan Heng commands what power he's gathered to converge around Blade in a process that he can only compare to strangling someone from within their lungs.

He wonders, deliriously, what circumstances, what lifetime such knowledge could possibly have come from.

Blade stumbles, the arc of his sword losing momentum. Slows to a halt, hunter's eyes still tracking Dan Heng. The rage in them turns to confusion turns to fear and then to nothing-

And he collapses.

Dan Heng would like to imagine himself as the kind of person who would catch Blade before he hit the ground.

He finds himself staring at Blade's unconscious form for a full minute, shivering from the cold and his exhaustion, before he even moves. He has no idea what he did. He doesn't really care. Can he go home now?

Once he remembers how to tell himself to move, he gathers Blade in his arms- feels a pulse and faint breathing- he's not going to leave an unconscious body out in the open. Maybe he's supposed to like the idea of getting rid of Blade forever, but if the IPC were to get their hands on him in this state… the thought plants a seed of something cold in Dan Heng's heart. He doesn't want anyone else to see Blade like this.

It's not like leaving him in some alleyway with only a sword for company is any better. That's still what Dan Heng does. He hesitates in his attempt to leave, but what other option does he have? Bringing Blade back to the Express? What if he woke up?

That snaps Dan Heng out of his indecision. He doesn't want to be around when Blade wakes up, that much he's certain of. He stitches his body back into something less conspicuous, pulls his hood up over hair that's already soaked, and walks away.

+1

"For now, our only safe option is to retreat."

The silence is so, so loud. No one wants to disagree with Himeko on this, because she's the only one who was brave enough to say it, and yet. No one wants to admit that she's right, either.

Stelle is the next one to work up the courage to speak. "But the other captives-"

It hurts Dan Heng's heart- his pale imitation of a human heart that he scraped together back when all he knew was that the one in his chest was too heavy- to hear her like that. Trying and struggling to maintain that defiant edge in her voice because some part of her still refuses to concede loss- the sound of someone holding back tears where the despair is drying up into frustration.

"I know," Himeko says. Diplomacy and genuine regret weave just the right foundation that her words create some semblance of consolation. "I feel the same. But we simply don't have the option. We're outmatched. Even getting ourselves out is going to be difficult. Trying to save the others is-"

"Is only going to get everyone caught, I know, but- I don't know if I can just leave knowing-"

"I know," is all Himeko says, again. There's a certain comfort in the way she doesn't try to offer any.

They're all the same as Stelle in that regard. They have the ship's identifier, they have evidence of its actions. They can report it. They can come back with reinforcements. That doesn't do anything for how sharply it stings to leave behind a vessel full of people in cages.

But the math is inarguable. Either the four of them escape, or no one does.

Stelle doesn't fight back, but doesn't stop looking like she wants to, either. March still hasn't said a word, withdrawn into a corner like she used to back when the numbness from the ice still lingered on her skin.

Dan Heng does not think himself a hateful person, but he hates seeing them resigned to this. He hates this cell like he hates all the others and he hates that there's a world where people as incredible as his companions could end up on the inside of it.

Some internal defence mechanism or other kicks in and reminds him that he can't afford to take this kind of risk for a bunch of strangers. He catches it in his hands and inspects it with a sort of detached fascination as it crumbles all on its own. He doesn't really understand the version of him that put it there, not anymore.

Because the fact of the matter is that Dan Heng has already decided- had decided somewhere far too deep beneath the knit of his flesh to unmake the decision- the moment he read the shipping logs, eyes drawn automatically to words like transaction and acquire and value, breaking jagged and open at the idea that people could be used like this even so far from his birthplace. Not reborn sinners, not vessels for devastating power, not anything of political significance, just people, guilty of no crime besides misfortune.

"We're not outmatched," he says quietly, filled with a shame he doesn't care to track down the source of, gazed fixed unmoving on the metal floor that isn't different enough to cold stone. "If you'll allow me," he tacks on belatedly.

Even avoiding their gazes, he can tell how they all turn to look at him. How, after a second, they exchange glances with each other. As if they're preparing to give his verdict.

Strange. It doesn't feel anything like as heavy as the first time.

