Who is that… who is it?
Ah.
Of course Ganyu knew who it was.
But she refused to admit it, refused to face it.
She knew what would happen next—and at last understood why Rex Lapis hadn't wanted her to keep watching.
Ganyu instinctively stepped back. Her thin lips trembled; her gilded pupils tightened as she stared fixedly at the figure before her—
Suddenly, the person before her felt so unfamiliar that she could barely recognize her.
Is that… me?
So this was what she had once been.
That person—her former self—pinched the bowstring with a slender forefinger; ice-blue elemental light breathed a pale, snowy wind, blowing the loose hairs along her cheek aside and revealing those eyes.
Empty, numb pale-blue eyes held no excess feeling, like a frozen, icy pond; in its depths lay shadowy hate. That pond reflected the face of Bosacius.
She gazed at who she had once been, and, by reflex, touched her own cheek—then suddenly realized she was, in truth, looking into a mirror two thousand four hundred years old. She had been like this then, and she remained like this now. She had never changed; the visage of her heart had frozen two millennia ago.
So ugly.
Ganyu felt a haze—no, a sting.
It came from the depths of her soul, like thorn after tiny thorn—as soon as she recalled what happened after this, her heart felt as though it pushed through a thicket of brambles, a thousand little barbs scoring wound after wound.
What happened after… She knew, knew it down to the last detail, for it had forever haunted her dreams.
You did nothing wrong. You did nothing wrong…
And again that voice echoed from within—the voice she relied on, the voice she… loathed.
At last Ganyu knew that voice's name—
[karma]
The heart-demon that entangled her for two thousand four hundred years, the karma that bound her for two thousand four hundred years.
Don't…
"You did nothing wrong."
——
It seemed to be raining above.
Bosacius lifted his head and softly closed his eyes.
He stood now in a bottomless abyss; logically he should not hear the rain above. Yet he could always imagine it. Having absorbed Liyue's karma near the land's beating heart, he seemed melded with this earth.
The fine rain wove a thin mist; the pale-blue plains drew tight into a single line beneath it. Past the boundless flats one would see Guili Plains, see Liyue; each raindrop tapped upon every eave in the city, a crisp clatter seeping through red walls and black tiles into every home.
How beautiful.
He also sensed four auras in The Chasm—four Yaksha, perhaps…
He opened his eyes, turned back to his junior, and smiled faintly at her.
That smile—across two thousand four hundred years—was imprinted in both Ganyus' eyes.
The former Ganyu had not understood its meaning; the present Ganyu seemed to. She stared, dazed, at Bosacius's smile—the mouth twisted, grotesque, yet the eyes were tired and gentle, like the lonely sunlight of an autumn afternoon, sparing on the plane-tree's leaves, desolate and bare.
No… Ganyu took half a step back. Never had she been so flustered, so helpless. She wanted to stop this, reached out to touch Bosacius's cheek—but her fine fingertips passed through that helpless smile.
Once more she realized the truth:
What has already happened cannot be stopped.
That person was already dead; what stood before her was only a projection left by history.
That is what death is.
All that remains in this world are the footprints of one's existence—yet those prints may be wrong, may be false. Follow them stubbornly and she would never catch that person, never grasp his heart.
…Hah.
The former Ganyu slowly exhaled. She stared hard at the man she could no longer recognize—the traitorous senior—and her heart trembled.
The corpses atop the stratified rocks of The Chasm were still vivid before her eyes.
The dead soldiers, the dead civilians—their foul, shadowy aura ran down through The Chasm and into Bosacius. As a qilin, Ganyu could clearly see the slaughter clinging to him.
It was the man before her who killed them.
Not a conjecture.
A fact—piercingly clear. Even if not Ganyu but some other adeptus stood there, upon seeing the scene they would reach the same conclusion.
Because that was how it was. They died to karma, and the karma that killed them had seized Bosacius's body; thus Bosacius was the karma that slew them.
