The days bled together in that foreign city, each sunrise pulling Jin Mu further into the rhythm of a world that still felt alien yet alive. His body had mostly healed from the torment of the forced merging of pathways, though his soul bore fractures like a mirror glued back together—seams that glowed faintly whenever his mind faltered. Despite this fragility, he kept his promise to serve as a bodyguard to the princess who had offered him sanctuary: Princess Eleanor Veyra.
Eleanor was unlike anyone he had ever known. Where Camellya was sharp-tongued and often cloaked in hidden schemes, Eleanor was warmth in human form. She wore silks the color of starlight, her hair golden like wheat at harvest, and her eyes an otherworldly pale blue that seemed to pierce through lies and hesitation alike. The people of the city adored her—not just for her beauty, but for her kindness, her willingness to walk among them, listen to their worries, and eat at their tables without scorn.
The city itself was unlike anything Jin Mu remembered from his old world. It was called Ardentis, a metropolis built in concentric rings that spiraled outward from a crystal obelisk at its heart. The obelisk hummed at all hours, a spire of condensed light that powered everything from the streetlamps to the airships that floated like silver whales across the skies. Each ring of the city represented a different sect of life: artisans in the outermost, merchants and scholars in the middle, and the nobility close to the obelisk. Guards patrolled each border, not to keep people trapped, but to prevent crime from spilling inward.
Eleanor had insisted Jin stay within the noble ring, in chambers directly connected to her palace. The palace itself was less of a fortress and more of a sanctuary, built from pale marble that reflected the ever-present glow of the obelisk. Gardens bloomed along its terraces, filled with flowers that released bioluminescent pollen at night, making it seem as if the stars themselves had descended.
But Jin could not rest fully. The merging of the Black Emperor Pathway with his new, unnamed one had birthed an instability inside him. At times, his shadow stretched unnaturally long, curling like a serpent's body. At others, his breath would fog the air though the climate was warm, as though another world's chill leaked from his lungs. Eleanor noticed these things, of course. She was perceptive, but she never recoiled. Instead, she asked questions—not with the interrogation of a judge, but with the curiosity of a friend.
"Does it hurt?" she asked one evening as they walked through the palace's lantern-lit gardens.
"Every second," Jin admitted, his voice low. He had long since abandoned the instinct to hide his weakness in her presence. "But pain is familiar. It means I'm still alive."
Eleanor stopped beneath a willow that shed glowing strands of pollen like falling snow. Her hand brushed his sleeve. "Alive, yes. But at what cost, Jin? You look like someone who carries the weight of two lives at once."
He froze at her words, because they struck too close to the truth. The two personalities inside him—his amnesiac self and his pre-amnesia self—had not vanished. They had fused, screaming against the seams, tearing at his identity until it felt like he was walking on broken glass. He said nothing, but the silence itself was an answer.
Days turned into weeks. His duties as Eleanor's bodyguard took him across the city: to negotiations with merchant guilds, to rituals at the obelisk, to festivals where the streets pulsed with drums and floating lanterns. Everywhere, people bowed to Eleanor with reverence, and by extension, they began to nod respectfully at him as well. For the first time since the collapse of his old world, Jin felt a sense of belonging.
Yet in quiet moments, doubts gnawed at him. Was this peace an illusion? Was he abandoning his old comrades—Shen, Xue Yiran, Camellya, Su Lin—by indulging in this fragile new life? The shards, the Tribunal, the chains of slavery—they haunted him like unfinished sentences.
Eleanor seemed to sense the storms in him. She never pressed, but one evening, as the sun set blood-red over the obelisk, she invited him to her private library. The shelves were carved from living wood, their roots drinking from underground streams. Tomes floated in the air, bound by threads of crystal, and when she spoke, her voice echoed softly.
"This city is not the whole world," she said. "Beyond Ardentis lies a continent torn between sects and kingdoms. Some worship the obelisk's light, others reject it and build their power from shadow, flame, or the stars themselves. Our peace here exists only because of balance. If that balance breaks…" She let the thought linger, unfinished.
Jin stepped closer to the floating tomes, scanning their titles. One spoke of a war called The Sundering, where gods themselves had bled upon the soil. Another detailed the rise of sects devoted to mastering entire concepts: Flamebound, who burned lifetimes into ashes; Astral Court, who read destinies from collapsing stars; and the Drowned Choir, who claimed to speak in the voices of dead oceans.
He turned back to Eleanor, his brows furrowed. "And you? Where does your city stand in this balance?"
Her smile was tinged with sadness. "We are the shield that holds. But shields cannot last forever without someone to bear them." Her gaze lingered on him then, as if hinting at something more.
From that day onward, their bond deepened. She did not treat him as a mere protector, but as a confidant. She shared the burdens of leadership, the late-night councils where nobles argued like wolves over scraps, the whispered fears that the obelisk's light was fading. And Jin, against his own instincts, began to open to her in return. Not everything—he could not bring himself to explain regression, the shards, or the Tribunal. But enough. Enough that she began to see the man beneath the fractures.
And slowly, frighteningly, he began to see her not as just a princess, but as someone he wanted to protect—not because of duty, but because he wanted her to live, to smile, to never carry the weight he bore.
One night, as the obelisk pulsed brighter than usual, casting the city in silver light, Eleanor stood with him on the highest balcony of the palace. The wind carried the sound of distant drums. She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the obelisk's glow.
"You've seen worlds fall, haven't you?" she asked softly.
Jin's throat tightened. He gave no answer, but his silence was confirmation enough.
She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his once more. "Then stay with me, Jin. Even if the world collapses again. Stay."
For the first time in what felt like eternity, Jin Mu felt something crack inside—not the painful fracture of merging souls, but the gentler shatter of walls breaking down. He nodded, barely, but enough for Eleanor's lips to curve into a quiet smile.
And though shadows lingered in his veins and fire gnawed at his bones, for that night, he allowed himself to believe in her light.