Especially not when Stelle is the first to respond, "Oh shit, yeah. I kind of forgot that was even an option." Dan Heng does look up, then, because even in the bowels of a trafficker ship he bears the moral obligation to roll his eyes at her. The dry smile that accompanies the motion is reflexive by now. "Don't look at me like that. It's a good idea! You're just so cagey about it that I guess stopped bothering to associate it with you. I figured it was just going to be a one-time thing."

"What Stelle is trying to say-" Himeko manages to gently push in before Stelle talks them into a hole- "Is that we're behind you either way, Dan Heng. But it's not our permission that matters."

"It matters to me. Not your permission, but your belief in me." He can't get his voice out much louder than a whisper, but that the words came out at all is an achievement enough. He can never take them back now. Even if he never finds it in him to voice them out loud again, they'll always linger.

"Then I'm entrusting my vote to you," Himeko says with a smile.

"Same here." March speaks up, finally, and the faint confidence in her voice unties at least a few of the knots in Dan Heng's gut.

Stelle, though, folds her arms, throwing a judgmental glance to the two of them. "Well, I guess my vote doesn't count for anything either way," she grouses. "But for the record, I think he should do it."

Dan Heng decides not to think about what it means that he feels more calm hearing Stelle put her own vote forward than knowing that March and Himeko are willing to place the choice in his hands. It's still in his hands regardless. He's already chosen, and they've already chosen him.

Still, he chooses what's familiar. "Can you take the lead, Himeko? We still need a plan. I want to be able to focus on fighting." Himeko nods, and there's a sense of something less unexpected than relief, though just as warm. "And March, Stelle-"

"Yep, watching your back this time around, got it," Stelle finishes off for him, drawing forth the Lance Of Preservation with a vigour Dan Heng isn't anywhere near immune to. "Guess we're doing this now."

"Three of a kind?" March offers.

"Two pair," Stelle immediately follows up, never once breaking eye contact with Dan Heng.

He doesn't miss the sly quirk of Himeko's eyebrow in the dim light behind. She probably knew all along, as the Express' most seasoned member, that Dan Heng's rushed explanation about how he'd stumbled upon the distress signal in the Data Bank's logs was fabricated on the spot. It never belonged to the Nameless in the first place.

That's fine. It can belong to them now. So what if it meant something else in the past? It's only a signal. If it can keep people safe, that's all he needs. And besides, loath though Dan Heng is to admit it, he likes the idea of keeping it alive, even if he can't quite reach the memories that might back up his irrational attachment. He wants to give it another chance to fulfil the purpose it once failed. Putting it like that, he finds it's not a choice at all.

"Ace."

One more round of glances exchanged, silent support, silent approval-

And then Stelle melts open the cell door.

By some miracle, they don't trip any alarms; the system was probably rigged to detect the door being forced open, which technically didn't happen. But, as is tradition, the Nameless can only maintain a stealth mission for so long.

"Freeze!"

It's a regular patrol, which is to say, they're outnumbered maybe four-to-one. They do not freeze, though March restrains herself from making an ice pun as they draw weapons- she and Stelle in front, poised to block any incoming attack, Himeko hanging back where she can analyse as she fights, and Dan Heng guarding behind because that's just what he does- which is proof enough that victory isn't given.

Dan Heng quietly curses himself for taking the back position because of course he hadn't even thought about it- why would he? - but this time he has to be the one putting himself in the line of fire. He said he'd trust them to watch his back. This was his plan. They're all screwed if he doesn't hold his nerve.

It's not hesitation; he just needs to reorient himself, but Stelle has blocked a bullet and March has an arrow nocked and that serves as plenty a reminder for Dan Heng to remember to move, and then remember that he doesn't need to.

He doesn't think about his body. He thinks about the armoured figures who want to shove the most important people in the world back into that cell, and the rest comes naturally. Scales ripple over his skin in a motion so fluid it can barely be called one, the sterilised air thick and electric with a power that finally feels entirely his own, eager and malleable as it is. Dan Heng throws his hand forward on familiar instinct, pulling forth streams of water from where it shouldn't exist, and knocks aside the front line of guards in a sweeping motion. He thinks he hears Stelle cheer, "heck yeah!" Before she ploughs into the next lot, using her lance as a battering ram. March yells at her to be careful, but she's already casting a shield like she knows her words are going right over Stelle's head, and Dan Heng sighs but directs his next attack into her blind spot.

