bygones be bygones

[groundrules]

BYGONES BE BYGONES

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Welcome to the finale log event, stretching until 22 February. You can find a summary of recent events here. The finale log is broken in four sections:

■ Anurr’s attempt to enter Hatthevar by corrupting party members

■ The citadel’s increasing hauntings and abductions (largely CR-building scenarios)

■ Investigating a ghost ship, for final clues

■ The fall of undead creator Matthias

Thank you for being here & enjoy!

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WALLS, WAILING

The tide of war are turning: his scorpions and sand lurkers defeated by Emilia, Wrath and Benedict, the undead Brotherhood’s foremost general, Rathakku, pulls back his armies. A handful of monstrous creatures remain and will grudgingly serve the trio as their new masters.

Wind master Anurr, foe of the Brotherhood and its maker Matthias, continues assaulting the citadel with ceaseless blizzards. Those exposed to the storms may hear dark or saccharine voices that corrupt, threaten or woo them to open one of the four (north/west/south/east) gates of the citadel and allow Anurr’s forces inside.

■ Those prone to loneliness, despair or self-doubt are the most vulnerable to Anurr’s coercion and can easily turn aggressive, if anyone attempts to prevent them from their goal. A burning need to free the winds and a hatred of Hatthevar overwhelm you, while Matthias’ very name sets you off in a rage.

■ Those coerced are invulnerable to Anurr’s blizzards and the broader cold but highly susceptible to heat and flame. Their skin turns pale, limbs stiff and nearly gelid. They are slower but much stronger, and their touch can chill. They must be warmed — either by fire-side or trapped into heated rooms — to regain control of themselves. It may take up to 48 hours before they’re fully back to normal, waking up at night with a longing to walk into the wind.

■ The gates of Hatthevar remain guarded by enormous man-eating ghosts, but these sentinels have been worn down by war and are more easily overcome. Pass them and your companions and open the gates — and you will win Anurr a healthy advantage.

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A HAUNTED PLACE

Two of Matthias’ beacons have been conquered by Vanessa, Wrathion and Five, who retain them as long as they stay along. Inevitably, they are often hunted by spirits.

Not realizing why his summons have weakened, Matthias directs more and more energy towards the three beacons under his control. The turbulence agitates the spirits of Hatthevar, who become secretive, paranoid, prickly and increasingly riotous.

■ Some scatter quickly as they see you — others gang up, mutinously targeting ghost slavers or anyone who reminds them of those who wronged them when they were alive. Hauntings multiply, while ghost slavers take advantage of the riots to conquer parts of Hatthevar.

PART & WHOLE

Combative crowds, often led by ghost slavers, are especially drawn to characters who own any of Matthias’ limbs or organs. Promised rewards, they seek to abduct such owners or anyone unlucky enough to be mistaken for them, dragging them to decrepit, barely standing and abandoned Whispering Houses while they barter payment from Matthias.

■ Ghosts are fiercely attentive but also superstitious watchmen: spook them, organise a rescue party or sneak out.

■ Watching the walls, you see ink brush paintings of the silhouettes of men, their beady eyes sometimes shifting to look at you. At other times, their limbs seem to shift minutely, as they begin to run towards you, until shadow men burst out of the wall to detain you. They pull back, if you also stop moving.

■ Those who possess Matthias’ parts may find ghosts are unusually submissive to them. Their tokens will likely get seized, if they are captured.

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TROUBLED

Hatthevar succumbs to hauntings, friendly or foul. On any given day, you might experience:

■ THE BURIALS: Come morning, your shoes might be missing, buried in the nearest dirt patch — or you yourself might be entombed in the gardens, forced to dig yourself out before you suffocate. The crystalline sound of chiming bells can lead rescuers to you. Ghostly hands might try to hold onto you, if you are dragged out.

■ THE FACELESS: Lithe faceless dancers dart through the crowds of the ghostly bazaars, carrying demonic wooden masks that they place on the faces of stunned passers-by, fleeing thereafter. The victims now look like the demonic masks, while the masks have copied their likeness. If this happens to you, run after the faceless dancers, steal the mask and put it back on your face to recover your original appearance.

■ THE WATCH: Walking through the streets of Hatthevar, you find yourself visibly, unmistakably watched by an increasing number of people. First, they only steal glances; then, one or two point you out; small groups begin to whisper about you; finally, you notice whole crowds are standing eerily still, watching you covetously and seemingly struggling to keep themselves back from assaulting you.

