Black dust.
Demon ash settled on frozen ground, a fine, glittering powder that coated the clearing in a morbid frost. For a long moment, silence reigned, broken only by the ragged, desperate panting of three survivors in a cage of fallen trees.
Li Wei stared at the empty space where death had stood, his mind a blank slate of shock. Zhang Min wept openly, a storm of terror and relief finally breaking him. Aurelia stood alone, her sword arm trembling not from fear, but from the soul-deep exhaustion of pouring her entire being into a single, perfect strike.
Then her eyes found the crumpled grey heap on the ground.
Irelion.
He wasn't moving.
The logical part of her brain, the part that had guided her entire life, was issuing commands. Assess the situation. Secure the perimeter. It was the voice of a leader. A different, unfamiliar feeling roared up and silenced it—a hot, protective fury mixed with a cold, terrifying dread. She took a stumbling step, then another, until she was kneeling at his side.
He was a brutal, bloody mess. The front of his cheap robe was blackened and smoking where the demon's acidic ichor had spattered, the fabric eaten away to reveal angry red burns blistering on his skin. His face was pale, his lips tinged with blue. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
She gently placed two fingers on his neck, searching for a pulse. She found one. It was faint, thready, a butterfly's wingbeat against the coming night. He was alive. Barely.
"He… he saved us," Li Wei whispered, finding his voice. He staggered over, his own injuries forgotten. "That… that thing. He planned it all."
Aurelia didn't answer. Her mind was a whirlwind. He knew its weakness. He orchestrated the entire battle. She pressed her hand gently against his chest, trying to assess the damage. She felt it immediately. The sickening, grinding shift of broken bones. His ribcage was crushed. It was a miracle he was still breathing.
With a clinical precision that belied the storm in her heart, she reached into a small, embroidered pouch at her belt. She pulled out a small, jade-green vial. A high-grade Healing Draught from her clan, worth a fortune, capable of knitting bone and soothing ravaged meridians. She had been saving it for a life-or-death moment.
This qualified.
She uncorked the vial, the scent of concentrated life energy filling the air. She lifted Irelion's head, cradling it in her lap. His skin was cold, clammy. She carefully tilted the vial, letting the precious, glowing green liquid drip between his lips. As she tended to him, her fingers brushed against something hard under the collar of his robe. A leather cord.
Curious, she gently pulled it out. On the end of it hung a small, worn leather pouch. It was heavy. She opened it.
Not spirit stones. Not treasures. Seven broken sword shards.
Her breath caught. Each one was distinct—a piece of ice-veined steel, a sliver of lightning-scorched blade, a fragment of an elegant, wind-sharp edge. They looked ancient, each one a tombstone for a battle lost.
Seven.
Why seven? The number felt significant, a deliberate collection of tragedies. Who was this boy, who carried the fragments of seven shattered blades over his heart like a rosary of sorrow?
Irelion groaned, a low, pained sound. His eyes, still closed, fluttered. He began to mutter, his voice a delirious, broken whisper.
"Nyx… don't… die alone…"
Aurelia froze, the name a foreign, meaningless sound.
His head tossed weakly in her lap. "Evangeline… I'm sorry… so sorry…"
His words were the feverish ramblings of a dying man, but they felt like something more. They felt like confessions, fragments of a past so filled with loss that it was spilling out of him now that his walls were broken.
"Senior Sister," Zhang Min said, having finally gotten to his feet, his voice shaking. "What do we do? We can't stay here."
Aurelia looked from Irelion's pale face back to the broken clearing. Zhang Min was right. They were all exhausted, wounded, and deep in hostile territory. The smell of demon blood would draw every predator for miles.
She made a decision. Not a logical one. The only one.
She carefully secured the pouch of broken sword shards back under his robe. She looked at the other two disciples, her voice regaining its cold, commanding edge. "Li Wei, your arm is injured, but your legs work. You will take the lead. Zhang Min, you will watch our backs. We are leaving. Now."
She slid her arms under Irelion's back and knees. He was surprisingly light, all lean muscle and bone. With a grunt of effort that sent a protest through her own aching meridians, she lifted him into her arms. The proud, untouchable prodigy of the Azure Peak Sect, the girl who had never needed anyone, was now carrying the broken body of the sect's greatest failure.
As they began the long, slow march back, Aurelia looked down at the unconscious face of the boy in her arms. His expression, even in delirium, was one of profound, ancient pain.
She had come here to dissect a lie. Instead, she had stumbled into a truth so deep and so dark she wasn't sure she could bear its weight.
Who are you, Irelion Vance? she thought, the question no longer one of mere curiosity, but of a desperate, terrifying need to know.