The blade was returned at dawn.
The Mountain Guest held it horizontally, both hands steady.
"This blade does not belong to me," he said. "It never did."
Vale knelt.
"The Burning Wood Saber is merely a dharma gate," the Guest continued. "A way of understanding Fast Saber. Not the technique itself."
He placed the blade across Vale's palms.
"Do not rely on it," he said. "Lose it if you must. Break it if needed."
Vale accepted it with care.
"The path you walk," the Guest said quietly, "will anger those who rule by resonance."
Vale lifted his gaze. "Will I survive?"
The Guest smiled faintly.
"That depends," he said, "on whether you remember this."
He tapped the blade once.
"No matter how sharp a technique becomes," the Guest said,
"it is the moment of passing that matters most."
The wind passed through the clearing.
It did not stir the blade.
The Mountain Guest stepped back.
When Vale rose, the hut was already empty.
No footprints.
No farewell.
Only the blade—and a path descending into a world now preparing for war.