MASTER GAO’S HUMBLE HOUSE

Least said, soonest enjoyed of Hatthevar’s new fashion of culinary delights. Amid a pick-up in crime, the street food vendors disperse, leaving behind a smattering of secluded establishments drenched in dizzying incense and patroned by… ethereal diners.

Master Gao’s family restaurant promises a once-in-a-lifetime experience, amid ghosts, ghouls and the monstrously dead. Take a seat at a private table, where you are treated to a pleasantly sweet, liquorice brew — then informed politely that you have been lethally poisoned and will die within two hours. Already, you feel your body feverish, overly stimulated, your thoughts given to wonder.

Focus, focus: the antidote, says the listless waitress, is in one of the numerous incoming dishes. A game to focus you on enjoying your meal. Even one bite will heal you.

THE MENU

Still on the fence? Reviewers say:

★★★★☆ Came for the bao buns, stayed for the screams of endless agony.
★★★★★ most places on lotus street went to the hell dogs, master’s gao stays lit, the demon bacon’s sizzle drizzle
★★☆☆☆ Two stars for the incredible heart of virgin sacrifice, cooked al dente. But this will be our last visit, after unprofessional staff treated us as if we were at our first cannibal rites.
★★★★☆ Hand-made blood pasta, rolled like grandma used to make.

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THE HEADLESS DANCER

Five and Wen Kexing share that word on the street is Matthias has favoured two hideaways. The most widely known one, where you are headed first, is the Headless Dancer: a ghost ship that appears on nights of the full moon in the misty lagoon near Hatthevar. Half-sunken and ragged, the Headless Dancer appears like a conglomerate of titans’ bones, carved and welded together. It is a proper sea vessel, atypical to sail through a lagoon.

Your objective is to search the ship for any sign of Matthias.

■ As the vessel passes, you hear a staggered, loud rattling: the chattering teeth of the skull heads that shape the ship’s hull. These hungry mouths reach to crush and gnaw you, if you fall in the waters close to the ship.

■ A pirate crew is hard at work to keep the vessel afloat. At first, the men appear normal, but their skeletal, corpse-like appearance is revealed when they come under moonlight.

■ Many crew members ignore you, chained to each other and the deck and condemned to perform their tasks while singing their ol’ song. Only the captain speaks liberally: cursing, whipping his men and carrying a bundle of chains as he makes his rounds. Hide — at times helped or betrayed by crew members — or risk getting chained down by the captain, your powers entirely muted until you are released.

■ Midway through your visit, the ship sails back into the fog, beneath a strange wave of clouds shaped like enormous fish and sea life . Spears and chains that resemble fish spines plunge down to pin the ship in place: they fly across the deck, at times skewering and stabbing crew members. Take cover or jump overboard.

■ After a few moments, the spear-chains latch onto the vessel’s sides, turning it over and submerging into the lagoon. Instead of sinking, the Headless Dancer breaks water, once again upright… in strange new sides (the ‘Other Side’) in the middle of an intensely violent storm of blood. The previously skeletal crew and captain are now fully human and are struggling desperately to keep the ship from sinking, despite furious winds and the vessel taking substantial amounts of water. You understand quickly this is an illusion or memory of some kind: there is no saving the ship. Spend the last few minutes before the Headless Dancer sinks trying to stay afloat and search the captain and main passengers’ cabin for clues. Within 20 minutes, you hear the mast of the Headless Dancer give way, while the rapidly flooding of the hull causes the ship to break in half. You fall unconscious, waking up battered but alive in the real-world shores of Hatthevar, the splinters of the Headless Dancer’s deck stuck beneath your nails.

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HE BLEEDS

Following our latest vote, the People have overwhelmingly chosen that undead creator Matthias will die.

Carrying out the plan is open to everyone, whether you did or didn’t get involved with the voting — jump in freely!

Matthias will be discovered in the second lair location uncovered by Five and Wen Kexing — the Whispering House of Hatthevar’s foremost wish maker, the Red Lady. He dwells on the first floor, which has been turned into an immense room decked in dark mirrors, whose windows have been entirely barricaded.

There are two types of mirrors: some show you exactly what you most wish to see, progressively captivating you while rapidly depleting your stamina and vitality, until you are reduced to dried husks and bones within the hour.

