The morning sun cast a pale gold through the half-drawn curtains as Guann stepped into Qin Hong’s room. The air carried the faint antiseptic tang of healing salves, mingling with the metallic scent of blood-stained bandages discarded near the wastebasket. Without ceremony, Guann pulled a wooden chair to the bedside, its legs scraping softly against the polished oak floor.

  “How are you feeling?” Guann’s voice was calm, almost detached, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the aftermath of a near-fatal battle.

  At the sound of his leader’s voice, Qin Hong bolted upright—or tried to, wincing as the movement tugged at the fresh stitches across his torso. “Boss! You have *no idea*—I almost said goodbye to this world yesterday! When Dick self-destructed, I thought my heart was going to explode right along with him!” His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, hands gesturing wildly despite the absence of his right one, the bandaged stump twitching with residual phantom pain.

  Guann listened in silence, his dark eyes unreadable as they traced the younger man’s face—the hollows under his eyes, the sweat-slicked hair clinging to his forehead, the milky film still clouding his left iris. He didn’t interrupt, not even when Qin Hong’s voice cracked like dry kindling.

  “...I wish I could be like you,” Qin Hong muttered suddenly, his earlier energy defting. His remaining hand clenched the sheets, knuckles whitening. “Just once, I want to… to *not* feel like a cornered rat. Every mission, I’m barely scraping by. And now…” He touched the bandages over his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I lost an eye. A hand. And I’m always—*always*—terrified. Pathetic, right?”

  A faint smile tugged at Guann’s lips. “Like me? Which part?”

  “The part where you’ve got everything under control!” Qin Hong’s ugh was brittle. “Like there’s nothing in this world that could shake you. Meanwhile, I’m out here getting my ass handed to me by every two-bit vilin with a grudge.”

  Guann leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. “You’re *you*. I’m *me*. If you became me, you’d stagnate. Surviving Dick was like winning the lottery—consider it a brutal lesson that’ll keep you alive in the next fight.” He paused, about to ask for details of the battle, when the door swung open.

  Sisi entered, bancing a tray of steaming congee and herbal tea. The scent of ginger and scallions filled the room, momentarily masking the medicinal bitterness.

  “Perfect timing,” Guann said, rising. “Fix his eye. And gather all the rookies outside the vil in an hour.” With that, he strode out, leaving Sisi to settle beside Qin Hong with a sigh, her fingers already glowing with restorative energy.

  ---

  ### **The Other Side: Chains and Roses**

  Darkness.

  That was the first thing Bel registered when consciousness cwed its way back. A throbbing ache pulsed at the base of her skull, sharp enough to make her gasp. She tried to lift her hands—only for the cold bite of metal to greet her wrists. The rattling of chains echoed like a death knell in the cramped space.

  *Handcuffs.* Enchanted, if the way her powers y dormant was any indication.

  “They’re reinforced with suppression runes. Struggling is pointless.” The voice was honey-smooth, ced with a warmth that made Bel’s skin prickle.

  A soft *click*, and light bloomed in the room—not the harsh gre of electricity, but the golden radiance of a miniature sun, cradled in the palm of a slender hand. The glow illuminated the figure standing before her: a woman draped in a bck evening gown, her posture regal yet rexed.

  *Lias.*

  Bel’s breath hitched. The woman was elegance incarnate—high cheekbones, lips the color of crushed roses, and eyes like liquid amber. A single beauty mark beneath her right eye only accentuated her ethereal grace.

  “What do you want?” Bel hissed, scrambling backward until her spine hit the damp stone wall.

  Lias knelt, the fabric of her dress pooling around her like ink. “To pay our respects,” she said simply, offering a folded garment. “Put this on. We’re sending Dick off properly. The others are waiting.”

  As if on cue, the cuffs around Bel’s wrists sprang open, cttering to the ground.

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run?” Bel rubbed her raw wrists, eyeing the exit.

  Lias’s smile didn’t waver. “Kiki’s toxin is still in your bloodstream. I’d advise against sudden movements.” She stood, offering a hand. “After the ceremony, we’ll purge it. Until then… behave.”

  Bel’s lip curled, but curiosity won out. She snatched the dress—a sleek bck number with silver embroidery—and changed under Lias’s watchful gaze.

  ---

  ### **The Hall of Whispers**

  The corridor outside was a study in gothic grandeur. Bck diamond tiles stretched endlessly underfoot, their polished surfaces reflecting the flickering torchlight. The walls, hewn from somber gray stone, bore intricate carvings—scenes of battles long past, faces frozen in silent agony or triumph.

  *So this is their stronghold,* Bel mused, trailing Lias.

  “This is the *Ve Pace*,” Lias supplied, as if reading her thoughts. “We’re heading to the main hall. You’ll see many familiar faces.”

  At the end of the hall, a towering stained-gss window dominated the space, its panes depicting a riot of crimson roses intertwined with thorned vines. Sunlight streamed through, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the central dais below, where a white marble pilr stood, its surface etched with delicate filigree.

  The scene in the main hall was surreal. Dozens of figures in mourning bck formed a solemn procession, each ying a single bck rose at the pilr’s base. Bel recognized half of them—enemies, allies, ghosts from missions gone wrong.

  Lias took the podium, her voice a velvet knife.

  “Today, we honor Dick—a brother who fell for our cause. His sacrifice is not the first, nor will it be the st. But with every loss, we grow stronger. Their blood waters the seeds of dawn.” Her gaze swept the crowd. “The final reckoning with the *Apostle Council* draws near. Remember why we fight.”

  The appuse was thunderous. Bel barely registered it before a shadow loomed beside her.

  “Long time, Bel.”

  The voice was gravel wrapped in silk. She turned to face a mountain of a man—Li Ku, his muscles straining against the seams of his tailored suit. His obsidian skin gleamed under the chandeliers, his small ears and thick lips giving him the air of a battle-hardened schor.

  “Elder Li Ku,” Bel managed, bowing slightly. “It’s… been a while.”

  “Feels like yesterday,” he rumbled, chuckling. “Watching your team’s matches at Arkate… you were all so green.”

  Bel’s smile was brittle. Li Ku’s expression sobered. “Dick acted alone. But you know this war spares no one. Not even—”

  “*Li Ku.*” A new voice cut in. Illiya slid between them, her silver hair catching the light. “Feron’s waiting for your debrief.”

  With a nod, Li Ku melted into the crowd. Illiya turned to Bel, her voice softer now. “Let’s get that toxin out of you.”

  As Bel followed her, she missed neither the weight of countless eyes on her back—nor the lingering stare of one figure in particur. *Bet.* His gaze burned into her until she disappeared through the left archway, only then did he vanish into the shadows, returning to Arkate with secrets heavier than before.