CW: Explicit language
I hope you enjoy this chapter, where some questions will finally be answered.
The Celestial Theatre. Rin’s only seen the flyers and heard the chatter about this mysterious troupe of artists. They had gained a starry reputation for their dazzling, flamboyant shows that border on the absurd, though much of the lower districts have been taken by them. A free seat and generously priced snacks does much to draw in large crowds, especially those who can barely afford such entertainment otherwise.
There have been attempts from the High District to attend the Celestial Theatre, but the bluebloods quickly came to learn (in the most unfortunate and humiliating ways) that this theatre does not cater to their ilk. Rather, the Celestial Theatre is for the general populous and not their privileged. Attempts to shut down the shows have also been met with fierce resistance, and thanks to the charisma (and bribes) of the troupe leader, they have been allowed to continue on unhindered.
Against the grim backdrop of war and enduring struggle, the Celestial Theatre is, to many, a singular brightness in their lives.
The most common stories the troupe portrays in their shows are inspired by the mythos of the gods. Tonight’s show is a retelling of the Celestial Rebellion, when the Imperial God of the Night, Luna, defied her father, the Heavenly Emperor, and descended to the earthly realm to be with her lover, Solaris. While separated by the expanse of the stars, the two-faced god of light and shadow, the Twilight God, created a bridge at every dawn and dusk for precious minutes so the lovers could meet. But those minutes were too few for the lovers, who experienced the cruel separation twice a day, every day, for an aeon. Driven to desperation, Luna took it upon herself to meet Solaris in the mortal plane and enjoy the full breadth of his light.
“And you know the rest,” Small says, nibbling on a hot pancake. “The rest of the gods saw how much their beloved princess enjoyed her new life in the earthly realm, and they too descended.”
“Yeah, that’s how witches can do magic,” Rin snorts, shelling a peanut in his lap. “‘Cus their ancestors fucked a bunch of celestial assholes.”
Small’s cheeks burn and he gives a furtive nod. “I’m not certain just how accurate that is, but yes, many believe this is where the arcane originated.”
“Didn’t last long, did it? The gods pissed off back to the stars once the Heavenly Emperor threatened mortality,” Rin yawns so wide, his jaws pop. It’s a late show tonight, and people are still yet to take their seats in the ramshackle theatre. “They wanted to live like mortals, but couldn’t handle actually being one.”
“I would imagine it would be daunting, for an immortal to comprehend death.”
Rin scoffs and steals his friend’s pancake. “So according to your fancy books, what happened to Luna?”
“She remained in the earthly realm, even after Solaris fled in the great exodus to the heavens. Abandoned and heartbroken by Solaris, she found love with a humble mortal instead. An actor, in fact, who was a part of a theatrical troupe, much like this one. There is speculation that she still lives in the earthly realm to this day, even after her ostensible death.”
“She’s alive alright,” Rin mutters, darkly. “Irritatingly alive.”
They’re sitting near the back of the theatre, which itself is a dark and dank place in the Slum-side of the Entertainment Strip. It’s packed tonight, with at least a hundred people squished together on rickety benches that had been cobbled together by hand.
The circular stage itself is raised and angled, and there is an illusion cast around the stage that makes it appear like it’s floating mid-air in a sea of stars. Rin suspects that magic may have been used to turn the supporting structure invisible, and create the heavenscape that seems to go on for eternity in all directions.
“Jun woulda loved this,” the raven murmurs, mostly to himself. “He’s always going on about all this arty shit and how we don’t have enough in Hanjuyang.”
“This is not a show for the young lord,” Iris raises, turning in her seat to glance at Rin. She, her wife Daisy, and Sparrow, are sitting one row ahead.
Rin purses his lips. “Yeah, you keep saying that and I still don’t get it.”
“You will come–”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“–ab xcbk lc alwf, sfjt sbe rjlv atja abb.”
Ktf uelivwjrafg gjlrfr j ygbk yfobgf gfaegclcu tfg jaafcalbc ab j gjatfg jwerfv Gjlrs.
Gjlrs ulnfr tlw j rswqjatfalm rwlif jcv gfjmtfr bnfg ab qja tlr xcff. “Ktlr lr lwqbgajca, vfjg. Tbe’ii olcv bea joafg atf rtbk.”
Lf uijcmfr vbkc ja tlr glcu, geyylcu la jyrfcawlcvfvis. Aera ilxf Gjlrs rjsr, tf cffv bcis kjla ecali joafg atf rtbk.