Looking into the second type of mirror, your character sees a person of tar that reaches out to touch them until their hand exits the glass. Upon contact, your character is overcome by a feeling of intense, spreading coldness, as if their insides are being infested by a rapidly propagating alien creature. They may feel its highly primitive, emotion-led thoughts: a jumble of jealousy, the wish to have a shape and manifest, hatred that your body is not malleable, fear, hunger. The creature takes your body over within the hour.

You can escape both types of mirrors if you cover them, do not look into them, or if someone breaks the thrall (by taking your attention away from the mirror or by physically removing you).

Matthias is often away from his hideaway, giving you valuable time to plot and tinker.

Killing him will involve:

■ Scouting the Whispering House. The Red Lady, a powerful sorceress, is unlikely to allow intruders to go where they please inside her home. But the ‘I’m just a poor wish maker, looking for the bathroom’ excuse is a time honoured classic!

■ Using Matthias’ severed limbs and organs to reduce his power: this can be done by destroying the parts. Fire will do the trick.

■ Setting down traps (tentacly or otherwise!) in Matthias’ quarters to detain him.

■ Creating an illusion or shapeshifting someone to look like Matthias’ daughter Cosette and distract him, when he returns.

■ Feeding Matthias a memory potion that will force him to remember his part in Cosette’s demise.

■ Killing him. Per RNG gods, Emilia gets the dubious honour of delivering the killing blow (most likely, with help from a special tool obtained from the Headless Dancer). Everyone else is still free to char, sting, entrap or force feed memories to Matthias!

Since several people might get involved, it’s probably logistically easier if you play out prep work or threads in groups of no more than 2-3 and assume other party members are around.

You can either NPC Matthias yourselves in your threads or ask for mod involvement.

Note: everyone who threads out any of the events of Matthias’ capture or demise can “inherit” some of his power over undeath once he is killed. Your character will then have to choose what they do with this power (keep, transfer or disperse it).

QUESTIONS

Comments

[downswing]

( Dumplings, pleasantly folded. Lacking the skill that might suggest a staple of local cuisine, but Lan Wangji, too, accepts a piece in chopsticks driven nearly blunt by excess use. No matter. A perfect example of eating to survive.

And killing for the survival of others. )

Do they do this for sport, or to raise profits?

( Local cruelty or a sad venture to persuade patrons to order more and more and more, in hopes of securing their attitude? What if they are not even poisoned, but persuaded? )

Men are fickle.

[reparo]

[Her blind panic finally comes to an end when she reaches the surface. Her hands first, then her arms, the top of her head.

She hears it. Hears him.

Manages to cough out the dirt from her throat, and finds her voice.]

I hear - I hear - help me. Help me out - get me - get me out of here...

[She's sobbing now, which will be embarrassing later. But how can she possibly be mentally prepared for being buried alive? How on earth does someone do that?]

[reparo]

[She's very motivated to not die (again) (for the first time) on the last leg of this journey. Or what feels like it, anyway.

Once upright and on solid ground of sorts, she lets Red go.]

Oh, yes - clues. Rumour has it we should check the captain's quarters, if you'd be game. I was going to do it alone but I'm not sure I want to try out spells... wherever we are right now.

d for dorks

[reparo]

[She's acting like paranoid Mad-Eye Moody right now, constant vigilance, wand in her hand all the time and ready to fire. But can you blame her?

She's been buried alive, died (in another timeline), chased down streets and attacked.

It's the buried alive part that nearly wrecked her, and she's angrier now.

But the anger fades quickly at the sight of Five.]

When they're not selling spirits into slavery, they're burying us alive, and this place is vile and I want to set things on fire all the time. But otherwise, not much.

[reparo]

[ooc; Hermione: /is already angry. Wrath: /amplifies the wrath by proximity/ 'wow she's particularly vicious who could have expected such a thing']

[It feels like an accuracy aid. Fighting side by side or back to back, fighting near Wrath at all, has made her well-honed in her offensive spells, and not particularly forgiving.

She's been on the losing side of mercy before, even in Hatthevar. If all she's meant to do is fight, stay alive, get out - if all her enemies here would sooner take her apart to pieces than sit down for a talk, then Hermione uses everything she knows.

Harry would have to forgive her, she's not here to expelliarmus anyone.

More for them - she aims a confrigo at a slaver who has inched closer and it shrinks the man's head to the size of a hand. She spots the wall of ice, and draws in a quick breath, aiming a blazing fire in the direction of a group of undead, incinerating them.