The Millelith had been slaughtered to the last—because of her. Because of her hesitation last time. Because last time she failed to kill that man—the traitor!
This time, she was resolved.
Ganyu bit down hard, blood flooding her mouth—cold, iron-tanged. A brutal, frigid element gathered upon the arrowhead; its chill light mirrored the emptiness and hate in her eyes.
"You…"
Bosacius seemed to have forgotten her name. He lowered his head slightly to look at his heart—but those wounds had healed. Ganyu's name had been carved first, and so it was the first to heal, the first to be forgotten.
A cruel jest: the first person he ever met, the junior with whom he grew up, had become a stranger—and even an enemy drawing a blade. Yet even so, even if she had forgotten, he still wished it were not so.
'I don't want to be killed by you.'
The Ganyu two thousand four hundred years later heard his thought.
'I don't want to kill you either.'
The Ganyu of the present shuddered. She wanted to act—but could do nothing.
She could only watch this unfold, helpless and panicked—as on Mt. Aocang long ago, when she had cowered in her senior's arms, watching a vile beast tear at his body—
So small, so powerless, unable to do anything.
[Remaining life: 3 minutes 23 seconds]
Why… have you come now?
You never listen. Last time, when I asked you to kill me, you did not. But this time, you came.
Such a troublesome junior.
I was almost there.
Just… just three minutes and twenty-three seconds more.
Those last three minutes and twenty-three seconds would suffice to reach the deepest place, to seal himself away.
But now… perhaps not.
He smiled helplessly, as if lamenting life's caprice. His lips moved to speak—but the karma would no longer let him.
Because it sensed living breath; it sensed a threat.
Because Ganyu's arrow aimed at its heart. Instinctively the pitch-black, twisted emotion overflowed; instinctively Bosacius would tear the girl before him apart!
Murderous madness boiled over. Four warped, fearsome arms arced high; dark-gray nails still caked with dried blood. A grotesque smile split his face; his eyes were wholly stained in chaotic darkness, his features suddenly young, long hair flung out around him.
The sovereign of the mortal realm.
At this moment the karma had reached the very peak of archon power.
In an instant he could rip open Ganyu's chest and taste her blood.
The cold rain hammered the world above the ten-thousand-fathom abyss; cold lightning, like silver serpents, ignited one pocket of dead fire after another. In karma's eyes the flames of frenzy surged; malice boiled over as he hefted a long blade, hellfire raging in his gaze.
But in the next second, those flames halted—only for an instant.
He froze.
[Remaining life: 3 minutes 20 seconds]
[Remaining life: 1 minute 11 seconds]
[Remaining life: 30 seconds]
That single, ever-burning wick—the last candle of Bosacius's life, which refused to go out—chose to gutter. He voluntarily surrendered the remainder of his life; he killed his own soul. The candle went dark, and in its last flare it seemed to set the world ablaze.
He was compressing his life—the little that remained.
Compressing the last three minutes and twenty-three seconds into only three minutes.
[Remaining life: the instant the candle goes out]
Once again, he defeated the karma. As he had last time—he won.
But unlike last time, Ganyu did not hesitate.
In that single instant—just that instant of vacancy—karma seemed distracted and exposed a flaw. Ganyu seized it, and the arrow loosed the coldest, keenest light, flying straight for karma's heart.
In Bosacius's eyes, in the eyes of all two millennia hence, in Xiao's eyes, in Rex Lapis's eyes—in every gaze—that icy arrow pierced the final flare.
The candle was snuffed.
The karma stilled—if only for a while.
But the one who died… was Bosacius alone.
The arrow pierced his heart, tearing apart the organ carved with names. Blood slid along the fletching to the ground. He swayed, lowered his head, and the world before him tilted, his body falling backward.
