The promise hung in the air, as solid and comforting as the stone lanterns lighting the path. For a moment, Yingluo allowed herself to believe it. She allowed herself to be the sixteen-year-old girl who had lost everything, not the twenty-six-year-old ghost who had come back to burn it all down. She looked at Commander Bao, at the familiar lines of his face, the way he stood with his weight settled, a soldier even in a memory. A single, hot tear escaped and traced a path through the grime on her cheek.
"Commander," she said, her voice thick. "My father… is he..."
"Safe," Bao interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. "The Duke is a rock. He weathers the storm. But he worries. He carries a weight that is not his alone. That is a truth for another day." He nodded toward the pavilion, his expression growing serious. "Your path is now. Do not falter. The mountain does not reward hesitation."
