The path away from the ruined shrine was treacherous—not because of beasts or bandits, but because of what lingered in silence between Lin Yan and Yan Ruo.
They walked side by side, yet carefully distant, like blades held close but never drawn.
Yan Ruo barely spoke.
She didn't need to.
Her presence was sharp—like a cracked mirror, fragile yet dangerous.
Lin Yan understood.
They were not just cultivators. Not just survivors.
They were *fractured weapons*—and the world had forged them in fire and cruelty.
---
They reached a shallow canyon where spiritual mist swirled unnaturally. Lin Yan stopped.
"There's something wrong with this place," he said.
Yan Ruo nodded. "A spirit trap. Set by a soul-harvester."
Just as the words left her lips, the ground split.
A figure rose from the mist—twisted, hunched, and shrouded in red talismans. Its eyes burned with sickly yellow light.
"A wandering furnace…" the voice rasped. "Two of them. How rare. How delicious."
Lin Yan's flame surged instinctively.
Yan Ruo didn't flinch.
She pulled a curved dagger from her sleeve and flicked her wrist. The air snapped with violet lightning.
---
The harvester struck first.
Chains of qi lashed toward them like venomous snakes.
Lin Yan dodged low and rolled forward, igniting his First Flame and striking upward, burning through the first coil. Behind him, Yan Ruo danced with unnatural grace—her movements fast, clean, surgical.
She fought like someone who had trained not to win—but to *survive*.
For every blow Lin Yan dealt in fire, Yan Ruo countered with a flash of soul-scorching energy. They moved like twin storms.
But the harvester was strong—feeding off death and decay.
At one point, a chain wrapped around Lin Yan's neck, pulling him back.
"Got you now, boy furnace," the creature hissed.
Before Lin Yan could react—
**Splat.**
A dagger pierced the harvester's eye.
Yan Ruo didn't hesitate.
She threw another.
And another.
And another.
Until the creature fell.
Dead.
Silence returned to the canyon.
---
Lin Yan pulled the chain from his neck, coughing, blood staining his collar.
"You saved me," he said.
Yan Ruo's expression didn't change.
"I didn't do it for you," she muttered. "He reminded me of someone."
But Lin Yan saw the faintest tremble in her fingers.
The quiet breaking in her voice.
They both sat beside a cracked stone, their breathing shallow.
"I was twelve," Yan Ruo whispered suddenly. "He bought me with three spirit stones and said I should be grateful."
Lin Yan didn't respond with words.
Instead, he took off his glove, revealing the burn mark on his palm—shaped like the Cauldron Hall's seal.
"I know," he said. "Me too."
For the first time, Yan Ruo looked at him.
And didn't look away.