Throughout the self-imposed seclusion, time crawled and trickled through Sonam’s mind like sand. He was acutely aware of the people who’d come to visit him but gave them little attention aside from what was asked of him. Most of his visits were from his aunt, who’d monitored the expulsion of the mara in his veins with a single-minded focus, the harshness in her eyes lessening with each day. In the shadow of the doorway, when he’d found himself too weak to to look away, his mother’s silhouette lingered. Usually, his aunt would shut the door behind her before beginning to tell of his condition but there were few instances when she wouldn’t and he’d glimpse his mother’s tightly clasped hands or tear-streaked cheeks.

After the first few instances of this, Sonam wondered if it was his aunt’s way of punishing him by showing the harm his short-sightedness wrought. He couldn’t be certain but he felt the soft touches to his shoulder when he was barely dozing, fitful despite his attempts to rest throughout the night. He knew it was his mother from the way she deftly undid the beads woven in his hair then stroked the wavy strands until they hung loose against his shoulders. Sonam didn’t have the heart to tell her that he knew she was there, or to do anything but feign unconsciousness. Not when he could open his eyes to the sight of her tearful face and know it was his doing.

And if his mother was aware of his cowardice, she said nothing of it. Once his hair was cared for properly, she’d re-do the single braid and reweave the beads onto it while murmuring a prayer to Lhenma. Then, she would sing. Sonam couldn’t remember much after his mother began singing, knowing her voice lulled him to sleep as her song seldom did. It was the one she’d made for him and his brother before they were born, and the one she’d sung for them through illness and injury, never failing to soothe. Yet, Sonam felt an ache deep within his heart. The nights where his mother would sing him to sleep, he would dream of the golden woman left cradling the husk of a corpse while singing his mother’s song. 

He hadn’t the heart to see her as Nyima, but he knew there was no other who would know his mother’s song as she would. No matter how he reflected and hoped differently, he could only think of that woman and how her eyes bore a life vaster and harrower than the Nyima he knew. They no longer shone, but smoldered, and Sonam wished he’d awoken to a Nyima with mischievously gleaming eyes instead of ones burning with unshed tears. It felt like ages ago when she smiled at him kindly, clasping her hand around his shoulder to garner his attention. At the time, her joy glowed around her in warm hues as if she were the sun itself and Sonam orbited closer to her when the chill of his dust-dried training threatened to turn his mood for the worst. 

Now, it felt as if the sun mocked him with each rise. Bright and unforgiving, the honeyed light would drape over him reminiscently of the girl who’d appeared with the clink of dishes and the groan of a serving tray, and left promptly without a word offered. He turned his head to catch sight of the end of her braid as it slipped away between the crack of the sliding door, and wondered what she thought of when she looked at him. 

Sonam pushed his elbow underneath himself to hold his weight, then pushed himself up to a full sitting position. He winced at the light and closed his eyes to give himself time to adjust to the discomfort his wincing irises. His breath remained steady and even, a feat he was proud of, considering the fright the specter had given him with even the slightest brush against his thoughts. Once his eyes adjusted, he opened them and reached out to pull the serving tray at his bedside table onto his lap. 

A wooden bowl filled to its brim with short, white fluffy grains of rice settled a small smile on his lips. He cradled it between his palms and blew at the thin trails of steam tickling at the tip of his nose, tilting it toward his mouth with deep gulps. Vigor sept into his veins as he tasted the savoriness of the broth and the refreshing mildness of the herbs from his aunt’s garden. Anticipation stirred deep within his stomach when a sharp tartness settled on his tongue an he chewed on the wrinkled pit of a pickled plum. His heart sang as he lowered his bowl to the tray and looked out the window toward the distant trees half-hidden by the dawn fog. 

Perhaps it was Mother, but she wouldn’t go against my wishes like this either. Then… 

He clapped his palms sharply against his cheeks, scrunching his nose and shutting his eyes at the stinging pain. When his hands fell to his lap again, brushing shy of the serving tray, he stared down at them with resolve. He allowed himself to think of what he’d seen — Jutai effaced from the mountain where it had been born, and Nyima bearing tears of sorrow whilst her wedding sash dyed red with his blood. If he’d truly come close to the Far Shore, and the elder who’d borne his name was not a specter but a premonition of what he could become, then what would come after his recovery? 

