Xin's eyes snapped open, and a wave of disappointment crashed over him, heavy as the damp air clinging to his skin. The room was dim, its corners swallowed by the gray haze of early morning. His blanket lay tangled around his legs, his shirt soaked with cold sweat that made it stick to his chest like a second skin. He stared at the wooden ceiling, its grain a maze of knots and lines that seemed to pulse faintly in time with his pounding headache. Beyond the thin door, the settlement murmured with life, voices low and footsteps soft, as if afraid to disturb the fragile quiet. His body felt leaden, his mind a churn of fog and pain, each heartbeat a dull thud against his skull.
He had dreamed of Shun again. Silver hair catching the light, horns gleaming like polished metal, that quiet smile that seemed to know too much. Shun's hand had rested on his shoulder, warm and solid, his voice low and clear, promising they would find a way through. But dreams were treacherous, weaving lies so vivid they cut deeper than truth. After four days of grief and exhaustion, Xin's mind was a battlefield, littered with memories he could no longer trust. Had it been real? Had Shun stood before him, alive, or was it another cruel trick of his fracturing thoughts?
"No," he muttered, voice rough as he swung his legs over the bed's edge. The floor's chill bit into his bare feet, sharp enough to anchor him to the moment. "If it was real, I'll know."
He didn't bother with boots. The door creaked as he shoved it open, and he moved through the settlement's narrow walkways, ignoring the glances of those he passed. Their eyes followed him, some curious, some wary, but he didn't care. His heart pounded in his throat, a frantic rhythm of hope and dread that drove each step. The air smelled of damp wood and ash, a faint metallic tang lingering from the fires that had burned through the night. Shadows stretched long across the ground, twisting into shapes that seemed to writhe in the corner of his vision, though he refused to look at them directly.
Shun's quarters were at the edge of the settlement, a small room tucked behind a wall of stacked crates. Xin slowed as he reached the doorway, his hand hovering over the rough wood. Fear gripped him, sudden and cold. If the room was empty, if Shun was gone, the weight of that truth would shatter what little resolve he had left. But not knowing was worse, a gnawing void that would consume him piece by piece.
He pushed the door open.
Shun was there.
He sat on a low cot, silver hair loose over his shoulders, horns casting thin, jagged shadows across the wall. The dim light softened his features, but his eyes, when they met Xin's, held a weary warmth that made Xin's breath catch. For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them was thick with unspoken questions, with the weight of everything they had lost and everything they still might.
"It's really you," Xin said, his voice barely above a whisper. He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The room smelled faintly of herbs and metal, a mix of healing salves and the sharp edge of blood.
Before Shun could respond, a man emerged from the side of the room, carrying a tray of food: coarse bread, strips of dried meat, a chipped mug of steaming broth. His face was lined with worry, but he offered a hopeful smile. "Eat, sir. You need your strength. The others can wait."
Shun shook his head, a faint motion that seemed to cost him effort. "Save it for them. They need it more."
The man hesitated, his fingers tightening on the tray. "You're sure? You've been through too much to go hungry."
"I'm sure," Shun said, his tone firm but kind. "Take it to the others."
With a small bow, the man retreated, leaving the room in silence once more. Xin watched him go, then turned back to Shun. That's when he noticed the way Shun moved, slow and deliberate, as if each shift of his weight sent a ripple of pain through him. His hand rose to his temple, pressing lightly, and his eyes narrowed for a moment, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face.
"You're hurt," Xin said, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but his mind churned with images of blood and broken bones, of Shun lying still in the dark.
"It's my head," Shun admitted, his voice low and rough. "The brain's delicate. I pushed it too far this time. Couldn't be gentle with it, not out there." He paused, his gaze drifting to the wall as if seeing something beyond it. "I'm still here, though. That's something."
Xin frowned, his hands clenching at his sides. "What happened? Tell me."
Shun's eyes met his again, and for a moment, they seemed to hold something darker, something that made Xin's skin prickle. "That man, Max," Shun began, nodding toward the door. "He's one of the Mundane. A traveler, passing through this stage on his way to the safe zone. I met him on the road. He's a good man, but he worries too much. Thinks I'm fragile, like I'll break if I push too hard. He might not be wrong."
"You're here," Xin said, his voice tight. "That's all that matters." He wanted to believe it, but the words felt hollow, overshadowed by the fear that Shun was slipping away even now, his body and mind too battered to hold together.
Shun's gaze drifted again, distant and unfocused. "The second act," he said, his voice barely audible. "It was strange. Wrong. There was a monster I couldn't look at. Every time I tried, it felt like my mind was tearing itself apart. Like my thoughts were unraveling, thread by thread. I saw things—faces, hands, eyes in the dark. They weren't real, but they felt real. Too real." He paused, his fingers curling against his leg, nails digging into the fabric. "I almost ended it. Took my sword, held it to my own skull. Thought it was the only way to stop it, to keep from becoming something else. Something I couldn't come back from."
Xin's stomach twisted, a cold dread settling in his chest. "You're telling me this like it's nothing," he said, his voice shaking. "Like you didn't almost die."
"It's not nothing," Shun said, his tone soft but heavy. "It's over. For now." His eyes flicked to Xin, and there was something raw in them, something that spoke of nights spent fighting shadows that no one else could see. "We failed the act. The threat's still out there. It's waiting."
The words hung in the air, heavy as the damp air outside. Xin opened his mouth to respond, but a commotion broke through the silence—muffled shouts, the rapid thud of boots on the ground. Both men turned toward the door, their bodies tensing.
"Sir!" a soldier's voice called from the hall. "Someone's come!"
Shun rose slowly, each movement careful, as if his body no longer trusted itself. Xin followed, his mind racing with possibilities, each one tinged with dread. The settlement outside was bathed in the hues of sunset, orange and crimson bleeding across the sky. Travelers often moved at this hour, when the hollows were less aggressive, their forms sluggish in the fading warmth. But the arrival of a stranger now, after everything, felt like an omen.
Xin's thoughts spiraled. If Shun had finished the act, perhaps the monsters would stop. Perhaps they could finally rest, could rebuild something from the ashes of their losses. But the hope felt fragile, like glass waiting to shatter.
The soldiers appeared at the far end of the square, flanking a figure between them. As they drew closer, Xin's eyes traced the stranger's form: a long robe that moved like water with each step, dark hair framing a face that seemed both familiar and wrong. Their eyes caught the light, reflecting it in a way that made Xin's skin crawl, as if they held the entire world within them.
Shun stopped walking, his body rigid. The air seemed to thicken, the world narrowing to the space between him and the newcomer. The soldiers released the figure at the edge of the square, and silence fell, heavy and suffocating.
Shun took a step forward, his eyes searching the stranger's face, once, twice, as if trying to anchor himself to something real. Then, in a voice that trembled with disbelief and something softer, he spoke a single word:
"Rose?"