(Lu's Residence)
The air was damp, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and pine needles. Mist curled lazily around the observation post, softening the edges of the world below. The soldiers' movements were precise, their grunts and the clang of their weapons blending with the faint rustle of leaves. Above them, lanterns swayed gently, their golden glow casting flickering patterns on the polished wood.
Ayin stood at the edge, her figure silhouetted against the misty expanse. Her hands gripped the railing as if anchoring her to the present, though her gaze seemed far away.
Yu Xi approached quietly, her steps soft but deliberate. She leaned beside Ayin, glancing at her profile before speaking.
"What did you do?" Yu Xi's voice was calm, yet there was a thread of curiosity woven into her tone.
"Huh?" Ayin turned, startled.
"You look like someone who's made a mistake. A huge one," Yu Xi said, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Ayin's shoulders sagged, and she let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, well… I wrote a character. At first, it seemed fine. But then I looked at her, really looked at her, and I realized—I created her to destroy her. I didn't think about her at all. In the end, neither of us got what we wanted. But the truth is, I'm not the victim here. The only one who lost… was her."
Yu Xi tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "And this character you wrote—what does she think of her story? Of her life?"
Ayin turned back to the horizon, her fingers tightening on the railing. "That's the problem. She doesn't speak. She's quiet—calmer than the stars, but her eyes… Her eyes burn like fire. Her pain is endless, like waves crashing again and again. But she doesn't scream. She doesn't fight. She's indifferent, and that's what breaks me. How tender she is. How cruel she seems. She breaks my heart, Yu Xi. If I could, I'd give her my life."
Yu Xi's brows furrowed. "Then why not rewrite her story? You're the writer. Can't you make it softer? Kinder?"
Ayin shook her head, her voice trembling. "It's too late. Her fate is sealed. She'll be destroyed. She'll die, and I can't stop it. That's why I find myself praying—praying for something to happen, even a disaster, to save her from this. I told her things, Yu Xi, things I shouldn't have. Things like how her life isn't hers alone to destroy. Can you imagine how foolish that is? Her life isn't hers because it's already been destroyed—by everyone who passed through it. Her family. Her friends. Her homeland. None of them saved her. They all took pieces of her until there was nothing left."
"It sounds like you care about this character more than you realize. Or… maybe you're not just talking about her."
Ayin's lips twitched in a fragile, rueful smile. She turned away, her voice no louder than the wind. "Maybe I'm not."
Yu Xi studied Ayin for a moment, her eyes reflecting a quiet understanding. She stepped closer, her voice softer now.
"And if she could speak, what do you think she'd say to you?"
Ayin's lips parted, but no sound came at first. Her breath shuddered as if she had been holding something in for too long. "She'd ask why I created her. Why I gave her so much pain and so little hope. She'd ask me what it was all for."
Yu Xi's gaze didn't waver. "And what would you tell her?"
Ayin closed her eyes, her fingers trembling against the railing. "I don't know. Maybe that I didn't mean to—that I didn't know how to create without taking something away. That I didn't know how to give her happiness because I don't know what that looks like anymore." Her voice cracked, the words spilling out like a confession. "I'd tell her I'm sorry. That if I could, I'd rewrite it all. But it's too late."
Yu Xi stepped closer, placing a hand on Ayin's shoulder. "You're wrong. It's never too late. Maybe you can't change her story, but you can give her something. A moment. A choice. Something she can hold onto, even if it doesn't last."
Ayin shook her head, her voice raw. "You don't understand. I built her world to break her. Every piece of her story is a chain, and I hold the key. But if I let her go… if I give her freedom… she'll walk into the darkness, and I won't be able to follow."
Yu Xi's grip on Ayin's shoulder tightened, her voice firm but tinged with sadness. "Then let her go. Even if she disappears into the darkness, even if you never see her again… isn't that better than keeping her trapped in a story that only ends in pain?"
Ayin turned to look at Yu Xi, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not," Yu Xi admitted. "But you're not just her creator, Ayin. You're her witness. Maybe that's enough. Maybe it's all she needs—to know that someone saw her, even in her darkest moments."
Ayin's lips quivered, and she let out a shaky breath. "And what if that's not enough? What if I'm too late, Yu Xi? What if I've already failed her?"
Yu Xi pulled her into an embrace, her voice steady despite the heaviness in the air. "Then you grieve. And when you're ready, you create again—not to destroy, but to heal. For her. For yourself."
Ayin's shoulders shook as she buried her face in Yu Xi's embrace, her tears finally falling. And as the mist thickened around them, the faint sound of soldiers' training faded into the background, leaving only the weight of unspoken sorrow between the two sisters.
_____
(Snow city)
The snow was falling gently around them, blanketing the cobblestone streets and rooftops of the quiet Snow City. The air was sharp with the scent of pine and the faint aroma of roasted chestnuts wafting from a nearby vendor. Lingjie and Minghao sat on a low stone wall near the edge of the square, their breaths visible in the freezing air. The sound of the city was muted by the snow, leaving only the occasional crunch of boots and the distant laughter of children playing.
Minghao's voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the cold wind, but his words carried a weight that lingered in the frosty air. "You know, Lingjie, sometimes I wonder if she was ever real, or if I just dreamed her into existence. Every memory of her feels like a story I tell myself to get through the day. But I can't let it go. She's... she's all I have."
Lingjie brushed the snow off his coat sleeve and tilted his head, his expression both amused and pensive. "You talk about her like she's a star you're trying to hold in your hand. Do you even see her anymore, or just the light she left behind?"
Minghao clenched his fists, his eyes fixed on the falling snow. "I see her everywhere. In every laugh that isn't hers, in every moment she isn't there. She was more than light, Lingjie. She was gravity. She pulled me out of myself, made me believe I could be something more."
Lingjie sighed, his breath clouding the air. "And now? You're stuck in her orbit, unable to move forward. Minghao, you can't spend your life chasing a ghost. What would she say if she knew?"
"She'd tell me to stop," Minghao admitted, his voice trembling. "She'd say I'm being foolish, that I should let her go and live my life. But how can I? When every step away from her feels like a betrayal?"
Lingjie looked at him, his eyes softening. "You're not betraying her by living, Minghao. You're honoring her. If she was as bold and brave as you say, don't you think she'd want you to be the same? To find your own path, even if it's without her?"
Minghao's shoulders sagged, the weight of Lingjie's words pressing down on him. "I don't know if I'm strong enough. She was my strength. Without her, I feel... hollow."
The wind picked up, swirling the snow around them in a fleeting dance. Lingjie placed a hand on Minghao's shoulder, his tone both firm and gentle. "Strength isn't about holding on, Minghao. Sometimes, it's about letting go. Letting her memory rest so you can build a future she'd be proud of. Isn't that what love is?"
Minghao's eyes glistened, but he didn't wipe away the tears that escaped. Instead, he let them fall, mixing with the snow at his feet. "I'll try," he whispered, though the words felt heavy and uncertain. "But not tonight. Just a little more time with her, Lingjie. Just one more moment in the snow before I let her go."
Lingjie nodded, his hand lingering on Minghao's shoulder as they sat in silence. The snow continued to fall, wrapping the city in a quiet, mournful stillness, as if the world itself understood the weight of a love that refused to fade.
Lingjie knew, Minghao would never let her go.