Did Mara turn me — him — in that life? 

Sonam gripped his collar and pulled it taut, wishing to tear it from his body as he bowed his head once more with regret. If that was the fate that awaited him if he continued down this path then he would abandon it. How he was set upon it didn’t matter at all. 

But will that stop everything that he said would come? 

It seemed as if everything started with the death of his brother. Sonam needed little reason at all to protect his elder brother, but if the fall of Jutai could be prevented by his continued good health, then there was all the reason more to assure it. He hesitated, lifting his head with a curious hum. Out of all of those who’d come to visit him, he had yet to see his brother even once. In the depths of his wallowing, Sonam thought it was for the best. His brother would have been spared the indignity of witnessing him battling the throes of mara in his fitful sleep. 

Brother Tsering, Sonam thought as he leaned his head against the window sill and imagined the twittering birdsong to be his brother’s laughter. The dull aches of longing to hear the sound once more lulling him into a light doze. 

The feeling of his body being moved awoke Sonam from his nap. He blinked open his eyes with a soft groan, trying to make sense of the bright and earthy blurs of color dancing about above his head. When his eyes finally adjusted, and the blurriness cleared, he could see Nyima hovering over him. He saw within her face a twin of the confusion likely resting upon his own, and recognized the tender hold around him was likely from her hands. His heartbeat quickened when the surprised turned into concentration as she settled him onto the pillows with care, then slipped her hands from beneath his head and back.  

If he hadn’t been watching her face so closely, he would have missed the way she bit her lip as she turned away from him. The dishes clattered noisily while she gathered them, and Sonam wondered if he’d simply slept harder during the early days of his recovery, or if something startled her to move so clumsily. It was strangely charming, watching Nyima out the corner of his eye as she checked each dish, and his blood sang when he realized. 

“Nyima?” He called out, voice still hoarse from slumber. She didn’t turn to look at him which was mildly disheartening, but he gathered himself as he wetted his lips before speaking.  “I am—”

“Do not say it, Sonam,” she interjected snappily, lifting the serving tray to her chest.

Her eyes didn’t drift toward him again but she did hesitate for a brief second before turning her back. Her long braid caught Sonam’s attention; the ties between the knots were uneven in their size. A mistake Nyima would never make if she weren’t preoccupied with something else beforehand. The urge to take this chance pulled at him and he pushed himself up onto his elbow, grunting when he’d underestimated his arm’s numbness. His arm slid against the bedding, sending him spiraling forward but he managed to catch himself with a hand on his side table before his head knocked against one of the bedpost’s notches. Earthenware clattered, and he only realized Nyima was standing over him again when he felt her presence hanging over him. 

One hand was extended to him, but when their eyes met, it pulled away. Alarm swelled in Sonam’s chest as he lashed his hand out to grab hold of hers, squeezing with all the strength he could muster.

“Please let me speak,” he pleaded, refusing to waste time as he blurted out, “I am sorry, Nyima. I am more regretful of my actions than I can put into words, and I understand why you are upset with me.”

Nyima’s fingers twitched in his grasp, and he begged the Weaver not to entwine a tapestry depicting a world where she drew away from him. She stood there silently, only allowing her hand to hover within his grasp while he struggled to keep himself upright. The transformations of emotion within her eyes were astounding: concern to surprise then something he could not quite make sense of. When she at last spoke, she asked, “If you do, then tell me why you would go this far. Do those eyes you see with truly work? If so, how could you possibly believe cultivating mara would be wise?”

With no ready answer for this, Sonam shut his mouth and exhaled slowly through his nose. Nyima frowned as she gripped his hand fiercely, setting the serving tray one-handed on the side table. Her freed hand cradled his cheek with a softness unreflected in the intensity of her gaze. A shudder coursed through him when the warmth of Nyima’s touch soaked into his skin. After desiring to look upon Nyima for so long, Sonam hardly knew what he would do now that he had her full attention. Anger was better than indifference, though he wished the brunt of her rage was not one he had to endure. 