She's not foolish to try Fiendfyre, but a well-aimed, filled-with-anger incendio maxima is going to do the trick.]

[somebadnews]

[ That's not entirely true. The safest way to travel is teleporting. If he it wasn't for the fact that he needs to conserve his energy, and that his jumps have been shorter since consuming Karsa's potion, he might have suggested the obvious alternative.

He frowns at his question. ]

No. [ He looks to the wyrm that Wrath apparently spared while he was off presumably killing the rest. ] It's probably like riding a horse. I've done that.

double d for dangerous dorks

[somebadnews]

[ Being paranoid isn't a bad thing, if she asks Five. She should be. She has a right to be angry too, but that worries him more. Anger for Hermione means being impulsive, and he lost track of her days ago.

He studies her for a moment before he presses: ]

Who were they burying alive?

The doube Ds are here

[reparo]

[Well, since there's a moment's reprieve here, she can charm her hair back into tight braid, trying to get it out of her eyes.]

I didn't have the time to do a census, but - me, for one.

excellent new codename unlocked

[somebadnews]

[ Not that he didn't already assume it was her, but it isn't the first he's heard of it. These are times he wonders if he should have let Anurr take the city. There's nothing worth saving here. ]

I'm sorry I missed that. [ He actually does look briefly angry that he can't be everywhere at once, not while being chased like he was, though he deflates slightly when he reminds himself that she looks unharmed. ] Did you have to get out yourself?

[reparo]

I did. [And Lan Wangji was there, to keep her from going absolutely hysterical from the fright. She probably still has that dirt under her nails, but she isn't thinking about it.

She's going to do the reasonable thing and focus on someone else instead.]

Five... you can't be everywhere.

[wifedup]

( Once he realises who exactly it is he's pulled away from the mirrors Wen Kexing has the single terrifying idea that Lan Wangji himself might materialise out of thin air and stab him from daring to lay hands upon his husband! He's already inherently prickly about anything Wen Kexing might think about Wei Wuxian, and so boldly disrupting him is another thing entirely.

... He could take him. Maybe. )

Ha. ( He's fine, it's fine. He had good intentions! ) I did not realise it was you.

( Curiosity replaces the laughing hesitance though, Wen Kexing more than a little intrigued by what's happening. He doesn't look towards the mirrors, he's simply not that foolish, but there's a sense that he's aware of them in the way he holds himself still, slightly angled toward them. ) There's something on the other side?

[weifinder]

( A sliding glance, and he studies his husband even as the ebb and flow of energies below head more dark angry. Greedy. A susurrus of negative, resentful emotions paired with the power to do dangerous ill, and his husband, not so much the independent nexus of it all, in his own bloody moods.

His words, carried stronger than the winds: )

Remember grace.

( Yet nothing more, not when his own attentions turn on the ones below, the climbing vitriol that finds them on the rooftops even as he moves, steps back and allows the concentrated burst of qi to carry him up and into misleadingly easy flight, a chase led for the ones too lost to rage to care that they shouldn't. The ones less singular in focus take the break for what it is, and run, while the slavers lash out to see what they can capture: an arrow from Wei Wuxian preventing one from making mark, even as he hums his melody into the winter winds. )

[somebadnews]

[ He frowns. That had to be... upsetting, knowing she was a corpse before he reversed time. He still regrets telling her. ]

No, but I can teleport. [ It doesn't matter that he's been hampered in that particular area since they got here. He still has an advantage. ] And time travel, if I was better at it.

I got caught up.

[starlingroad]

I think the Faceless might be fun for them? Chasing through crowds, getting confused? For both sides, at that.

[weifinder]

"I am."

Step in step, and with his flute now resting against his shoulder. He doesn't need it to craft the music that commands and cajoles with the dead. It's an easier focus, yes, from the first one he crafted to the second one of bamboo, but it's never been necessary.

Not to protect those he cares for, even if they're inclined toward self destruction.

"What is trust to you, Five?"

[wifedup]

( He very carefully weighs up his options. On the one hand he has not endeared himself to Five, pulling the stunt that he did, but on the other the hand is surely proving more harm than it's worth. Wen Kexing has had enough of being watched, of being followed, of being kidnapped, his irritation rising. Zhou Zishu is alive and well, he needs not the bargaining chip. And so it does not benefit him to hide it now, instead he merely inclines his head to one side. )

I do.

( And then - . ) I will not be giving it to him, I find myself bored with doing someone else's bidding.

