[ there is a type of pigment that comes out of liyue that's supposedly crushed cinnabar mixed with the shattered chitin of a specific insect. put into the kiln under 1115 degrees celsius, and it comes out the red of a piercing desert dawn. there is no other red quite like it. it reminds kaveh a little of the bleeding of king deshret's tomb, the way the red leaks into the desert much in the way of a living myth, mixed with the sand and dust of the land he had, and the world had, left behind. right now, kaveh sees that red again.

there is rage. there is sorrow. kaveh looks. his hands carefully adjust his boltcutters. clink, goes the shred of another metallic connector. the fragment of metal falls to the grass much in the way of a shattered star. ]

I asked him much the same thing. [ says kaveh, because he, too, is remembering the ghastly white of an unmarked bone protruding from daan's arm. it had been pale like moonlight. it had been pale like death. but above all else, daan had been in pain, and kaveh had said it then and he still thinks it now: daan's pain had been unaccceptable. ] That's why these bonesaws will require two hands to utilise. He will need help to shear off another limb. Whoever that help is has a chance to stop him.