The morning broke in muted gray.
Thin veils of snow drifted from the peaks, catching in the branches of frost-bitten pines. The cold bit at Qingxue's cheeks as she tightened the straps on her pack, her eyes never leaving the man across the campfire.
Mo Lianyin was sharpening his blade. His movements were calm, deliberate—but too precise, too controlled.
Like a predator pretending to sleep.
---
They resumed their journey northward, their breath fogging the air. The frozen path narrowed until they walked single file along the cliffside, where the ice beneath their boots cracked faintly with each step.
Qingxue kept her eyes on the road, but her mind was on the scroll hidden beneath her robe.
The Moon-Silencing Seal.
She had studied it again in the quiet hours before dawn, committing every gesture, every incantation to memory. The ritual would need blood—his blood—and it would demand that she stand within arm's reach of him for the final binding.
She wasn't sure if she could manage either without him sensing her intent.
---
By midday, the wind shifted, carrying with it the low, guttural howl of something alive. They crested a ridge and saw them—bandits, their armor mismatched and rusted, blocking the narrow pass ahead.
At first, Qingxue thought them merely opportunists.
Then she saw their leader's eyes—pitch-black irises, too much like the beasts from the valley.
Corrupted.
---
"You'll hand over your packs," the leader said, voice gravel-edged. "Or you'll feed the snow."
Lianyin stepped forward. "You're already dead," he said simply.
The leader sneered, but the sneer froze when Lianyin's bell gave a single, soft toll.
Two bandits dropped instantly into the snow, blood trickling from their ears.
The others roared and charged.
---
Qingxue fought alongside him, her blade cutting arcs of silver through the icy air. But her eyes kept flicking toward him, toward the way the bell's sound seemed to pull the life from everything it touched. There was no hesitation in him anymore—no distinction between enemy and obstacle.
Halfway through the battle, she realized this was the chance she had been waiting for. He was focused on killing, on feeding the Art. If she struck now—cut him just enough to draw blood—she could begin the Seal before he even realized.
---
Her hand found the scroll within her robes. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She stepped toward him, her sword raised—not to defend, but to slice across his arm.
At the last second, a corrupted bandit broke through the melee, aiming a spear at Lianyin's exposed side.
She reacted without thinking. Her blade shot past Lianyin, cutting the bandit down before the spear reached him.
---
For a moment, they stood back-to-back, the snow spinning around them like a storm of white petals.
"You saved me," he said quietly, almost surprised.
"I…" Qingxue's voice caught. "I couldn't let him—"
"Kill me?" His tone was unreadable. "Or kill what I am now?"
She had no answer.
---
The last of the corrupted fell, and the pass went silent but for the moan of the wind. Lianyin turned to her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her fingers tighten on her sword hilt.
"If you're going to betray me," he said softly, "do it without hesitation. That's the only way you'll survive."
He walked past her, leaving bloody footprints in the snow.
She stood there a long time, the scroll heavy against her chest.
The chance had slipped away. And she wasn't sure if she'd ever take it again.