( They look at their shards with such malice. Such beautiful, snow-pristine malice.
Where Lan Wangji has slipped in the lake waters — where they have tumbled, for he does not swim or sink alone — the gentle thrumming and slurring of ice sheets rattling, collided, nearly coaxes him to listless sleep. It is cold; colder still, when his companion and Lan Wangji favour subterfuge and chase their cover behind the broad-backed stretch of a single, sunken icicle. Among glaciers it is nothing, little more than a blunt tooth. For them, a shield against discovery.
He does not flinch, when the crea — the siren presents her shards, when another consumes them. When the curves and ample lines of the latter's… scale-laden wormlike limb sunders into legs.
When the sirens whisper their words, their rites, their sorcery, and the apparition shapes itself like oils wrenched free from water, and he knows, part and whole of him, knows they face an ugly, vicious killing thing, made holy by the purity of his purpose. And the sister-summoner siren says, Jatharin, and the clutch of Lan Wangji’s hand on his sword’s hilt is a tight thing, choking. )
We could end this here, now. ( Water drenches his silks like claws on his back, curling. He hisses: ) It could be so simple.
( But then, that might prove to be sabotage, suicide, ruin. He sees the failure of it writ large and scalding. He does not risk himself alone, if he dashes in now. Cannot assume for two. And he waits — )
how is jatharin born
( They look at their shards with such malice. Such beautiful, snow-pristine malice.
Where Lan Wangji has slipped in the lake waters — where they have tumbled, for he does not swim or sink alone — the gentle thrumming and slurring of ice sheets rattling, collided, nearly coaxes him to listless sleep. It is cold; colder still, when his companion and Lan Wangji favour subterfuge and chase their cover behind the broad-backed stretch of a single, sunken icicle. Among glaciers it is nothing, little more than a blunt tooth. For them, a shield against discovery.
He does not flinch, when the crea — the siren presents her shards, when another consumes them. When the curves and ample lines of the latter's… scale-laden wormlike limb sunders into legs.
When the sirens whisper their words, their rites, their sorcery, and the apparition shapes itself like oils wrenched free from water, and he knows, part and whole of him, knows they face an ugly, vicious killing thing, made holy by the purity of his purpose. And the sister-summoner siren says, Jatharin, and the clutch of Lan Wangji’s hand on his sword’s hilt is a tight thing, choking. )
We could end this here, now. ( Water drenches his silks like claws on his back, curling. He hisses: ) It could be so simple.
( But then, that might prove to be sabotage, suicide, ruin. He sees the failure of it writ large and scalding. He does not risk himself alone, if he dashes in now. Cannot assume for two. And he waits — )