"Mu Chen?" Han Ye whispered. The name felt heavy, like a stone dropped into a deep well. He stood frozen, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. The air at the edge of the ridge felt suddenly thin.
Mu Chen stepped fully out of the shrine. The moonlight caught his face, showing the same sharp features and the same calm expression that had once guided Han Ye's own path. It was a face from a graveyard, a face that belonged to someone who had died in the dark of the Abyss two years ago.
"I told you not to come here, Han Ye," Mu Chen said. His voice was steady, lacking any hint of warmth or remorse. "I told you that you were a fool to keep chasing a balance that does not exist."
Han Ye shook his head, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You died. I watched you fall. I watched
