Amidst the Waves [Wuthering Waves]

"Shā (杀)—Killer."

The word echoed through Kyorin's mind like a haunting symphony, each syllable striking a discordant note in the quiet chambers of his thoughts.

It lingered there, repeating itself with the rhythm of an ancient chant, as if it were an essence of his very being.

Just moments ago, he had uttered the name unconsciously, his robotic, devoid-of-emotion whispering voice as though pulled from the depths of an untapped well.

It felt alien yet familiar—a thread unravelling from a distant memory long buried beneath the crimson sands of time.

'Ah, I remember...' Kyroin's eyes flickered as the memory emerged, unspooling itself in vivid fragments: the battlefield of his second life.

There, amidst the cacophony of steel and cries of desperation, he had grasped the ultimate understanding of the Sanguine Slaughter Record, its ultimate intent crystallizing into a singular truth: "The Mandate of Shā."

"Shā." The word carried weight beyond its simple form. It was more than a name; it was a mantle, a crown forged in the fires of carnage.

The name was not just a title but a declaration. It was reserved for the greatest killer, who moved with the certainty of Death itself.

Kyorin's lips twitched into the faintest of smirks. 'Interesting,' he thought, the revelation settling in his mind like a long-forgotten puzzle piece clicking into place. This fragment of understanding, unearthed without warning, felt as much a surprise as it did a quiet inevitability.

Sensing the shift in Kyorin's demeanour, Xuanmiao's gaze flickered toward him, catching the faint curve of a smirk on his lips. 'Is he perhaps expressing his triumph?' Xuanmiao wondered, letting out a quiet, drawn-out sigh.

However, his attention quickly shifted again. A ripple in the air, faint yet distinct, drew his focus to the presence of two figures approaching.

Kyorin felt it too. The smirk vanished, replaced by the icy, emotionless mask that seemed to be his second skin.

Changli, still marvelling at the feather in her hand, was the last to notice the two approaching figures. Narrowing her eyes, she couldn't help but wonder why Kyorin had called them here.

"Alright, next demonstration," Kyorin said, his voice even and deliberate. Taking the feather flame in hand, he addressed the Electro Resonator. "Send out a simple current."

The Resonator complied, releasing a steady charge. Kyorin raised the feather, using it with deft precision to divert the charge's path.

The energy arced and twisted, obeying his command, leaving the onlookers stunned. Changli's eyes widened as a thought sparked in her mind. 'Could my flames work like that?'

Xuanmiao, watching intently, felt a rare flicker of curiosity. He had always known that fire and electricity shared a connection—two forms of the same elemental force—but the idea that fire could serve as a conductor to control electricity's flow was entirely new to him.

Without pausing, Kyorin turned to the Aero Resonator. "Create two swirls of wind with your blades," he instructed.

The Resonator nodded, conjuring twin vortexes that spun rapidly, their sharp edges slicing through the air. "Faster," Kyorin commanded as the Aero Resonator made them spin faster.

As the winds gained momentum, spinning at a speed that seemed to carve patterns in the air itself, Kyorin issued his next command. "Collide them."

The Aero Resonator obeyed, sending the two vortexes crashing into each other. The collision caused the particles within the wind to ignite momentarily, birthing a brief, fierce blaze. But Kyorin extinguished it effortlessly using his Forte the next moment.

"That's it," Kyorin said, his tone as detached as ever.

Xuanmiao, observing the demonstration, couldn't help but let out an amused huff. 'Geez, kid, no need to show off so hard on an old man,' he thought.

Yet, his eyes glinted with newfound understanding. Kyorin's demonstration of cognitive adaptability made Xuanmiao realise how narrowed the system and usage of Resonance truly was.

When the demonstration concluded, "Here." Kyorin handed each of the two men a skewer of roasted rabbit, a silent token of appreciation for their cooperation. "Now, leave," he instructed, his tone curt and cold.

The men hesitated briefly as if weighing their options, but the sharpness in Kyorin's voice left no room for debate. Reluctantly, they turned and departed.

Xuanmiao watched the men retreat, his gaze lingering with curiosity. 'Exactly how much did he beat them this morning?' he mused, not entertaining any notion that their fear stemmed from Kyorin's cold demeanour.

The thought of intimidation never crossed his mind, as the two had witnessed Kyorin's gleeful expression earlier and assumed his current icy demeanour was a sign of anger. Deciding not to provoke him further, they had wisely chosen to leave without a word.