( He has always been that way, even before he came here. )

It could still be useful intact. His desperation might let us get the better of him.

[bravelyrunsaway]

"Eat all of what you order, and," he pauses, letting himself trail off with his head cocked to the side. His eyebrows shoot up at the words he registers, and he shakes his head.

"They're playing games. A faster acting poison, the antidote in the food. Couldn't tell you if they're lying or not."

There's no indication either way, because no one here is failing to enjoy the food after, for whatever metric of enjoy that includes. His smile is laconic, aimed at Five, and he shifts closer, knowing he runs hotter than most humans and figuring some of that might help. All of this is storm-struck stupidity, and none of it is helped by delivery via storm, albeit far less magically powerful and destructive than the ones from his homeworld.

Clear skies over all their heads for that.

"The food's good. Not made from anything odd."

Which around here, has been something of a problem. The dead don't have the same preferences as the living, and he finds it all rather unpleasant, even if his nose doesn't always find it objectionable.

[wifedup]

Lan Wangji. ( Faux scandalised. ) I'm not that kind of girl.

( It is perhaps a blessing that Lan Xichen has already shown off his aerial skills, that sweet time he got too drunk to contain his excitement. He doesn't think Lan Wangji knows about that, and he's too good of a friend to snitch but Wen Kexing can guess at which way the man before him thinks they may escape. A brief moment of pause as he scans the room around him before he does the unexpected and takes the hand offered, clasping it tightly.

Cheerful. ) We'll tell no one of this! I have a reputation.

( Boldly, he gives the hand he's holding a little shake. Come on, Hanguang-Jun, show off. )

[bravelyrunsaway]

"The dumplings," he said, "Are probably the safest. Or the folded egg, what they call an omelette? Or the soup with the meat and noodles. The last one just seems to make people want to stay close."

He tapped his finger by the various names on the menu, ignoring whatever they were properly called in favour of recalling what he's smelled or seen. All this ignoring, for the moment, the supposed poison and antidote, of which he can smell neither, and seems more like an excellent ploy for making sure people stay through a meal and pay for it versus ducking out early.

"Though don't let me stop you from choosing what you like. The scents are all delightful, which in this city, ends up being unusual."

Problems when the dead have more presence than the living, he's found. He hates it, but what can a man say before all that truth? Precious little.

[mashiara]

"What, and let a second deathlord into this city? You don't think it's suffering enough under the oppression of just one?"

Reaching out, seeking to try and halt the younger woman's progress forward with a hand on her arm. It's not as foreign as it could be, the whispers in the wind, but there's something to be said for stubbornness and anger, and a woman who defines herself by those she can protect, even when she can't truly protect them. Her frown is immediate, her concern visible, eyes flicking over Elayne's face.

"You're pale. We need to get you inside, in weather like this, people don't notice when they're starting to shut down."

The winds whine and shriek, an upswelling of sound that settles down again, much as the massive ghost guard settles and sighs and creaks, back pressed against the gate still far enough down the way to not turn its attention upon them in any meaningful manner.

[downswing]

You have shadows and dregs. ( This, muttered briskly under his breath, manner unbecoming. Uncle would not be pleased. But then, Uncle would not favour a miscreant who submerges himself in bloodletting and warfare without ado, and so perhaps this is a lost venture, from start to finish.

He captures Wen Kexing's hand, first tenderly in the way in which one might begin to escort children. The grip steels, savagely done. He tugs — Bichen called to the side, unfettered and left to float, rises to knee's height, still demanding the effort of a climb. She is not a creature to bow herself completely, no matter the bluntness of her riders' rank: her master and an... honoured guest.

At the last moment, it strikes him he must step up first — and does, coaxing Wen Kexing behind himself, so that Lan Wangji might have the freedom of his hands, waving the crackling, first-bursting parchment.

Wen Kexing may wish to hang on. He is not invited. A rascal will know the way of it, in his bones. )

Fend for your face. Eyes. Likely debris. ( Explosions, it emerges, are ugly work. ) Mind yourself. People care.

( About Wen Kexing. A most novel fact. )

[downswing]

( Grace, in swift killing. Hanguang-Jun, lent his form. He does not question Wei Ying's moderation, his sudden penchant for clemency. His husband is a fluid beast, river-like, evolving. He caters to his ways and his whims, and today, they ask —

...perhaps that Bichen, coming down in swing, should not have bitten a year off. Not have mauled a neck, head yet wailing through the fall. Not have stabbed one man and cut off an arm, and is he a butcher, then? Descended of a Nie? That he must shame his lover so, incapable of restraint?

