Bosacius leaned against the stone wall, his head bowed, eyes completely scattered, his heart no longer beating. The Fantastic Compass lay at his feet.
——He had intended to reach the deepest place of The Chasm and seal himself, together with his karmic filth, inside the Compass.
Clearly, he had failed.
He was already dead; every function of his body extinguished. But the filth was not dead—only in a brief slumber. It still hid within Bosacius's body, and once that shell collapsed, it could no longer bind them.
Moments later, they would burst free, staining all of Liyue's land.
Ganyu could not embrace that body. She bent down, reached out, but her slender fingertips could not touch the flesh that was slowly going cold.
She felt her own heart beginning to freeze as well. Her lips trembled, but no words came.
"Don't." Suddenly, Seino Yaku's voice sounded at her ear. "This is not your fault."
This is not your fault.
Ganyu lifted her gaze slightly. In her golden eyes was reflected the boy's face. He, too, crouched down, staring earnestly at Bosacius's corpse. Thoughtful, he said:
"Though I don't understand it all… the one Bosacius wronged most in his life was not anyone else—it was you, Ganyu. He died carrying guilt and regret toward you. So you don't need to blame yourself."
Seino Yaku spoke gravely.
"This man never once blamed you, even at the end. On the contrary, he only felt remorse for you."
"What…?" Ganyu instinctively clutched her robes.
"The one he wronged most was you… because you were the one who killed him."
Those pale-blue eyes, clear as a lake, reflected Ganyu's face. "He wanted to protect you, to protect everyone. But in the end he hurt you. So you shouldn't blame yourself. You mustn't."
"I don't know him," Seino Yaku admitted. "But I can still guess some things."
He paused. After a while, he continued:
"He knew that if any of you had to kill him, the pain would scar you for life. He tried to minimize that pain—but he failed."
Bosacius was doomed to die. Whether asking the Archon to strike him down or sealing himself within The Chasm, he had tried desperately to avoid being ended by those dearest to him, because he knew the killer would carry that pain forever.
He hadn't wanted them to grieve.
But fate is cruel. The dragon's rampage, the sudden collapse of the leylines, the flood of filth, the failure of his plan—all pushed him toward the one ending he dreaded most: to be killed by kin.
He died carrying guilt toward Ganyu. That was why, in his last moment, he said: "This is not your fault."
Bosacius… myself—
What a bastard.
This is not your fault. This is not your fault.
…Again, those words.
Ganyu lowered her head, golden eyes shadowed. She raised them again, staring fiercely at the boy, grinding her teeth. "…You don't understand. You don't know him."
This boy could never truly understand.
He only stood at a distance, speaking empty words of comfort. He knew nothing, yet pretended to understand. You did nothing wrong, you did nothing wrong—Ganyu had heard enough of such words.
"…I killed him." Her nails dug into flesh; emotion sharpened her tone to icy severity. "…I killed him."
"You don't understand…" she whispered.
Seino Yaku looked at her. After a while, he sighed helplessly, with a faint, bitter smile:
"You're right. I don't understand Bosacius. I only understand myself. If I were in the same situation, Ganyu, I would never blame you. I would only feel sadness and guilt."
He spoke firmly, something glinting in his sky-blue eyes. "I would tell you: 'I'm sorry. Forgive me. I hurt you. Please let me atone.'"
His words were puzzling. Ganyu could not understand them now—perhaps she would one day.
The boy seemed genuinely pained. His shoulders slumped as he leaned against the rock wall, hair spilling across the ground. He stared at Bosacius's dead face, dazed.
Mr. Zhongli watched them both, sighing softly.
The mortal world is full of helpless things. Even gods cannot find perfection in all things.
"You two," Zhongli said quietly, "it is not yet over. The end is still to come."
Not yet over—indeed, it had not ended.
Bosacius was dead, but the filth had not been sealed.
"Ganyu." Zhongli's words carried comfort, though he knew it was only that—comfort. "Do not grieve so. Bosacius has died, but his soul's journey is not ended."
What…? Ganyu and Xiao looked sharply at the Archon, pupils constricted.
"Not… ended?"
Ganyu did not understand what he meant, but she could not help the flicker of hope rising in her chest. Sometimes, hope is the best cure—and the cruelest poison.
So that's it… Seino Yaku thought.
Who finally sealed the filth, who activated the Fantastic Compass—was becoming clear.
"What kind of person was Bosacius?"
From behind, a voice spoke. Ganyu turned in shock and saw a boy with flaxen hair.
Bosacius was dead—this was someone new.
He wore a light robe; his skin was pale as snow, almost transparent, sickly in hue. His long hair dragged to his bare feet. His pale-cyan eyes reflected Bosacius's corpse. As if speaking to himself, he murmured:
"…Surely, a bastard."
"Why do I… have to clean up after him?" His voice was soft. "Really…"
[This is not your task. Liyue is not the meaning of your life. Do it or not—it is your choice.]
[You need not bear this responsibility.]
Bosacius was gone; his past wiped clean. This was a new person.
"But many people will die." The boy spoke softly. "Though I've never seen them, never been to Liyue—they are nothing to me…"
He gave a helpless smile. "But I still don't want them to die."
[You need not bear this responsibility.]
"My former self's meaning—my future self must inherit."
"Let's go."
The boy hoisted Bosacius's shell onto his back. He exhaled, coughed blood, and began walking. He took up Bosacius's burden, continuing the last journey.
The dead shell could no longer hold the filth. The foulness began to seep out. And closest to it was the boy bearing him. His steps slowed, shoulders trembling as he bit down against the pain.
