The cave assigned to Mo Shan was narrow, carved deep into the cliff like a wound that never quite healed. The stone was cold, the air thin, and the silence loud enough to remind him—again and again—that he was a guest only by tolerance.
So when footsteps approached, his eyes opened instantly.
He looked up to see Feng Lihan standing at the entrance, wings folded tightly behind him, firelight flickering across sharp features. In his hands was a simple bundle of roasted meat, still warm, still steaming faintly in the night air.
Mo Shan blinked once.
Then slowly, he smiled.
"You came yourself," Mo Shan said softly. "I'm honored."
Feng Lihan didn't step inside. He tossed the food onto the flat stone between them, as if placing distance with intention.
"Lin Yue asked," Feng Lihan said flatly. "He didn't want you to go hungry."
The smile on Mo Shan's lips softened—not mocking, not sly, but something quieter. Something almost… touched.
"I see," he murmured. "So his kindness reaches even here."
Mo Shan picked up the food. The warmth seeped into his fingers, grounding him. For a moment, the exile, the snake of the Black Marsh, said nothing at all. He took a bite—slow, appreciative.
"…It's been a long time," he admitted, voice low, "since anyone cared whether I ate."
For just a fraction of a second, Feng Lihan's expression shifted—then hardened again.
"Don't misunderstand," Feng Lihan said, eyes sharp as blades. "Don't think too much."
Mo Shan looked up.
Feng Lihan stepped forward, his shadow filling the cave entrance completely, wings flaring just enough to remind Mo Shan exactly who stood before him.
"Lin Yue is kind," Feng Lihan continued. "That's who he is. He shows mercy even when he shouldn't."
His gaze locked onto Mo Shan's, unblinking.
"But he is mine."
The words landed heavy, final.
Mo Shan didn't look away.
"I never said otherwise," he replied calmly.
Feng Lihan's voice dropped lower. "I know what you gave him."
A pause.
"The shed skin," Feng Lihan said. "I know what it means among snakes."
Mo Shan's fingers tightened slightly around the food.
"You crossed a line," Feng Lihan said, each word deliberate. "Whether he understood it or not."
The air between them went taut.
"But hear this clearly," Feng Lihan finished, eyes burning. "Don't you dare think you have a claim. Don't imagine something that will never be yours."
Silence stretched.
Then Mo Shan exhaled, a quiet breath, and smiled again—this time not playful, not challenging.
"…I see why he chose you," Mo Shan said. "You guard what you love like the sky guards its storms."
He inclined his head, respectful.
"I have no intention of taking what already has a home."
Feng Lihan watched him for a long moment, measuring truth from deception.
Finally, he turned.
"Eat," Feng Lihan said over his shoulder. "And remember your place."
As he took to the air, Mo Shan remained seated in the dim cave, chewing slowly.
The food was warm.
The kindness genuine.
And the bond between hawk and sky stronger than he had expected.
Mo Shan's smile faded into something unreadable.
"…How dangerous," he whispered to himself.
But kindness—given freely—was the most dangerous thing of all.