Then Ganyu released her hand. The bow slipped from her grip. She stared at the falling Bosacius—her senior whose heart she had just shot through. Her whole body trembled; her pale-blue eyes quivered without her willing it. She took a step back and whispered, "No…"
She felt an emptiness of emotion.
Bosacius's eyes dimmed, like a sunset faded to night. He looked at Ganyu quietly; his lips moved faintly, as though smiling. He strained to lift his head—he would not die with it bowed.
He was proud his whole life.
He raised his head and smiled. His voice was too low; no one heard his final words.
'I did nothing wrong.'
She swayed, vacantly staring at his body. Some voice swelled in her heart, echoing over and over: You did nothing wrong, you did nothing wrong, you did nothing wrong.
She chose to believe it.
Only by believing would she not collapse.
She dared not look into Bosacius's eyes again—those hollow, hateful eyes; to her, that was the feeling they conveyed.
Nor did she wish to hear his words. Fear and dread gripped her—afraid that the last thing she would hear was a venomous curse.
The blue paled from her eyes; a deep, gilded color slowly ate at her pupils. She murmured, I did nothing wrong.
That man was a sinful adeptus.
She had not done wrong.
She did not look at Bosacius's corpse—would not look. She turned away, face empty of expression, picked up the fallen arrow, and walked toward the upper tiers of The Chasm.
Rain struck rock in the fathomless dark—
She did not look back once.
In the boundless depth of the leylines, in the vast world, Bosacius alone remained. He could no longer hold up his proud head. It drooped, his lips working faintly—unable to speak.
But the voice of his heart was recorded by the land, and for two thousand four hundred years it echoed on.
At last, two thousand four hundred years later, Ganyu heard Bosacius's final words clearly—
"You did nothing wrong."
His gaze went out.
"Pay it no mind."
"I'm sorry for making you kill me. Please do not grieve."
"I'm sorry."
"In the days to come… Liyue will depend on you…"
Not hate, not a curse, not complaint—but comfort, a blessing.
You did nothing wrong.
Ah.
Ha… ha.
So that was it.
Ganyu swayed. At last she understood; everything linked together. That voice had always been a blessing… it had always been a blessing!
It should have been—pure, simple blessing and comfort—the blessing of a dying man.
The voice that supported her across two thousand four hundred years, the one she depended on, trusted—
Came from her senior. Her salvation came from the one she hated.
The voice that kept her living, that kept her from breaking, that always watched over her—came from her senior, from the man she despised.
Only she—only she—took that blessing and nurtured it into the deepest karma. She had not heard it. She chose to flee… chose not to hear his final heart.
She did not hear it—and even stubbornly believed Bosacius had hated her at the moment of death.
So it twisted and twisted. In flight she hated and hated and hated.
The heart-demon sprouted within and spread. This karma did not come from anyone else—it was born of herself, in her own heart.
She warped that blessing and made it her truth—or rather, she never heard it at all, choosing to ignore it by instinct. She truly believed she had done no wrong, fled forward like that.
If only… if only she had listened to his last words; if only she had heeded his heart—would the end have been different?
Ganyu did not know.
'I'm sorry.'
Bosacius apologized even at the end. But why… why were you apologizing?
Head bowed, he leaned against the cold rock wall. He seemed to be smiling—a sad, helpless smile. His eyes held no more light. His heart stopped. He died alone in the world's deepest place.
The old tomcat finally died in his homeland.
He died in the heart of the leylines—closest to the land's own heart.
He died in the land he loved.
Ganyu bent down. Her shoulders shook; she wished to embrace Bosacius one last time—to hold him—but could not touch him. Her fingertips passed through.
Across two thousand four hundred years, she could no longer hold him.
Such is time. Even the hardest stone weathers to nothing in the long ages; oaths carved in rock blur and fade.
Stone cannot hold back time, just as one cannot chase down a bolt of lightning across the sky or catch spring's first breath. Never again could she embrace that stone.
For that stone had already shattered, two thousand four hundred years ago—together with that heart carved full of names.