"So, I believe I've made my point, elder," Kyorin said, his tone calm yet assertive.

Xuanmiao huffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Hah, seems I don't need to teach any lessons today." With that, he grabbed a skewer of rabbit and strode off, visibly pleased.

Changli, however, lingered. Kyorin turned to her, his tone clipped but polite. "I'll entertain your questions later."

Changli nodded, her response a quiet, "Un," before taking her leave.

Once the area had cleared, DEVA's voice echoed within Kyorin's mind, her tone laced with begrudging admiration. "Hmm. A very well-orchestrated plan, I must admit."

Kyorin gave no outward response, but her words reflected his exact intention. He had successfully misled them all, even those who thought they understood him.

The carefully crafted display of emotion, though rare, had been convincing enough to plant the idea that he was capable of genuine expression—though only at significant moments. From Xuanmiao and Changli's perspective, his emotional facade was nothing less than authentic.

Kyorin remained silent for a moment, his gaze distant, before speaking in a low voice. "Not as well as your orchestrated plan," he said.

DEVA's voice, laced with feigned ignorance, replied, "What do you mean?"

"My mother," Kyorin answered, his tone calm yet weighted, "and her inevitable demise."

DEVA paused briefly before responding. "So, you knew?"

Kyorin nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "You once told me you were capable of peeking into the future. Perhaps this morning, I was granted that same privilege."

He went on to recount the vision he had seen—a glimpse of Hongzhen plunged into chaos, where Tacet Discords wreaked havoc on the land. Amid the turmoil, the Long Jue resurrected a girl on the night to come.

"Tell me," Kyorin asked, his voice steady, "if my mother had been resurrected, would she have become a Resonator?"

DEVA's response was clinical, her tone devoid of its usual sass. "Jue is injured."

Understanding dawned on Kyorin as he nodded. "So she wouldn't have. And the girl Jue intends to resurrect—she is worthy of being Jue's Resonator? That's why Jue has been conserving energy for her, correct?"

DEVA's tone shifted, carrying an edge of protectiveness. "Are you perhaps holding my child in contempt?"

Kyorin shook his head lightly. "Nay," he replied, his tone devoid of malice or judgment, leaving the air between them charged with unspoken thoughts.

"May I ask something?" DEVA inquired, her tone cautious.

Kyorin's expression remained unchanged. "Speak your mind."

"Why go this far for a mere shadow I created of your mother, who is rotting away?" DEVA's voice held a tinge of disbelief. "True, she is illusory—made up of synthetic materials to give an impression of realness—but it seems you managed to see past that."

Kyorin's gaze didn't waver. "Given her hollow embrace, I figured it out. Still, I am grateful for you borrowing me and her some time," he replied, his words measured.

DEVA's tone shifted, scepticism lacing her question. "What do you mean, time?"

Kyorin's voice was soft, yet firm. "That night... if you hadn't urged me, I would have killed myself after avenging her demise."

"Nonsense," DEVA shot back, her disbelief evident.

"Why?" she asked, her voice tinged with frustration. "Why go that far? You aren't even emotionally attached to her. So why go that far?" DEVA found Kyorin's statement baffling, unable to comprehend his resolve.

"I was," Kyorin began, his voice steady yet hollow, like the echo of footsteps in an empty hall. DEVA hovered nearby, her lens focused intently as though waiting to capture the truth in his words.

"Once, perhaps, I was emotionally attached to her," he admitted. But then his tone shifted—not towards warmth or sorrow, but to something colder, something resolutely him.

This was not a feigned facade. It was Kyorin as he truly believed himself to be.

His voice was calm, detached, a river flowing over jagged stones yet refusing to ripple. His face, an unyielding mask, gave nothing away, his features as still as a marble effigy.

His eyes, distant and unfocused, seemed to peer into the past rather than the present. "When I was born... I felt an embrace of love."

For a moment, his words hung in the air, fragile yet weighted, like frost on a brittle branch.

"As someone who lived a life of carnage before that embrace," Kyorin continued, his voice devoid of sentimentality, "it felt... nice."

The word slipped out, unadorned yet profound, a simple declaration that carried the weight of a battlefield. "And perhaps, a part of me always wanted that. To experience 'love'."

He paused, his hand falling limply to his side as if burdened by an invisible weight. A slow, deliberate breath escaped him, a sigh that seemed to bleed resignation. "Perhaps it was the impulsiveness of an undeveloped mind, or maybe it was the desperate want for attention as a child. But I made a promise."

