The morning began with Tian Shen waking up in a panic. Again.
"Not this. Not again."
He stared at the ceiling with the hollow eyes of a man who had seen his own beaten and bruised body—in various painful renditions—too many times.
Feng Yin was still asleep, her hand curled around his like the elegant sleeping phoenix she was.
Little Mei on his left, trying to smear his arm with her bosomy dior.
Drowsy sat on his chest like a demonic paperweight, blinking once before letting out a single, melodic chirp.
"You're supposed to warn me if I'm having nightmares."
He whispered.
"Chirp~"
"That wasn't a nightmare?"
"Chirp~"
"...Yeah, I figured."
Dragging his aching limbs out of bed, Tian Shen reached for his robes. Every joint protested. His Qi seemed to whimper in sympathy.
He dressed slower this time. Like a man dressing for his own funeral. Because he was.
Maybe.
...
He arrived at the training spot with five minutes to spare.
