acrookedpath | [pfsb]

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Lan Zhan, he writes, I'm swimming in the lake! I love you -- Wei Ying. After a moment's thought, Wei Wuxian adds a smiley face to the bottom like Madam Bar so often does with her napkin notes.

It's unseasonably warm today, more early summer than late fall. The trees have dropped enough of their leaves that Wei Wuxian knows such days will depart for good soon enough. And frankly, if he stares at his latest iteration of the energy-revealing array much longer, his eyes will cross and stick that way. He needs to clear his head.

After leaving one copy of the note in their room and another with Madam Bar, he requests some swimming attire; she provides a black short-sleeved shirt much like the one he wore to London Above, the fabric smooth as silk but much stretchier, and loose red trousers that end just above his knees. A little revealing for a lake shared by many, perhaps, but they'll do.

He changes in the public washroom and walks to the shoreline. Stepping onto one of the larger rocks, he eyes the water with a smile.

Then he backs up, sprints forward to spring off the rock, and cannonballs into the lake with a loud whoop.

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"The Path is not always easy," she agrees, "but I always thought it was worth it to help those whose need was great."

She is not a witcher, but that didn't stop her from idolizing the ones who raised her.

"Yes." He smiles, crookedly. "I believe so, too. My cultivation -- "

He turns over a hand.

"My necromancy. Among the great sects, few saw beyond what they believed were 'wicked tricks.' It did not matter if I pursued justice or protected the innocent. Because of how I cultivated, I was not just, and those I protected weren't innocent."

She crooks a wry smile at him. "Necromancy is forbidden in my world as well. I think the prevailing argument is that it is a morally bankrupt act...but I suspect it has more to do with the level of power and energy necessary to make it worth a mage's while. And because it would be inconvenient if one's enemies were suddenly to begin telling stories from beyond the grave."

He huffs a rueful laugh. "Even cultivators who do not follow my path can speak with the dead easily enough."

For a moment, as he looks over the lake, his gaze turns abstracted, distant. (It is easy -- too easy -- to picture the water flowering with lotus blossoms, and to hear gentle laughter beside him.)

"But yes -- 'morally bankrupt.'" He shakes his head. "That is how the great sects would decribe it, too. I once tried to argue that energy is energy, whether it is spiritual or resentful, but that did not get me anywhere. In fact, it got a scroll thrown at my head."

He glances sidelong at Ciri.

Lighter: "It's all right. I dodged it. I'm very quick on my feet."

"A useful quality for a student of the dark magics, I expect."

She's not laughing, quite, but there's an undercurrent of amusement in her voice. "I had to dodge things as well, when I misbehaved."

The pendulums, usually; Vesemir's glove sometimes, Yennefer's scathing remarks often. "Did they believe this..." She waves a hand. "Resentful energy would be too difficult to use?"

He nods. "That not only was it immoral to use resentful energy, rather than suppress or destroy it, but that it could not be controlled," he says. "And that it would leave marks on the body and temperament even if you could master it."

Wei Wuxian turns his attention back to the water.

Quieter: "They may have been right about the last. There is someone here who can see such marks on me. But I still don't regret what I did, to protect those I care about. I cannot."

She watches him as he watches the water. He hardly seems like a dark mage bent on evil. In fact, he reminds her much more of too many people she has known; people who, in their desperation, turned to whatever power they could find.

"Your motives were pure," she says, gently. "At least, they sound so to me. And I have known many who did much more for far worse a reason. I am sorry you were so demonized, simply for trying to find another way."

He smiles, very small, and tips his head in acknowledgment.

"But you see now why I cannot blame you," he says. He looks back at her. "Simply because of the power you wield."

"And I thank you for your understanding," she says, with a slight nod of her head and a wry smile. "Here we sit, we two wielders of dreadful power. At least you chose your path; I was simply born into mine."

"Which makes placing the blame on you an even greater injustice." He rubs a hand down his face. "I hope there is a way for you to step from your path, somehow. To be free of your power if you wish it, or at least not at its mercy."

It is an immense cruelty to be used by something so powerful, and with no say in the matter.

"I've been learning to better control it," she says, leaning back on her elbows and closing her eyes to the warm sun. "My mentor, Avallac'h – he's been teaching me. There's no getting rid of it, I'm afraid."

