As Qin Róu left the chamber, silence folded itself around Bài Qíyuè. Every sound struck clear into her fox ears—the hollow howl of winter's wind outside, Kuradome's shallow breaths, and Kyoren's soft sobs as he drifted toward half sleep upon his father's chest.
From time to time, the boy's tiny fist knocked gently against Kuradome's body, as if trying to stir him back to wakefulness.
Qíyuè sighed, hopeless and heavy, lowering her head onto Kuradome's almost-cold hand. Her half-lidded eyes lingered on his unconscious face.
"If you ever shatter the way Teacher said… then I might be the second one who shatters with you."
The words escaped as a whisper, her lips brushing the stillness like a fragile vow. His hand beneath her cheek gave her a fleeting peace… and yet the peace cut deeper than any blade.
Her mind began to wander, to clothe itself in cruel imaginings.
What if… once grown, Kyoren committed some act that broke Kuradome entirely? What if, already fractured, he lost all reason to live—and like a selfish man, cast his own life aside?
The image of his lifeless body pierced her chest with a pain she had no name for. She bit down on the sob threatening her throat, but no effort could stop a single tear. It slipped free, tracing her pale cheek before falling onto Kuradome's hand.
And then—suddenly, faintly—he gasped. So fragile the sound could have been mistaken for wind. One finger twitched beneath her touch.
Her eyes flew open. Vision blurred, but she saw him shifting his face weakly side to side. A dry swallow followed, his throat bobbing with a brittle gulp.
Qíyuè's own throat tightened. She sat bolt upright, scrubbing her cheeks hastily, withdrawing her hands as though caught in a crime. Shame burned her—shame for feeling too much, for daring to let emotions overflow, for knowing Kuradome would never care.
"K… Kura… you're awake…"
Her voice trembled soft, careful not to wound his fox ears. His dull-red lids quivered, struggling to lift. He felt the world, heard its murmurs, but his body lay shackled, as though a mountain pressed him into the bed.
Slowly, painfully, he pried his eyes open. Weak. Dry. Eyes like deserts stripped of rain.
The first thing he searched for—was Kyoren.
And before his gaze could wander, he felt it: the soft mumbling against his chest, the tiny warmth curled over his heart.
He looked down. Kyoren, his small hands cupping his father's face again. Even in this state, it drew the faintest smile to Kuradome's lips. Weakness be damned—he willed his arm to rise, just enough to embrace his boy.
"Kyo… ren… my… baby…"
The words left him thin as paper, yet soft with love. He pressed his son close, eyes shutting with the relief of touch, his lips burying into the child's tender neck. Innocent skin, slow breaths—Kyoren's sobs broke into a laugh tangled with tears. The boy kissed his father's eyes, and Kuradome chuckled soundlessly, chest trembling with the effort, smile spreading just a fraction more.
"Foolish… boy… doesn't even know… whether to cry first… or laugh first."
The voice rasped, doubled, weak as though chilled by frost. He purred softly, and Kyoren answered back with a kitten's purr of his own.
Qíyuè's heart swelled and ached. His love for his son was a light—warm, unshakable. But for her, it was a dagger too: because he understood nothing but his son, because she feared a future that might rob him of even this.
She leaned closer, eyes glistening with relief and worry alike.
"Kura… don't speak while you're this weak."
Her fingers slipped gently through his long silver hair, tucking strands aside, arranging the pillow, coaxing comfort where she could. His fox ears bent beneath her hand, then perked again, twitching faintly. With three tails he swaddled Kyoren, holding his boy as though arms alone were never enough.
At last, his eyes opened again—weak, yet softened as if in gratitude.
"Qì… he was…"
She shook her head before he could finish. "Yes," her nod said without words. Yes, Kyoren was with me, every moment.
He smiled faintly, fainter than before—weakness closing in once more.
"Thank you…"
Two simple words, but to her they were treasures, worth more than a kingdom. He pressed a ghost of a kiss to Kyoren's temple, who was now half-asleep upon his chest.
The gratitude, so rarely spoken, struck her like a gift she wished could be kept in her hands forever. A smile broke through her composure before she could cage it.
Their eyes met. His—half-lidded, blurred with weariness, yet steady on her. The look burned her cheeks with embarrassment and carved her heart with something deeper.
"Qì…"
The sound of her name from his lips set her trembling.
"Y… yes, Kura?"
She leaned closer, waiting for what he would say.
"…If I… ever fade away… keep my son safe. Safe like a mother he never had. I give you this responsibility because I believe in you. You're my… good friend. Only you… could be his safe place… after me."
The words shattered her. Wide eyes brimmed as emotions crashed over her—sadness, anger, honor, joy, pain. Sadness that he spoke of fading, anger at the thought itself. Joy that he believed in her, called her his closest friend. And deepest of all, the fragile, impossible happiness—that he thought she could be Kyoren's mother in all but blood.
She swallowed hard, nodding first in denial, then again in trembling acceptance.
His hand found hers. Weak, trembling, yet steady as he hooked his pinky with hers, giving it the smallest of shakes. His gaze fell soft over the gesture.
"Then… it's a promise. You'll keep it… when the time comes. I know you won't… betray me. Will you?"
Her eyes blurred with tears, but she smiled through them.
"I… I'll keep that promise. Until my own breath fades away. I won't betray you."
His lips curved faintly, eyes fluttering closed once more.
"Right… you'll…"
And as he drifted back to sleep, Qíyuè whispered words he could not hear:
"Even if you betray me… or leave me… I'll still remain. I'll give you my shadow, so you never burn away in this world's dark fire."
Her voice was steady, her vow absolute.
But Kuradome slept again, son upon his chest, pinky locked with hers—unaware of the deeper promise that lingered in her heart.