It's normal. It's different to before, and somehow the same, and Dan Heng lets Stelle take down the one soldier before stealing her next target with a surge of ink-like energy. She mutters, "less heck yeah," and then blocks another bullet in a burst of fire as the soldiers start to figure out where the real threat lies.

For all that the Express Crew is unfamiliar with Dan Heng's new fighting style- Himeko hasn't even seen it before- they adapt fast, gladly following his lead. He turns and Stelle covers his blind spot like he'd covered hers. A guard moves to sidestep the streams of water lashing towards them only for March's ice crystals to sprout around their boots. One struggles to stand back up and Himeko's drone swiftly knocks them to the ground again.

Suffice to say, the fight's not a long one.

"Sooo… nice warmup?" Stelle doesn't sheathe her lance as she speaks, turning to Himeko, who nods.

"Unfortunately, yes. There's no way command haven't noticed us now. The faster we move, the better. The quickest route to the bridge is straight ahead and then to the left."

Dan Heng doesn't make the same mistake twice. He moves ahead of March and Stelle, only turning to make sure they're all still following him. Which is silly, in his immediate retrospect. He can't quite wrap his head around why, even if he knows the logical answer, but they trust him.

They pile into a lift at Himeko's direction, leaning against the cold metal walls in what's sure to be their only chance at rest for a while. Which is how Dan Heng ends up staring at his blurred reflection next to March's, trying to figure out why it doesn't look quite right. Generally speaking, everything feels fine, and that surprises him. His body moves with an elegance he doesn't remember learning, ocean currents hum under his skin, he's acutely aware of the three other beating hearts in this metal box and yet it all feels like something he could grow used to, given enough time.

March figures out what felt wrong before he does. "No fancy outfit this time, huh?"

Puzzled, Dan Heng glances down at his clothes. They are, like March said, the same as before, through this is the first time he's seen his hair draped over them like this. They're only clothes. What difference do they make, besides a little extra defence? "I Guess not."

"You guess?"

"I didn't really think about it."

"Huh." She shrugs. "Okay. Kind of waste of a cool power up, but you do you. I'm definitely colour coding my outfit when I get my secret strength, though."

They lapse back into silence, until the lift starts to grind to a halt.

"There's definitely an ambush behind those doors, right?" Her voice is light as ever.

"Oh, absolutely." (Dan Heng).

"Yep!" (Stelle).

"Everyone ready?" (Himeko).

The ashy tang of Stelle's shield hits his tongue at the same time as the not-quite-not-there breeze as the doors slide apart, revealing their welcome party. Dan Heng doesn't bother trying to count. They're definitely more outnumbered than before. His newer instincts say it'll be a tough fight, better to avoid than engage in. His older ones tell him the safest thing he can do is finish things quickly.

A threat is yelled and Dan Heng genuinely can't tell what the full sentence would have been- the sound to his battle-wired brain is nothing more than an indicator of where next to attack- sinking fast and easy into the mentality of striking first and making the rest of his decisions alongside the motion, weaving together Cloudhymn and slashes of the Destruction magic that he hadn't dared to call on since he first slipped on to the Path, back on the Luofu. This corridor is narrower than the last, he notes, the guards only able to come at him in twos and threes. Ideal for a defensive battle, less so when they're trying to advance on the bridge, but nothing that excessive brute force can't solve.

Something unfurls in him as the fight draws on- slowly, at first, and then all at once; shreds of his consciousness settle into each molecule of water he summons and it's not as though he's detached from his body, exactly, but he's not all there either, his control of the water shifting from command and response to simple motion. Half-sunk into muscle memory, droplets and streams converge into the shape of a dragon, rushing forward to sweep aside bodies that don't feel much heavier than mist.

