The scent of wet earth and broken hearts clung to the morning mist like smoke to a battlefield.
Hei Long stood alone at the edge of the Spiritwell Cliffs, the wind tousling his dark robe.
Beneath his feet, the old stones bore faint traces of talismans burned into them by the spiritual fires of the duel hours before.
What remained of Lin Fan's pride was probably still staining the moss here.
A faint smile curved Hei Long's lips.
He hadn't meant for things to go that far... not at first.
Not with Mu Lanyue.
Not with the way she had looked at him—soft, unsure, full of a curiosity she had long buried beneath her duty as the Frost Sect's prodigy.
But fate, as always, had a different plan.
One that sang in Hei Long's blood.
Now she was his. Not in name, not yet in body, but in the way she lowered her gaze when he passed, in the way her hands lingered too long when handing him a cup of spirit tea.
In the way her sword refused to meet his in mock duels.