It’s difficult to aptly describe what happens when the lights dim in the house and brighten on stage. Robed figures in striking masks with exaggerated painted features glide across the stage yet never once touch the wood. Their playpen are the stars, the heavens, and so they rightly earn their name. Shadow and light are used like paint and frame, blocking out certain areas of the stage, accentuating others, and dressing the graceful, dancing actors to emphasise emotion.
All the while, like the lingering echoes of a dream after waking, the accompanying music is delicate and sparse, allowing the narrator’s deep, operatic voice to the fore. The narrator himself is presented plainly in contrast to the spectacle, white robes and a blank white mask, while he sings a tale the audience expects to find familiar. Instead, what they experience is a tale that is starkly presented as fiction and yet obviously parallels the current political climate.
Though Rin isn’t one to enjoy such fanciful things such as theatre or art, he finds himself transfixed upon the show, losing all sense of time as the Celestial Rebellion unfolds in a magnificent fashion.
Aerial acrobatics, stunning colours and lighting, the expanse of the heavens wrapped around the reunited (and then torn apart) lovers. And the ascension of the gods as they return to the nexus – the sight is grander than is possible within the confines of this space, and yet thousands of gods appear to float into swirling galaxies. The audience is transported into the myth itself – they, the voyeurs through time and dimension, a magic far greater than one could ever comprehend.
The show ends quietly: Luna on her mortal deathbed, sinking into the darkness gathered upon the ground like spilled ink. She gazes up at Solaris, her lost love, as twilight gifts them one last meeting at dawn.
***
It’s an inconspicuous hatch located backstage. From here, he can see the shimmering wall curved around the circular stage – enhanced by magic, surely, for he sees no mirrors nor wiring.
Iris and Daisy lead the youths and several others (of whom he vaguely recognises from around the Slums) down the hatch first, leaving him to linger above with a feeling of deep trepidation.
All these months of waiting has finally paid off, and now he will thrust himself headfirst into the belly of this war. He’s not sure if he’s ready – but he may never be.
A rather stout man gives Rin a nudge and a kindly smile. “Go on, lad. You’ll be fine.”
The raven sniffs, shaking off his nerves, and in a show of bravado, gives a hop and slides down the ladder. As his form is swallowed up the shadows, the stout man waves at him from above before closing the hatch. A glossy film encapsulates the hatch door, like a soap bubble clinging to the wood.
“What’s that?” Rin asks Small when he finally joins the others.
“A protective ward,” Small nods, brushing dirt from his friend’s shoulder. “It disguises the hatch so only those who know of its existence can see it.”
They’re in what looks like a mining tunnel that extends far into the darkness. Soft glowing lanterns line the rough-hewn dirt walls, barely lighting their way.
They walk for what seems like hours through the winding network tunnels. Every now and then, they would pass by another ladder and hatch, sometimes an open tunnel from which Rin can hear a thundering rush and smell the cold mineral of river water.
By the time his legs begin to ache, they come upon a dead end: an immense wall of packed dirt expanding several feet in every direction. When the group approaches, there’s a low vibrating hum and a prickling heat that descends upon them.
“Don’t worry,” Daisy says, noticing Rin’s discomfort. “It’s just magic to make sure we’re friend and not foe. It will only take a second.”
“Itches,” Rin grunts, rubbing at his arms.
Within seconds, the dirt wall sluices away like melting snow, revealing a giant arched double door. It swings open with a low creak and they step inside.
At first, Rin thinks he’s maybe struck by a hallucination, for what he sees is too far removed from reality.
He’s in the interior of an immense cave system, long spacious tunnels that look as though they’d been dug by gargantuan worms; branching caves turned rooms serving a myriad of functions; a kitchen with a massive hearth that produces no smoke; training gymnasiums; various workshops and smitheries, and so on and on. And at the core of this subterranean system is a yawning cavern, through which a river flows with steady current from the depths of Hanjuyang River.
It’s clear that heavy use of magic has been involved in creating this secret rebel base, though Rin has never witnessed such impressive and intricate work as this. The Underground literally thrives underground, closer to Izayoma than anyone else in the Empire.
He can practically feel the magic, like static against his skin, raising the hairs over the back of his arms and nape.
After Iris shows Rin around the bustling underground, she brings the group to what appears to be a war room – a skillfully carved table that has a beautiful rendering of the Four Territories painted upon the surface.
Everyone sits themselves around the table, and minutes later, five more people join them: a plain faced man, pleasantly smiling at the head of the table; a rather large man in red militant clothing; Nuwa and Bo (of course they were Otsuki); and finally Lee, the guard from the Hwan Estate.
He bolts out of his seat, both palms slapping the table. “You were a godsdamned Otsuki? All this time?!”
