The sun had arrived fully now, though dawn still lay scattered in pieces—caught in the pale gold along the corridor beams, fractured across frost that had yet to melt.
"Miss Li Hua said she would like to speak with you once they return," Dōngzhí said as she stepped back inside, closing the door gently behind her.
"Oh," I replied, uncertain what shape that conversation might take. After a moment, I asked, "Why didn't you go with them?"
She smiled, soft but knowing. "Someone has to keep an eye on the two of you."
I exhaled quietly, unsure whether to feel reassured or chastised.
"How is she?" Dōngzhí asked as we began walking down the corridor together.
"She's asleep," I answered as we climbed the steps. "She doesn't seem hurt. Just… exhausted."
"That priest from the Church was quite helpful," I added after a pause, the words weighed down by guilt. Helpful because of me. Because I had failed.
Dōngzhí slowed slightly, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. "Victoria is far more resilient than she appears. Don't let her tears deceive you."
Her tone was gentle, but firm—meant to still the worry written too plainly on my face.
The distant sounds of the town carried faintly on the morning air—footsteps, muted voices, the scrape of wood and stone. Life, tentative but persistent.
We seated ourselves along the corridor, the sunlight spilling across the floorboards between us. Dōngzhí handed me a cup, its warmth grounding.
"If you don't mind," I said after shifting aside to give her space, "I have a question."
She inclined her head. "Ask."
"I heard from Victoria that you're a cultivator," I said carefully. "But… I don't sense any qi from you."
The words lingered between us, delicate and dangerous.
"I apologize if that sounds rude," I added quickly, lifting the cup to my lips more to give my hands something to do than from thirst.
She chuckled softly.
"It's not rude," she said. "And you're correct. I'm not a cultivator."
She rested her cheek against her palm, the sunlight catching faintly in her eyes. "I'm a miko priestess."
I looked at her more closely now.
"That means my abilities are granted, not cultivated. They're gifts from my deity." She took a small sip of her drink. "In that sense, I'm not so different from the Saints of the Church."
"The Church as well?" I asked, my face twisting despite myself.
The light had grown clearer, warmer—casting long, gentle shadows. Dōngzhí did not seem offended by my reaction.
"Yes," she said simply. "Power borrowed is still power."
A thought unsettled me. "Then… how are you different from a warlock?" I asked quietly. "Are they… bad?"
She laughed—not unkindly, but amused. "Only when the deity is."
She paused, then added, "Mine is not."
Silence settled again, comfortable this time. Somewhere deeper inside the building, floorboards creaked softly.
I glanced down the corridor toward where Victoria rested. She had not stirred.
"Is Victoria a miko as well?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Or… a cleric?"
Dōngzhí followed my gaze, then looked back to me.
"No," she said slowly. "If we must name it…"
She considered her words carefully.
"A sorcerer would be the closest term," she finished. "Though even that is imperfect."
"For now," she continued, "our task is balance. Making sure she doesn't harm others."
Her eyes softened.
"Or herself."
The sunlight crept further across the floor, warm and patient, touching everything it could reach—whether it was ready or not.