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"but that's enough. loneliness or freedom, we've already tasted it all. promise me, don't let that child touch the sky."
(a time-worn, war-wrought, teary-eyed promise yukong failed to keep, for the better.)
-
qingni falls in love with the sky’s blue.
she has touched the sky in its full brazen glory. it welcomed her in with outstretched arms - an unending horizon of possibilities and excitement. a place to shine, to conquer and impress, to stay. it was her passion, her stage, her home.
yukong fell in love with the sky’s blue, once.
for her, it used to be all of that - and more, because the sky paled in comparison with the girl who flew starskiffs with her. its vast expense became a backdrop for late night conversations, early morning kisses, and afternoon races - the place where her heart lays. and it was also the one who broke it, the one who stole everything away from her, partner and first love and half a soul and all. yukong doesn’t fly anymore, because she has already touched the sky in all its glory and solitude and tragedies. she can’t ever grow to like the earth’s grounding pull, but the freedom above came at a steep price.
bidding farewell to aviation was as painful as tearing skin and bone, but she had half a life to live - a child to raise - a promise to fulfill. she trusted the sky to be gentle with the fragments of her once-full heart, and haven’t looked back ever since.
(sometimes, though, after a breeze’s caress, yukong stops dead in her tracks and think of strong winds and stronger arms. she is but human, and humans are constellations of memories.
a lone tear trickles downward. luofu’s familiar sky has never seemed so out of reach.)
yukong’s love was crushed, its life ending on teary breathes and fervent promises. she was enamored by the blue, and was left with its blues.
-
qingni falls in love with the sky’s blue, and stays in love, with the unbridled ferociousness of youth and the steadfast loyalty of skilled pilots.
she has seen the vastness, the majesty of the sky. the powers it brings you, the opportunities it presents. she’s seen what it could give, and fell in love with flying.
yukong has seen it all, see past the peaceful cerulean hues to the other side, a dull gray-red filled with smoke and blood and tears. the people it robs from you, the hollow nights it leaves you wallowing in grief alone. she’s seen what it could give and what it could take, and decided to tie herself to the ground.
(well, yukong lets her eyes wander heavenward sometimes, but that’s a secret between her and the sky.)
yukong’s ferociousness simmered down to bitter-sweet nostalgia. but her loyalty stays, and it burns and aches, even if she vows to never step on a fighter starskiff again.
-
qingni nestles in her mother’s arms, rambling on and on about the many wonders of the universe. supernovas. comets. black holes. blue and red and gold streaks. and maybe one or two complaints about “being to old for coddling”, but she never pulls away.
yukong lets herself think caiyi is soaring somewhere in the stars overhead, proud and happy, and sleeps a little lighter.
-
the sky looms over, as if shouldering an aching, ancient sadness too heavy to bear.
a shooting star flies by, fleeting yet brilliant against the inky veil of night. some will say it’s a tear the sky let slip, some will say it’s a spirit hopping around in mischief.
yukong just imagines it resembles a certain starskiff, and prays her heart, or what remains of it, is kept safe.
-
bonus:
a few streets away, a man - who has seen and shaped the story of two foxians, their little daughter, and the sky that binds them all - lies in bed, watched the stars move, and ponders.
(a blur of lilac and laughter skirts around the edges of his mind, leaving behind something that looks like stardust and tastes like nostalgia. three other mirages linger in the distance.
like yukong, he hopes they are proud and happy.)
“humans are indeed constellations of memories, our lives bound together by the gravitational pull of love.
sounds poetic, doesn’t it,
yingxing?”
if humans are constellation of memories, jing yuan muses, his heart must be a graveyard of stardust.
he hopes - knows - the helm master hugs her daughter extra-tight tonight.