The gate opened with a groan like bone scraping against bone.
Mist rolled over the cobbled path ahead, veiling the southern road in a dull, grey hush. The banners of the imperial escort were limp from cold. The horses shivered. Metal rang hollow as armor shifted — not in rhythm, but restlessness.
I said nothing.
I mounted my horse in silence, adjusting the gloves I did not need. The wind had no bite anymore. Cold didn't reach me the way it used to.
The city did not see us off.
No fanfare. No courtiers. Not even a palace clerk to mark our departure.
Twelve riders in silence.
And one woman seated on a white mare, moving with the elegance of porcelain and the presence of fog.
Lady Shen Yue.
We crossed through the outer gate by second bell.
She rode beside me without invitation.
She did not look at the road. Nor at the guards. Nor at the city fading behind us.
Only forward.
As if she already knew where this would end.
I studied her from the corner of my eye.
Her hair was tied in a simple knot, her robe pale as snow. No jewellery. No adornment. Just silk. And skin. And silence.
"Do you ride often?" I asked.
"Only when I must."
"Does this feel like duty?"
"No."
A pause.
"Then what is it?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "A crossing."
She didn't elaborate.
But I felt the weight of that word settle between us like a nail pressed into flesh.
We rode for hours beneath a colorless sky.
The road coiled like a dying serpent — too narrow, too cracked, too ancient. Carvings barely visible in the stone marked old pilgrimage routes. Some had been defaced. Others had changed.
A few had been scratched over in new ink, still fresh.
We passed abandoned shrines, their banners eaten by wind and time. Offerings long since rotten. Statues half-submerged in soil. Faces smoothed down by years or intentionally removed.
One had no head.
Another bled moss from its mouth.
Shen Yue turned to none of them.
But I did.
Something in me stirred as we passed.
Not recognition.
Resonance.
As if the air around them carried not prayer — but memory.
Old. Stale. Violent.
"These statues," I murmured. "Do you feel anything from them?"
She tilted her head.
"They are no longer temples."
"What are they?"
"Markers."
"Of what?"
"Things left behind."
The third shrine we passed was still burning.
A small flame. Just enough to be real.
But no one stood near it.
No travellers.
No priests.
No villagers.
No footprints in the mud.
Just the flame.
No one spoke of it.
By dusk, we reached the inn that had been prepared — an old courier house converted for noble use. Cold brick. Empty walls. A hearth that smoked too much to be warm.
My guards took quarters in the courtyard stalls.
The servants stayed silent, as if trained not to speak outside orders.
Only Shen Yue entered the main hall behind me.
I sat at the long table.
She stood beside the window.
Not looking out — just listening to the wind scratch against the glass.
"You don't fear the silence?" I asked.
"It's honest."
She finally turned to me.
For the first time since we left the capital, our eyes truly met.
Her pupils were large, too large, as if they were still adjusting to light that didn't exist.
"Tell me, Lady Shen Yue," I said, "why do you think I chose you?"
She didn't blink.
"Because I make no promises."
I felt my hand tighten around the cup.
It was empty.
I hadn't poured anything.
"You think I seek someone who won't betray me?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"You want someone who doesn't believe in loyalty. So when they stay, it means something."
I stood without thinking.
Walked toward the far hearth.
The fire was weak. Coughing smoke.
I watched the flame as it flickered sideways, as if leaning away from me.
"You're not what I expected," I said.
"No one is," she replied.
She approached.
Her steps made no sound on the stone.
She stood behind me.
Close. Too close.
"I know what you're becoming," she said softly.
"Do you?" I whispered. She touched my shoulder. Not gently.
Not affectionately.
But with a kind of acceptance that chilled me.
I turned.
She was already gone.
Later, I lay awake on the travel mat, eyes fixed on the ceiling beams.
I could hear the horses shifting.
The wind howling.
Something dripping in the hall.
And just beneath it—Scratching.
Not rats. Not wood.
A kind of whisper shaped without voice.
Language with no throat.
I closed my eyes.
And saw her face.
Not Shen Yue.
The woman from the threshold.
Still faceless. Still waiting.
The petals fell behind her.
Spiraling inward. And I followed.