The guard gives him a sheepish grin and shrugs. He’s dressed in the same style as the militant, all in a deep, rich red. “So you know who we are, then?”
“Why are you guarding the Hwans? To keep an eye on the Governor?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Save the reunion for after the meeting,” the militant cuts in. Rin instantly recognises his voice as the narrator’s, deep and rich, like warm oak. He grins at Rin, dark eyes shining with the kind of fondness that makes the youth uncomfortable. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Namely, our newest recruit here.”
“I think introductions are in order first,” the plain faced man says. His voice is smooth and deep, his enunciation pristine. “This rough looking fellow is Otsuki Gou – the general of the Hare Army.”
The militant bows his head at the newcomers with a theatrical flourish of his hand. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Oh, very much so!” Small chirps, nodding eagerly. “You were wonderful as always, General.”
“Your interpretation is contentious at best,” Sparrow adds in a perfunctory manner. “What source material did you draw inspiration from?”
Gou huffs and wags a finger at the Healer. “If I let you write for the show, it would turn into a dull lecture that no-one will attend. Trust you me, Sparrow.”
“You of course know Nuwa,” the plain faced man continues with a chuckle.
“What’s your role in all this?” Rin asks the witch, curtly.
Her milky eyes narrow at his tone. “My role isn’t relevant. All you need to know is where my loyalty lies.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Think about how stupid that question is and try again.”
“…Bo saving me. And you coming to live across the road from us. None of that was a coincidence.”
“No.”
Rin pulses his jaw, not sure whether to be angry or impressed. Or both. “And you?” he shoots at Bo. “What about you?”
“I work directly under Nuwa,” Bo confirms, a worried pinch in her face. “Rin, neither of us wished to conceal things from you–”
“But you did. And I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either.” He glances around the table, at all the faces, familiar and not. Those who he considered his own people, and yet knew nothing about their true intentions.
“What about you?” he says to the plain faced man, leaning back in his seat languidly. “Are you some kinda hotshot general too?”
The man’s smile widens and he gives a dip of the head. “You may know me as the Faceless Devil.”
Rin’s eye widens. “The Faceless Devil?” He quickly looks at Nuwa for affirmation. Her austere expression tells him everything he needs to know. “You are the leader of the Otsuki Rebels?”
“That is but one of my names, yes.”
“What are the others?” The raven holds his head, feeling dizzy.
“Beggarman is another moniker you may be familiar with. Though my true name is Otsuki Masao.”
Rin glances down at his hand. The ring remains black in his unclenched fist. He quickly slips it off and tosses it to the plain faced man – or rather, Otsuki Masao. “You can have it back. It doesn’t fit my style.”
Masao catches it deftly and slips it into the sleeve of his simple grey robe. “You held onto it for this long and it brought you here. Surely, it suits you well enough.”
“Lemme guess – you’re a witch too? You looked different when you were Beggarman.”
“It is a mask, enhanced by magic,” Masao says, and promptly demonstrates by sweeping his hand over his face. His plain features ripple and warp before settling into a sharply handsome face – one that’s reminiscent of a fox with cold black eyes and thin lips. “We have many talented witches fighting for our cause. I hope you will be counted among them, Rin.”
The raven eyes Masao, who meets his scrutiny with boldness. “Why me?”
“You are a witch trained directly under Nuwa – not many can claim such prestige. And your improvement of the district is admirable. Moreover, you have sympathy for our cause and a strong desire to see change within the Empire.” The Faceless Devil leans forward, hands clasping together tightly. He suddenly seems…nervous. “Above all, there is one particular reason that has compelled me to recruit you.”
When a terse silence follows, Rin sighs and waves his hand. “Go on, then. What’s the reason?”
Masao gives him a faint smile, a distant look in his eyes as he gazes upon the youth. “The day we liberate Hanjuyang, I want to see the first dawn with my son at my side.”
EXCUSE ME WHAT
my condolences, take all the time you need hugs and thank you for the chapter!!<3
Thank you donburi!! big hugs back And thank you for reading as always <333
Of all things to say… rin’s gonna be sooooo pissed with this one 🤦♀️
My condoleances yuki 😭😭 rest all you need and take care for as long as you need!!
Thank you Clozed!!!! <333 I really appreciate it ^_^ xox
You take all the time you need, love! We’ll all be here.. I’m keeping you and yours in my thoughts and prayers. <3 But, I gotta say: DAMN!
Thank you Blu!! I really appreciate your understanding and prayers <333
If you need anything at all if I can, I will.
You are an absolute angel <333
With horns! 😉 <3❤