Such a short road—but so arduous.
Ganyu stared at his back, stunned. She seemed to realize something, and instinctively looked to Zhongli, hope flickering in her eyes. Tentatively she asked: "…This is?"
"He is both [Bosacius]," Zhongli said, shaking his head, "and not [Bosacius]. Bosacius is dead—this is his next life."
Both Bosacius, and not Bosacius.
Bosacius…
"And that boy?"
Ganyu locked eyes with Zhongli, hope brighter than ever. Like a drowning woman clutching her last straw, she wanted redemption, to mend her regret. She needed to know about that boy.
Her last hope.
"That boy," Zhongli lowered his gaze, voice soft,
"is already dead."
Ganyu froze. Her mind went blank. She whispered, "…Eh?"
Eh.
Eh.
She stared blankly at the boy's fading back—at Bosacius fading again. She could never catch him.
The mortal world has a saying: The child longs to care, but the parent is already gone. The first time, she had missed Bosacius. And once she finally understood, he was already dead—she missed him again.
"Mortal lives have limits," Zhongli's voice was heavy.
"Th-then… how did he live?" Ganyu's voice was dry, trembling. "He must have lived long, yes? Six hundred years?"
Zhongli looked at her, but did not answer.
"Four hundred? Three hundred?" She pressed. "Did he live three hundred years?"
…
"Ganyu." Zhongli paused, hesitated, then decided at last not to conceal it any longer.
"For most mortals, reaching a hundred years is happiness. To live six hundred—it was only fortune."
"…Then… then…" Ganyu almost muttered, "how long…? Archon, please tell me. Did he live… even a hundred years?"
Her eyes locked on him, stubborn. "Lord Rex Lapis, I am ready. You've hidden it from me for two thousand years. Please—this time, tell me."
"Fifty? Thirty? Twenty…?"
Zhongli still did not answer.
"Hey, hey… that's not right." Ganyu's gaze was wooden, hollow. "Even common mortals live longer than that…"
Zhongli sighed softly. Silence was his only answer.
"…Because of the filth?"
Ganyu turned back to the boy's trembling figure. The karmic taint seeped from Bosacius's corpse into his fragile new body, staining his pale skin.
The boy walked slowly, coughing in pain.
This road was only three minutes and twenty-one seconds long. A path Bosacius had failed to finish. So short—yet so cruel and hard.
Zhongli lowered his gaze, then shook his head. "No—or rather, karmic erosion was only one reason."
One reason.
But still the reason.
"Karmic erosion… must have been agony," Ganyu murmured.
So because of the filth, Bosacius had been tortured endlessly, never finding happiness.
Ganyu realized more—and the truth was brutal, cold, like steel beams under cotton; a breeze blew and the iron bones showed.
Her heart cracked like porcelain—fine lines splintering, then breaking. The final truth shattered it.
Her heart nearly stopped—
If she hadn't come to The Chasm…
If she hadn't killed Bosacius…
Then he could have used his last life to reach the end, to seal the filth.
How had she pierced Bosacius? When the filth was so strong, she couldn't have done it—she should have been killed instead. That fleeting "opening"—was it really one?
Now she had her answer.
Bosacius had burned the last of his life to suppress the filth, one last time protecting her. The price—his next life would carry that filth, to walk those final three minutes and twenty-one seconds.
The price—that Bosacius, in every life, would be bound by filth, never free, never happy.
For her sake, in this life he gave up his last breath. For others' sake, in his next life he bore the burden not his own, finishing the path unfinished.
Because of her, in this life and the next, Bosacius could never find release. Never find peace.
…And she could still say, "I did nothing wrong?"
Could she still be innocent?
Now that she knew the truth, could she keep fleeing? Could she still lie to herself?
"…Because of me?"
"Because of me."
The filth was agony! Could that boy—Bosacius reborn—endure it?
He lived only twenty years—perhaps not even that. His whole life, surely ended in torment. Perhaps his entire short existence was nothing but suffering.
What had she done? What had she done!
The feeling pierced her heart like needles—never to be erased.
"Because… of me?" Ganyu whispered.
Because of her. She had killed Bosacius, shattered his plan. It was her, only her!
"Nonsense. Don't think yourself so important."
Seino Yaku's voice beside her, lightly chiding:
"This was his choice. No matter how many times, he would choose it. Bosacius, in any life—fools to the core."
Still trying to comfort her. Ganyu felt dazed. Could she accept such comfort?
It was self-deception that made her flee. Indulging in falsehood, she kept running—and kept missing.
"This was his choice." Seino Yaku paused, staring at her intently. "Such is the life of the short-lived."
"Stop…" Ganyu whispered. "Stop talking."
Seino Yaku fell silent, only watching her.
Ganyu hung her head, biting her lip, shoulders trembling, glimmers welling in her eyes. Her nails dug deep into her flesh. Regret—yes, this feeling must be regret.
"Shut… up." she ground out.
It was all her fault.
Seino Yaku understood nothing. His words of comfort were hateful, unsettling.
It was all her fault.
"This was not his choice. He would never have chosen this… All of this is my fault."
"Distrust, killing him, fleeing forever, deceiving myself, ignoring contradictions—it was always, always me…"
She stared into Seino Yaku's eyes, tears glimmering. "You are not him. You will never understand… I could not even… pray for him."
Her gaze dropped. She whispered: "You will never understand…"
"…It was his choice."
Seino Yaku looked at her with quiet sorrow. His eyes were earnest. "That is the one thing I'm certain of. And if he were here—he would not want you to grieve."