Book Two: Corruption's End

Chapter 85: You're Welcome

"There is nothing sweeter than purpose." - Sister Sabrina, Order of the Ermine Mantle

Two weeks passed in rapid succession, a blur of training and preparation. Yang's physique had slipped somewhat during her visit to the Black Library, and she was happy to put hours into restoring it. It kept her mind off everything that troubled her. Weiss' new fatalistic attitude. Difficulties with her psychic meditations. A host of other problems. In her dreams she felt Ahriman, suffocated in glass coffins. In her waking hours she worried relentlessly about her regiment. About Amat.

She awoke early on the seventeenth day of transit, her decision made before she opened her eyes. I'm not putting it off any longer.

The red lowlights of the barrack's night cycle illuminated a sleeping Gamma, resting after a brutal series of drills with other platoons in Second Company. Only Soo was awake, vomiting quietly into a toilet in the adjacent bathroom.

Yang dressed and slipped away without issue.

She'd chosen to continue sleeping in Gamma's barracks, even though the officers' quarters were available. Being away from her platoon felt wrong. Being with the other noncoms didn't feel right either. They weren't even that different from the troops under her command, but they didn't gel with her. In the end, she slept better in a bunk than she did in a bed.

Things have changed.

Eyeing the graffiti that covered the walls of the barracks block, Yang noticed that it trailed off as she neared Amat's barracks. Her fingers glided over the faded markings that stood there when Woadians inhabited it. This used to be Third Company's territory. Now there was only Amat.

A few civilians had tried to inhabit it in the months since Shao-la, but were quickly shooed away by the Commissars. Only Guard personnel could inhabit the barracks. I guess Amat seemed close enough.

She knocked on his bulkhead. No response. Odd. When she'd swung by to hang out or relax recently, he'd always opened the door. However, he had seemed… off since their return from the Black Library. Likely a result of his newfound power, and what he'd seen when he fought for his soul. His devout nature and balanced mind allowed him a measure of control over his newfound aura, but it was clear he didn't like it.

How could he?

Her knuckles rapped against the bulkhead once more. Louder this time. Maybe he's sleeping. She opened the door regardless.

He was decidedly not sleeping.

A shitty stereo blasted alt-rock in an incomprehensible dialect of low gothic, one that sounded like a bastardized version of the Ranshan tongue. Nearly a hundred paintings were scattered across the barracks, a wonderland of color that leapt out from the stale metal walls of the Ascendant Dawn. In the center of it all stood Amat, bobbing his head in time to the music as he worked on his latest piece - an ode to the titan that had aided them on Uriel.

Techpriests had installed a dummy leg into his knee since she'd seen him last, a lump of grey-black metal with a blocky foot. A handful of wires were plugged into the flesh above the knee, a stopgap measure to grant him some mobility while he awaited a true replacement.

"Yang," he called to her, not turning away from his work.

"Hey assassin-man," she called back, unable to keep a grin off her face. "Didn't hear me knocking?"

"Didn't bother getting up," he answered. "Knew you'd come in anyways." He turned to her, wearing the smallest hint of a smile. A splotch of red paint dried on his jaw, settling into the unkempt scruff that dusted it. "Come to meditate?" He asked.

"No," Yang confessed. "I know I should, but…" But nothing. She'd been working on the exercises she'd done with Garnet, working on her pskyery. Even though she'd made progress, there was something blocking her, kept the Emperor's light distant. Something that kept her from accessing the wellspring of power that burned in her soul. An answer to the weirdness with her aura.

An answer.

"I'm... not here to meditate," she finished, recovering.

"Oh," Amat said. "Then what's up?"

"Not much," Yang lied. "Wanted to see you," she added. The truth.

"Here I am," he said, setting down his paints to scoop up a small mug that rested at his feet.

"Too early to be drinking," Yang said, strutting into the barracks.

"Never too early for recaf," Amat answered, setting his drink down. "It… tastes like shit, but it's the closest thing I could find to coffee."

Yang laughed. "That Governor had it made, didn't he?"

"Most do," Amat answered simply. "Glad to see you," he said, switching topics. "Something I wanted to show you."

"Oh?" Yang asked, pleased by the sudden development. Now that she was here, any excuse to delay seemed like a delightful pursuit.

"Painting," he said. "One of my first that isn't a prayer."

"You're changing up your style," Yang noted as she approached him. Where he once drew hyper-realistic - if enhanced - depictions of saints, holy figures, soldiers, and battlefields, he'd been experimenting with his form, minute detail sacrificed in the pursuit of emotional reality.

"Somewhat," Amat admitted. "Old way didn't seem right. Felt sterile."

Yang passed another depiction of Shao-la, a single arm reaching out in a storm of prayer flags, striking black walls dominating the background. The siege felt like years ago, even though it had barely been half that.

"So," Yang said. "What have you got for me?"

