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A simple recollection lost to the whispers and gossip, in fear or in awe younger him did not know. All β β β β β could muster from his memories was the face of his twin sister and mother's gentle love embracing him and praising him for his victory.
From his young pestering pleads, his mother sat him down and retold him the story of how he received these branching flowers on his entire body. His mother would always start the recollection with the same beginning, his sister listening quietly beside him. "It was created by your heart, determination to protect your other half."
For many years, since he was old to walk and fight, β β β β β had taken the role of Lady Yingyue's protector and carried the duty with pride. One could dare say in his sister's grace, he became her decoy to trick and teach those wanting manipulate her a lesson they would not forget.
It wasn't until the eve of their 13th birthday, the cycle of promised protection ended with the cruel torture and the lightning's blessing. The people he had sworn to fend off, instead took him all too happily for the taste of revenge on his soul. Laughed at his pain, mocked him for being weak, belittled him for his "cursed" bloodline.
And yet, the young β β β β β laughed as it were pure entertainment, promising he'll get to have fun with them eventually. Words had only left his mouth before the storm's judgement struck where he was ensnared, leaving its blossoms on his flesh and the promise in his hands.
What commenced when the lightning's spring came to bloom is often foretold in variations, but it always ended with him returning home covered in red and burns, holding so closely a electrifying jewel to his chest. Smiling proudly as if he climbed all the way to Celestia and back to his family's embrace victorious.
"You asked if I was proud of you that night, before falling unconscious." It was a rare moment to see his mother looking at him with genuine adoration, the suddened softening of her stern scowl. "I was and always will. That gift which burns so brightly in your hands speaks of your strength and love. Carry your flowers with pride, my little spider."
Often the storm of opinionated pity and disgust for his story is heard trailing after him, but β β β β β still dances in the weather by his sister's side without a care in the world, the refulgent vision and scars he carries an honest attestation of life. It is through this memory told by tale, adventures he ventures on be nothing more than the fruits of his labor made through enigmatic means and promises.