Is that how the other him felt? 

He swallowed hard, and wracked his mind for what she could have meant. Dedicating himself to the notion of warding off that dreadful future was grand, but he couldn’t remember why he started down the path to begin with. What could mara have offered him that would sway him from the righteous path? 

Sonam recalled the destruction of the mountain, how the earth shattered and the heavens were split in twain by a great force. If that had been the power he was capable of — that mara — offered him, would only seeing it without knowing what it would bring have lured him into its clutches? A power which would bring him strength to defend his home, to thwart their enemies, to truly stand beside his brother as equals.

Before he could think of it further, the words flowed free from his lips, “I was angry—” Nyima’s eyes widened — “I didn’t want my brother to bear the burden of carrying our family’s name simply because I couldn’t stand beside him.”

Nyima drew back a tad, searching his eyes, and her expression softened with an understanding which sent a sick twist to Sonam’s stomach. He knew the words she would speak before they’d parted her lips, and balked at hearing them, “He’s your older brother—”

“We’re twins—” He countered sharply, wincing at the hurt which flickered across her face. A small part of him believed it to be right while another disagreed restlessly, trying to find soothing words but only coming across one’s buried deep within his chest, “Brother Tsering is only older because the Weaver bade it so, that does not lessen my responsibility to him—!”

With great effort, he snapped off from her touch, unable to take the gentleness of it with how tight and uncomfortable his skin felt. His head jerked away then turned down as he shouted at his lap, “ We should be able to fight together, side-by-side, not groveling to be saved like a helpless child!”

For a moment, he wondered if those words were solely because of his brother.  Now that the thought had been loosed and nervous energy crawled beneath his too-tight skin, he realized where the error had come.  No one expected him to attain his brother’s prowess with spell weaving nor martial arts with how frail his body had been from birth. Even the expectation that he would live long to see adulthood was an ill-spoken one beneath the mountain. All of their hopes and their beliefs turned to Tsering, the hale and hearty eldest son who excelled in his studies whilst showing a generous demeanor. His brother was beloved, a son anyone would have been proud to have, and he—

He— what? 

Hated him for it?

Sonam tugged his hand from Nyima’s, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes as he curled in on himself and heaved a sigh. His shoulders rolled forward as he struggled and strained to swallow down thick sobs filled with tears he wished would cool the revulsion stirring in his stomach. Why did this have to come over him now when he was trying his best to prove himself to Nyima?

Why did this always happen?

Why—?!

“Sonam, “ a touch to the back of his head startled him from his thinking. He was aware all at once of his ragged breathing,  the gentle stroking against the back of his head, and that Nyima had yet to leave his side. He waited for a moment to see what she would say or if she would think again on trying to comfort him and take her leave. But the silence lingered until his breathing evened out and he’d managed to lift his face from his tear-slicked palms. Warm palms caressed the underside of his chin and tilted his head back enough that he could see Nyima’s face again.

There was a wetness to her eyes beneath the shade of her furrowed brow, but she smiled at him and for now that was enough. “… We are children, you know,” she said, sweeping her thumb beneath the curve of his eye. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

She followed the act by cleaning beneath his other eye as she said, “And there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Sonam sniffed harshly, and swiped at the few tears which managed to escape from his eyes afterwards. Nyima let him without a word, a tear of her own running down her cheek as she tipped his head up further so their eyes would meet. 

“Once Madam Tsolha approves, I'll help you train from the ground up,” she said, her voice thick with promise.

Sonam’s mouth fell open. He tried to shake his head as he stammered, “I-I don’t…”

Her hands pressed against his cheek, smushing the words together as he tried to speak. Helpless, he looked up at her and marveled at the sunlight cresting atop of her head. She smiled sweetly, laughter creasing at the corner of her eyes and cradled his head gently as she said, “We'll do it together, okay?”

And Sonam wondered if this was the first choice he could make. The first thing that would take him away from that calamitous future, and set them all upon a better path. One where Nyima would smile at him like this instead of crying for both of them. 

Sonam sniffed, spurring another tear to roll down his cheek when he blinked and nodded. 

“Okay.”