Amat stood awkwardly, still learning how to use his temporary leg. "Over here," he answered. The stereo changed tracks, a quieter song filling the space between the canvases. "A recent purchase," he explained, waving at the music player. "Wei- the Lady Highest gave me more requisition bills than I need. Some Gartenwalders fixed it up for me."

"Didn't take you for a music guy," Yang said.

"I… like it," Amat answered.

"Any idea what they're saying?" She asked as a singer warbled over a drawn-out lyric.

"None. Disc selection was very limited," he said. "I like this though."

"It's not bad," Yang agreed as he hobbled over to a painting that leaned against a wall. A sheet of canvas covered it haphazardly.

"Yeah," he said, leaning on the painting's frame. "Yeah."

"It's gonna be the first time since Elodia that you won't have my back," she said.

Amat grimaced. She didn't like that. "I know," he said. "I was stupid." Wrestling with his features, he eventually returned to his regular stolidness. "Now," he said, "this is something I made for you."

"For me?" Yang asked, fluttering her eyelashes. "You're too-" He removed the canvas sheet, and Yang lost track of what she was saying.

It was a painting of that night on Gartenwald. Fireflies glowed in the foreground, so bright and vivid it looked like they'd landed on the canvas. The figures of Amat and Yang were distant, small. Linked by two slim strokes of black paint. The night stretched out before them, a million glittering stars looking down on the mantas that soared through the air.

Unbidden, the creatures' song flared in her memory, a long and gentle cooing that settled her immeasurably.

"It's…" she tried.

"It's the least I could do," Amat said simply, staring at it. "You've given me a lot Yang. I… I want to repay you in some small way." He paused. "For some reason, I can't get that night out of my mind. I see it flare up in yours too." He shook his head. "This psykery stuff… it's so foreign to me."

"I love it," Yang said, embracing him, holding him tight. "It's beautiful." She loved holding him. Being so close was enchanting. Intoxicating. She missed being near him, the days they spent on the Void-Whisper, their conversations. Everything.

"Thank you," Amat said. "So why did you show up here again?" He asked.

Oh fuck.

Yang pulled away. "Well… I just… I've known you for a few months now, and…" she stumbled over her words. Why is this so hard? "We've been through a lot together. You saved me, and I saved you. I know this sounds weird, but…"

Amat raised an eyebrow.

"But I… well, I don't want to get in the way of your mission. You're so…" Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Look, I respect you," she decided on eventually, wincing the moment the words left her lips. Are you confessing, or giving him a medal?

"Thank… you?"

The stereo switched tracks again, a blessing from the Emperor Himself. The new song was smooth and easy, a steady beat and gentle lyrics from across the Imperium.

"Let's dance," Yang said, taking his hands in her own.

"With this leg?" He asked. "I've… never danced before."

"Come on," Yang said desperately. "It's easy, promise. Plus, you're all graceful and cat-like already. An aug shouldn't change that, right?"

"I guess?"

"Here," Yang said, beginning the dance. "Follow my lead." He did so with an admirable effort, even though cold metal occasionally crushed her toes. It was an easy dance, uncomplicated, a handful of swings its most difficult aspect. Didn't fit the music too well, but Yang didn't care.

They stampeded across the barracks floor, avoiding the paintings that covered it. Amat's confidence grew on the third repetition, and his hand fit around her hip more neatly. By the fifth, he'd mastered it.

Yang lost herself in the movement, earlier awkwardness forgotten. This is so much easier than talking. The song was actually quite good. Amat was smiling. She wiped the paint from his jaw with her thumb, grinning all the while.

"Did I…?" He asked, turning her around.

"Just a bit," Yang said. "All taken care of." A baldfaced lie - she'd merely smeared it across his cheek.

The song wound down, then ended. "That was fun," Amat admitted. The next track was something much slower. She held him tighter.

"This one's even easier," she said, heart in her throat. A slow dance, the awkward Signal student's favorite move. She put his arms around her waist, and looped her own around his neck.

"This is… intimate," he said, his eyes searching her shoulders.

"Not a problem?" She asked carefully.

"I like it," he replied.

They rocked in place. It had been years since Yang had done so. Felt like centuries. Different universe. Different Yang.

"What were you trying to say earlier?" Amat asked. "You looked like you were in pain."

"I…" Yang sighed. The words wouldn't come, so she kissed him instead.

Gently, she caressed the back of his neck, savoring every moment. He tasted like cheap Munitorum toothpaste and stubble. He tasted wonderful.

He still hadn't pulled away.

Slowly, agonizingly, she retreated. His eyes were wide with shock, the whole of his features ruled by surprise. It was adorable. Giggling into her hand, she leaned back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I told you, I'm terrible at emotional shit."

"I…" He paused, trying to settle himself. He failed. "Some things are starting to make sense."

Yang laughed, burying her head into his chest. She'd lifted a massive weight from her shoulders. It felt like flying. He placed a hand on her hair, holding her close. They continued their dance. Being with him made her chest swell, made her feel safe. Feel at home. Foreign things to Yang Xiao Long.