The fighting- the noise, the motion- lulls as they whittle down the ambushing squad. He curls the dragon around his body, alert; it's quietly comforting. Not really an embrace, but a sufficient imitation. Stelle switches to her bat and whacks the last few guards over the head, before turning to Dan Heng and the others.

"Don't-"

"Don't turn my back to the bad guys, yes, I know." She stretches her arms over her head, her feet don't budge, and Dan Heng wonders if it's recklessness or her quiet way of saying I know you've never stopped watching my back. "What I was going to say is that we should let Dan Heng carry more often." He gives her a flat look, and she hands it straight back, before throwing her hands up. "You're doing good, okay! You're doing good and I'm proud of you. Akivili forbid a girl try and maintain her nonchalant gamer aesthetic."

March rolls her eyes- Dan Heng isn't looking at her, but he hears it even before he turns. "Can we please finish this up? They're sending more guys as we speak, you know! Even I don't care about the aesthetic right now, that's how serious I am."

"March is right." March preens at the compliment from Himeko, trying and failing to hide her excitement. "Just keeping doing what you were doing before. Once we take the bridge, we can set everyone free."

They break through another set of doors and from that point all the plan truly amounts to is yet more fighting, and that's fine by Dan Heng. He's stretching a muscle that he once swore to never even use and it feels good. A simple turn of his wrist scatters bodies more proficiently than any weapon his hands could hold so he lets himself fall into the rhythm of it. He feels shame, guilt, on reflex, but the mere thought of that cell sweeps them away so easily that it's obvious they were never really his own in the first place. A learned reaction, more like, one that he didn't practice enough for it to truly take hold.

One of the guards grits out a curse that Dan Heng recognises with a jolt as one used almost exclusively on the Luofu. This is- this is someone who knows what he is, what he could do and that terrifies Dan Heng for all of the second it takes to remember that he's on a trafficker ship and that this fool's fear of him is entirely founded. He will tear this place apart. It's the right thing to do, it's what he wants, and he has the power to make it real.

Satisfaction, a darker, unshakeable kind that he's not familiar with blooms between his ribs when the man who yells "Stand down!" In a voice full of frustration turns to Dan Heng to ask, "What are your terms?"

Dan Heng draws out their eye contact for longer than he needs to. It's hard to say why, exactly, but he likes the way it makes him feel. None of the remaining guards try to attack, either. Total control has been placed into his hands, not that he plans to do anything in particular with it, but is it so wrong to toy with it for a few seconds before he passes it on? Eventually, he tucks his arms behind his back- it's the closest thing he can get to sheathing a weapon, like this- and tilts his head in Himeko's direction. "Ask her."

From then on, it's a blur. Not in the sense that Dan Heng is particularly exhausted or uninterested, simply that everything goes to plan. Himeko's expertise is plenty to reroute the ship, negotiate a docking bay and find somewhere safe for the prisoners. Dan Heng does, admittedly, hang back a little while his companions explain to those prisoners that they're free to leave. It's just a touch too exposing, the cold disbelief in some of their eyes that says I know this is a trap, I know you want to hurt me. Approaching them feels impossible and leaving feels like cowardice, so Dan Heng stays, and he watches, but that's all he does.

Soon enough the commandeered ship is docked and its unsavoury contents left in the hands of the IPC's regulation enforcement department. The Express is already waiting- Himeko must have somehow found the time to contact Welt, too- and all in all it's such a normal mission ending that Dan Heng genuinely forgets. Only Welt's double take as he steps back into the parlour car reminds him that his body isn't-

Isn't right? That doesn't feel correct. Isn't normal? But it is normal. He conforms to all the biological norms for his age and species. Isn't his? It feels like it's his. So what isn't he?

Unusual is the word Dan Heng eventually settles on. Expected, but only in a minority of cases. Acceptable for as long as it doesn't become common. He doesn't even end up back in his human body until the next morning, because Stelle organises a 'spontaneous post-rough-mission amnesiac trio sleepover' and March asks if she can do his hair.

If he had any regrets in the first place, that would have washed the last of them away. This has always been worth protecting, by any means available.

The thought gives way to a brief flash of déjà vu, which Dan Heng pointedly ignores. He's got more important things to do.