Lian rode through the misted pass before dawn. The wind shifted once—twice—and then stopped, as if the entire realm had paused to watch.
And there, in the clearing below the ridge, stood a figure bathed in early light. Mist-blue hair. Bare feet pressed into dewy grass. Head tilted, as if listening to something only he could hear.
Lian's heart nearly stopped. It's him. It's Aure. After all these years. After death. After silence. After everything.
He dismounted slowly, boots silent against the stone. His body moved before thought could form. Sword left behind. Hands open. Breath shallow.
"Aure…" he whispered, like saying the name out loud might collapse the world.
The figure turned, slowly—eyes catching the morning sun. Sea-green, but unfamiliar. Searching, but not recognizing.
He looked at him… like he was no one.
"Do I… know you?" Aure asked softly, voice melodic, but uncertain.
It was the same voice. But not the same memory.
Lian froze.
A thousand nights spent remembering. A hundred dreams whispered between broken stars. And yet now… he was forgotten.
His fists trembled at his side.
"No," he said finally, swallowing hard. "I must've mistaken you for someone else."
But in his chest, the mark burned like fire.
And deep within Aure, something shifted—something ancient curled in his blood like a question waiting to be asked.