The moonlight silvered the stranger's hair, his coat lined with frost like a hunter who had been waiting for days. His smile was too familiar to be safe.
Ruo Han (whisper, trembling): "...You."
Feng Lian (low, to Xiyue): "That's not the voice of someone meeting a stranger."
The man's gaze swept past Feng Lian like he was nothing, resting on Ruo Han with unsettling stillness.
Stranger: "It's been a long time, little one. You've grown… but the scent is the same."
Ruo Han's nails dug into his palms. Memories snapped open like old wounds — the cold of a stone floor, the sound of chains, a voice whispering his worth was in what flowed through his veins.
Before Xiyue could step forward, the man finally looked at him… and his expression changed.
Stranger: "Lan Xiyue. Son of Lan Chuan."
The name hit like a sword to the gut — even Feng Lian's smirk faltered.
Xiyue: "You know my father."
Stranger (smiling): "I killed your father."
The snow seemed to hold its breath.
In the silence, Ruo Han's voice was barely a whisper.
Ruo Han: "He's not lying."
The stranger tilted his head, gaze flicking between them with dark amusement.
Stranger: "Oh, this is better than I hoped. Blood and fate, both in my hands."
And then the night erupted — the pass collapsing beneath their feet in a roar of snow and stone.