The silence that followed was vast, an ocean stretching between them. Then, softly, his voice returned, steady and measured. "I promised myself that I would live for her. Not because of some grand love or devotion, but because it was all I could give in return for that embrace."

His next words came colder, his tone a blade honed by the passing years. "But..."

He trailed off, his gaze lowering as if weighed down by a shadow only he could see. "As the years went on, I realized that embrace was losing its charm."

"At first," Kyorin said, his tone almost wistful, "I thought it was just a phase. But..." His body seemed to sag imperceptibly, his shoulders heavy with an unseen burden. The memory wrapped around him like a constricting vine, tightening with every word.

"When she died," he continued, his gaze lifting, the coldness in his eyes as unyielding as the surface of a frozen lake, "I realized something."

His voice remained steady, unmoving, a monotone that gave no room for interpretation. "Tears dripped down this unmoved face, yet it wasn't just grief. It was the bitter realization of how foolish I'd been."

He laughed then, bitter and low, a sound that carried the weight of centuries and the cruelty of mocking gods. "Someone like me," he said, his voice turning colder with every word, "doesn't truly need this love and embrace."

"How quaint, wouldn't you say?" he sneered, his sarcasm cutting like the edge of a jagged shard.

With a deliberate motion, he rose, his presence shifting the atmosphere to something glacial. The air itself seemed to recoil, brittle and sharp. "How utterly... human of me," he added, spitting the word as though it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

Another laugh followed, this one darker, like the grave laughing at those who dared defy it. "A promise, huh?" he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

"I'm no hero in a grand tale. I'm just a man drowning in his delusions, clinging to the fantasy that this meaningless promise will somehow absolve me of the chaos of this world." He spat.

His gaze hardened a void swallowing any trace of warmth. "But it won't," he concluded, his words final, a cold truth laid bare like frost settling over barren earth.

"And hence..." Kyorin's gaze lifted to the distant sky, its expanse vast and unknowable, a canvas for thoughts unspoken. "I believe I am alright with the way I am," he declared, his tone unwavering, as though carving the words into stone.

"I am content with just becoming stronger than I was," he continued, the simplicity of his statement carrying an almost paradoxical weight, like a lone tree standing resolute amidst a barren field.

"So, to answer your worry," Kyorin repeated, his voice as composed as the stillness before a storm, "No. I do not hold that serpent in contempt. To harbour such emotions would be nothing more than a trivial act—miscellaneous and without merit."

He paused, the faintest trace of something unspoken flickering behind his eyes, like a shadow crossing the surface of a calm lake. "However," he continued, the word carrying a subtle shift in tone, "I have failed to keep my promise."

His hand curled at his side, a tension barely restrained, as he admitted, "I failed to end my life after her death." The admission fell from his lips like a stone into a bottomless chasm, heavy and irretrievable.

Turning toward DEVA, Kyorin's voice spilt out like a controlled am, not giving any emotions away. "And so," he said, each word deliberate, "I made another promise. To live the life she deems correct."

DEVA's lens flickered faintly, her circuits humming as she processed his words. The air between them crackled with an almost imperceptible charge, tension woven into the fabric of the moment.

"What if she doesn't tell you what kind of life to live?" DEVA's voice carried a sharp curiosity, like the crackling of static.

Kyorin paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the task at hand. Without missing a beat, he replied with quiet certainty, "Then I would believe it's because she doesn't wish to influence me. And if that's the case, I must not impose her absence as an excuse to falter. I will carve my own path."

His tone was devoid of doubt, as though the decision had already been made long ago. Picking up his belongings, Kyorin glanced toward the forest path ahead, a few herbs still left to collect to meet the day's quota.

DEVA hummed softly, the sound buzzing like a faint electric hum. As she processed his words, an observation formed in her circuits, unspoken yet vivid in her mechanical thoughts. 'But you don't seem to mind living a life of vividness either,' she mused.

She watched him, noting the quiet yet undeniable energy in his current lifestyle. Despite his words, there was a strange juxtaposition in his existence—detached yet deeply engaged, as if walking a tightrope between apathy and determination.

A simulated sigh escaped her speakers, a mix of curiosity and resignation. 'Perhaps this is Kyorin's insignificant character,' she pondered inwardly. 'Someone who is perfectly content, no matter whether he lives a life of purpose or one adrift in the winds of circumstance.'

To be continued...