Red-drenched, wet, gaze blurred, he calls himself back from ferocity, remembering, if not Wei Ying's words, then Sizhui's grace. Brother's composure.

Screams spill and bloom about them, like vapors in the wake of boiling waters. )

...apologies. ( He is, it emerges, an animal. )

[downswing]

( It is not fast work, not pretty. He thinks he might know the voice, only to understand heartbeats later it is not Wen Qing. Close in tonality, the timber the same when deep notes of sorrow hit. He is misled — misleads himself, in the ongoing, riotous quest to unearth the woman, or the boy-child with an unbroken voice.

There is a point when the cascade of filth slows, when he digs and nothing spills in from the sides, when his hands no longer sink in, and progress rallies. When he is extricating more than seeps back in, and he starts to see — pallor. Then, the vibrancy of colour, some misshapen cloth. No doubt the shirt of the buried, twisted.

He has dug out too low to break free her face, too clumsily to reach her hands. They work, if not at odds, then certainly in communion. He has begun, for the past few heartbeats, to shovel with his sword's hilt, careless with potentially hitting the body below — stops now, and it is nails and knuckles again, and the work is slowed. )

Jolt yourself. If you can — if you hear me. To know which way to dig again, north or south.

( They must prioritise her face, and all he sees is the trunk, with no guidance for how she rests. )

let's force feed a guy his own avoided truths

[weifinder]

( He isn't a man who chooses to overestimate his abilities, who fails to recognise when to be humbled and when to take measure and act. More than anything, the last two years and months beyond that have been meted out in this world, by their intention or merit, have shown him what powers he's glad he doesn't touch; what being's he's glad he isn't, just as he's glad to have known them.

Wrath is one of them. Matthias the inversion, someone so plainly lying to themselves that he almost appears dressed in gold, even as he clings to his understandings that this is what is true, and Wei Wuxian, as surely as the rest of those who've been herded along the surface of this world by the Merchant, Master Scorpion in his striking final actions, knows that truth is constructed. Fabricated.

They've all lived truths like that before. Willingly and without their knowledge. How many they've hurt in the process, what they justify along the way, ah, but isn't that something to need facing?

His power, such as it is, cannot be one that shakes this world, so he settles for what he can do: irritate, offbalance, offer outside recourse. It's the pain of asking people who've died if they'll stand up to fight and defend and allow their living the time to escape, with the knowledge that their souls, their spirits, won't be allowed into the consuming hands of the Brotherhood or any other; it is the day he'd stepped on the path out of Sa-Hareth to the knowledge that those he loved and those he'd taken to caring for, to protecting, were under siege, and the only weapon he had to lever against the death trudging their way was in the energies steeped into the stones and suffering of Sa-Hareth itself.

He could not seek to control one such as Matthias, even with mirrors turned away from easy access and support, even with forces whittled down or elsewise contained. What he does, instead, is a spike of a headache driven behind eyes, the piercing momentary pain of it, before he pushes against, resists, the death that has become Matthias's calling.

Creating opportunity in tune with the many, concentrated efforts of their ragtag group of not quite heroes, and for this: easing Wrath's inevitability when it comes to introducing Matthias to the starkest truth he refuses to face.

Of his true failings with his daughter, and what it is he can never change, can never claim, can never work to change.

Even as he stumbles, hand twitching toward his head, Matthias is nothing but his own righteous confusion, and the bitten off words of a man who considers himself logical in spite of the passions of those around him. )

[somebadnews]

[ He briefly shoots Lan Wangji an irritated glance when he ignores what he told him and nearly throws him off balance with his sheath, before turning his ire towards Rin. She surprised him before, but she won't get a second chance. The wound in his arm is already stitching together as wind whips around him. Protecting him.

Anurr isn't the enemy. He's always been here, and he's offering to rid them of the city that's only caused them pain. ]

You're wrong. He owes us everything. I brought him here. [ He means that literally, with Anurr's severed finger still around his neck, which he pulls out as proof. It dangles unassumingly on the string.

Shouts nearby turn his head and he sees that the crowd he'd been expecting has caught up to them. They need to let him in before they get in the way and Rin has distracted them enough. He calls to Lan Wangji and gestures to the gate. ] Go back, we don't have time.