"It's cool if you don't feel the same way," she said. "I just... couldn't hold onto it any longer. Not who I am."

"No it is not," Amat agreed. "And... I don't know what to tell you. Or how. A year ago, I was barely human. Now…" he trailed off, stroking her hair, luxuriating in its softness. "Now I don't know. I don't know what I want. What I'm supposed to do. What I am."

"Well, whatever you are," Yang said. "I'm here for you."

"I know," Amat replied. "I wouldn't have anyone else."

"Is that your way of letting me down gently?" Yang asked.

"I don't know," Amat repeated. "You… when you told me Pyrrha offered for you to live on Il-Kaithe, it… hurt. At the time, I thought it was because of my mission. Now I'm not sure."

"Okay," Yang said. "I can work with that." She met his eyes again, and saw that his face - though still and placid - was a bright scarlet. She grinned an impish grin, ran her thumb over his studs. "I know it's a lot, but it'll get easier. Though maybe I'm not the best source on that though."

"What do you mean?" Amat asked. "You were doing so well before we started dancing."

"You're so cruel to me, assassin-man," Yang sighed. "Look, do you want me to kiss you again, or not?"

"I-"

"Yes or no," Yang told him. "Go with your gut."

"My gut?"

"When I kissed you, did you like it?"

"Yes," he answered immediately.

"Then there you go. Let's work with that for now huh?" She asked, pulling him closer. With an only inch between them, everything else vanished. The barracks, the Guard, the Inquisition, the Chariot… everything. There was only Amat, the feel of his breath on her skin, the taste of him that lingered.

"I've never seen you bite your lip like that," he said. "Are you in pain?" For the first time, something that looked like mischief flared behind his eyes. Months ago, she'd be lucky to get a terse grin.

Yang broke into a laugh and kissed him again, delight singing in her very soul.

Hen-Tse was a man of the gods. He was a man of the Prophet, the Great Singer, the One Who Brought Truth. But he was also a man of the earth, a digger, a builder, a miner, and it was for this reason that the Prophet released him from the liberating force dispatched to Shao-la.

Before him, the frozen sands of White Horses bent to his will, etching a quarry into reality, a quarry that reached the horizon. Millions of the Prophet's fellow servants tore into the earth, laboring under his direction. Hen-Tse never imagined that he would wield such power. That the dream his grandfather's grandfather held in his heart would come true - the dream they shared with the Prophet, the dream that reached across millennia, the dream that patiently such a glorious time as this.

Hen-Tse never imagined that he would stand face to face with the Gods' chosen one. Report to him directly. Lord Josephus had awarded his ancestors with tools that made their families and cities richer than ever, bringing forth unending prosperity. Even as each breath filled his lungs with icy pain, Hen-Tse thanked the Gods for their endless favor. He was already beginning to show signs of it - the indestructible lesions that festered along his arms.

As thousands froze to death, they curled themselves into bunkers, emplacements, gunlines, defenses. Others piled sandbags atop them. He held nothing but respect for the fallen. Their faith was awe-inspiring - the Prophet had seen the Imperial forces amassing, and not one body could be wasted.

Food was scarce, though entire worlds had been stripped to feed Lord Josephus' anointed band. Not even Hen-Tse was spared from the raw ache of an empty stomach. But it mattered not. Faith would sustain him for now, and none of them were long for the mortal plane. Once the Chariot of Salvation had been recovered, the Gods would reward them.

A piercing shriek echoed over the quarry, the Prophet's great crow soaring high, surveying all. Hen-Se looked up from the latest reports, watched his Lord's bird pass above him. Gorrag was its name. A majestic beast.

Huddling himself against the cold, he returned to his work - a list of machines that had broken down and would need the blessing of Lord Josephus' technicians. There were many. White Horses was a hostile, hateful world, cradle to the holy though it was.

"Sir!" A voice called out. "Sir Overseer!" A youth barreled towards him, pushing through a crowd of bustling workers in his haste to reach his master. Nau, one of his runners. A boy from Jala Prime, evidenced by his grey skin and short-cropped hair. His feet were bloody, his boots shoddy, his linen overcoat ill-suited to the clime.

"Nau!" Hen-Tse bellowed. "What news?"

The youth ground to a halt, tripping over himself in his haste. His eyes were wide, thin chest heaving with strain. "Sir! From one of the center groups! I came as fast as I could!" Reaching into his patchwork garment, he produced a pict.

Hen-Tse inspected it, held it close. It was a pict of one of the deeper pits, as evidenced by the layers of sediment that surrounded a group of ecstatic workers. They all pointed to an enormous find - a large slab of slanted onyx stone.

The start of a roof.

Hen-Tse pulled Nau close, held the boy to his chest. "We've done it," he whispered. "By the gods. By the grace of the Prophet. We've actually done it."

A/N: Two chapters left until the end of Book 2!

I'm sorry this chapter was a bit on the short side, but hopefully it made up for it with story-content. ;)

Next chapter, the battle for the Chariot of Salvation begins!