All her life, her options have taken only three forms: control the power, die at its hand, or run mad with the trying.

Her choice has always seemed obvious enough. "Were you born with a cultivator's ability, or is it something that can be taught, in your world?"

"Ah, it is taught," he says. "Starting from a young age. Some may be born with a disposition that makes it easier to develop strong cultivation, but no one is born with the power itself."

"So anyone can become a cultivator. Isn't that something?"

That's said half to herself. "In my world, anyone could be taught a spell or learn the secrets of medicinal herbs, but without some innate magical talent, they'd never be a mage."

Wei Wuxian nods. "I see why destiny holds so much sway in your world," he says, rueful, "if so many powers are born alongside the child that wields them. We may have our own destinies of tradition, or filial duty, that hem in our paths -- but very little that hems in our bodies the same way."

She nods, blinking her eyes back open again. "Yes," she says, with a faint sigh. "Mine is a world bound by ancient traditions and ruled as often by prophecy as by need. My grandmother, who thought as you do, considered it all nonsense, of course. As did the man who raised me – even though he himself invoked the ancient Law of Surprise to claim me."

She lets her head loll on her shoulders, feeling the tension in her neck relax. "I wonder how many children could have happily lived their whole lives in complete ignorance of destiny and what it held in store for them."

"It sounds like a miserable way to rule a world." Quiet. "So beholden to something you cannot even change. Who's to say a prophecy only came true because someone heard it and said, 'this is the way things must be?' If they had not heard it, would it have even come to pass?"

"I'm sure some are fulfilled solely due to the actions of those trying to stop them," she says, "as in the case of the girls born under the Black Sun. Were they monsters? Or did they become that way because the world treated them as such? Impossible to say."

She sighs and props herself back up on her palms, gazing out over the water. "There was an elven healer, a very long time ago, who was known for her prophecies. Several did come true, and her most famous, the Aen Ithlinnespeath, is currently coming to fruition. Some parts of her prophecy seem to be beyond the control of either elves or men...which is not to say neither have tried." She shrugs, lightly.

"Whatever the details, you can always be assured someone will try to turn the situation to their advantage. That is the only constant I know."

Were they monsters? Or did they become that way because the world treated them as such?

Even with Lan Zhan by his side, holding him in their bed, he still dreams of Nightless City almost every time his head touches the pillow.

He swallows, his attention unfocusing from Ciri for several moments. It takes some effort to tune back into the conversation -- just in time to hear the last few sentences, and shoot another lopsided not-quite-a-smile her way.

"It may be the constant of every world," he says. "Seeking power simply to hold as much of it as possible."

"I've visited a great many worlds," she admits, "and I believe you may be right. But I've also found on each of them people willing to fight for good and justice...so perhaps things are so dire as we think after all."

He exhales a small breath of laughter. "I would toast to that, if I had wine," he says. "Those who make the world less dire."

The cultivators like Lan Zhan. The ones who are not so convinced of their own righteousness that they forget what is truly right.

"I ought to have thought ahead and brought some out," she grins. "To laze about in the sun with good wine and good company and to drink to those who leave things better off than when they found them; what could be better?"

She'd include Geralt in that toast, though it's unlikely he'd agree.

"We will have to save it for another time." He aims a smile her way. "Perhaps indoors around a fire, if winter is on its way, but I would still be glad to raise a glass with you."

"I'll look forward to it," she says, and huffs a small groan as she levers herself up off the rock. Her wound is healing nicely, but it'll take a while for her bruised ribs to feel less tender.

"For now, I'll leave you to the water...and the squid's care. It was very pleasant to meet you, Wei Wuxian."

"And you, Ciri," he says, dipping his head in a small bow. "Ah, here, before you go -- "

He holds out the folded parchment containing the prophecy.

"Lan Zhan can give me another copy if I need it, I'm sure," he says with a wry smile.

She accepts the parchment with wryness matching his own, and nods as she tucks it away again into her wallet. "I'm sure," she agrees. "With any luck, it won't be needed."

She hoists Zireael into position on her back and buckles it across her chest, then lifts her hand in friendly salute. "Until another time. Go well, Wei Wuxian."

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