He’d been walking the edge of the ruins when something in the air shifted. It was small, almost nothing, just that strange, quiet pull that made the fur along his spine rise. Then came the scent. Faint, but familiar in a way that hit him right in the chest. Jasmine. Sandalwood. Incense.
And something newer too: mud, moss, and the damp of this strange place.
For a second, he stopped breathing. It couldn’t be, he thought. It just… couldn’t.
And then he heard it. That small, frightened sound that cracked through the silence like glass.
...Lian.
Her name fell out of him before he could stop it—barely a whisper, half disbelieving and half in awe. Could it be? Could the Celestial Dragon have blessed him so?
He didn’t think after that. He just moved. His paws carried him fast through the mud and grass until he saw her—small and curled, fur a mess, and golden eyes wide with fear and confusion. For a moment, all he could do was stare. His little girl. His daughter. Here.
Lian… he said again, voice breaking somewhere between relief and awe. By the Blessings of the Heavenly Dragon...
He was at her side before she could blink, lowering his head to nudge her shoulder gently. The smell of her, alive and real, hit him so hard he almost laughed.
You’re here, he breathed out, soft and shaky, a smile finally pulling at his lips. You’re really here.
He pulled back just enough to look her over, his golden eyes full of warmth and disbelief. I thought I’d lost you to the world between, he admitted quietly, then let out a small huff that might’ve been a laugh. And yet here you are. He grinned, eyes narrowing with playful fondness. You’ve got mud on your face, little lotus. Your mother would faint if she saw you like this.
He turned his head toward a stream not far away, flicking his tail for her to follow. Come, my darling girl. Let’s get you cleaned up before I start catching the ghosts of our ancestors yelling at me for letting a princess of Tianlong roll around in the dirt.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring down at her like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then—“Baba!”
The sound of her voice cracked something wide open in him. The last bit of composure he’d been clinging to dissolved in an instant. He barely had time to open his mouth before she was in his chest, a small, shaking bundle of fur and tears. The word daughter felt too small for what she was—what she’d always been. His world. His light. His sun. His little lotus blossom.
He let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a breathless choke, pressing his muzzle against her head. Oh, little lotus, he whispered into her fur, his voice thick and unsteady in a way it hadn’t been in years. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you call me that again.
For once, he didn’t care that his fur was being ruined by mud or that she was practically dripping in it. He only held her a little tighter, a low rumble escaping him as he wrapped a single leg around her lower back and tugged her closer. You thought you were what? he murmured against her crown, pulling back just enough to look her over, bronze eyes gleaming faintly in the light. Gone? Lost? Nonsense. My daughter doesn’t get lost. The world just takes a while to catch up to her.
He smiled, soft and crooked, the kind that almost hurt to make. Then, in a teasing hum, he spoke, though, I’ll admit, you look a little like you wrestled a bog spirit and lost.
When she mentioned Mei, his expression gentled again, something like pride and longing flickering across his face. Not yet, he said quietly. But I believe she’ll find her way here, too. The Celestial Dragon doesn’t break families apart for good. Just… scatters them, to see if we can find our way back.
As they walked, his eyes stayed on her—not constantly, but often enough that it was clear he still didn’t quite trust the sight of her to last. He watched the way the morning light caught in her fur and the way her composure was already rebuilding itself piece by piece. It made him want to laugh again. She was so much like her mother—stubborn, graceful, and endlessly proud—yet entirely herself.
When she finally asked her question, his steps slowed. He glanced down at her, expression shifting to something softer and quieter. Long enough to think I'd never see you again, he admitted. A couple of weeks, maybe more. While the sun rises the same, the stars aren’t where they should be. How long has it been for you, daughter?
A small pause. Then, lightly—because if he didn’t, he might start crying again—he added, You know, for a princess who’s just woken up here, you still manage to look like you’re ready to lecture the court.
He reached over and bumped her shoulder with his own, grinning. I’m glad you’re here, Lian, he said quietly. The empire might be gone for the both of us, but… at least my world’s a little brighter now.
Shēnléi’s laughter came low and soft, almost hidden beneath his breath, but the sound carried warmth— a deep, steady hum that rippled through his chest and into hers where her head rested. It had been so long since he’d held her like this. Too long. The weight of her against him, real and breathing, undid something inside him that words couldn’t touch.
Mm, he murmured, brushing his chin against the top of her head, you always did find the most inconvenient ways to travel, little lotus. His tone was teasing, but the edges softened by affection. Next time, try to wake up somewhere with less mud. I was starting to think the swamp gods were playing some kind of joke on me.
He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a tiredness there— one born not from a lack of rest, but from too many silent nights spent waiting. Her laugh, her voice, even her scolding, it was like sunlight breaking through a fog he’d been walking in for weeks.
When she apologized, his ears tipped back slightly, and he looked at her with that quiet, unreadable sort of patience he’d always had with his daughters. Don’t be sorry, he said gently. The fault isn’t yours. None of this is. He hesitated, then added softer, You came when you could. That’s enough.
His gaze drifted over the murky water as she waded in, his tail flicking once as if to keep himself anchored to the moment. It was strange, seeing her again like this— grown, graceful, and still every bit the bright creature she’d been in the palace halls, but changed too. The air around her felt different now. He wasn’t sure if it was her maturity or the world itself reshaping her.
When she turned to give him that look, the one that said she wasn’t fooled by his easy tone, he let out a small, knowing hum. Ah, my little court adviser, he said with mock solemnity, ever the diplomat. If I remember correctly, half of your ‘advice’ involved lecturing me on my posture during council meetings. His grin widened when she smirked, something boyish and unguarded in it that most hadn’t seen since his youth. I should’ve known your tongue would survive the journey across worlds.
But when she mentioned her mother, his voice softened again. The jest faded from his lips. She will, he agreed quietly, gaze following the shifting reflection of the moon across the pool. Your mother’s too stubborn to stay away from what’s hers. If there’s a path, she’ll find it. You have her fire, after all. She won’t let the world swallow her.
He watched her for a moment longer, the silver light tracing her features, the way the water clung to her fur. A quiet ache threaded through his chest— pride and grief tangled into something bittersweet.
You sound more and more like her, you know, he said, almost to himself. The way you talk about the sun and clouds… Mei used to say things like that when I worried too much. His lips quirked, just barely. Seems I’m outnumbered again.
He shifted closer to the edge of the pool, lowering his head enough that their eyes met— his bright, bronze colored ones softened by something rawer than he meant to show. I meant what I said, Lian, he murmured. The sun hasn’t set on us. It can’t. Not while you’re here by my side to help keep me and your sister in line.
A pause. His gaze lingered on her face, memorizing the way she looked in this world— still radiant, still his daughter, even covered in mud as she was. Come, he said at last, voice lighter again. Finish washing. You can’t have the new world’s first impression of Tianlong’s princess be a swamp rat. Heaven forbid.
A grin, wry and teasing, slipped through. Though, I must admit… for a creature dredged up from the muck, you clean up well.
He didn’t wait for her retort this time— he already knew it would come. Instead, he turned his head toward the dark horizon, his voice quieter when he spoke next.
