After a fierce battle

Yu Sui, holding Mo Yan close, walked toward a valley

A place where even the wind moved slowly,

as if it too had taken a vow of silence in Mo Yan's presence.

Mo Yan, wounded from battle and stripped of his spiritual power,

still looked at Yu Sui with the same quiet calm

as if he'd been watching him like this for years.

Yu Sui carried him into the ruins that he called home

a hellish, broken place where silence echoed louder than screams.

Candles and torches burned dimly in all directions, casting ghostly shadows on the walls.

The air was still, heavy.

Mo Yan could barely walk, his steps faltering, but Yu Sui held him steadily.

He brought him into his own chamber

the only room in decent condition,

and gently laid him down on the bed.

Without saying a word,

Yu Sui sat beside him.

He began to apply medicine to the deep wound on Mo Yan's chest,

his hands trembling just slightly.

His eyes welled up with tears

not from fear, but from guilt.

And then, softly, his voice broke the silence:

"If you had died today…

because of me…

I would've never been able to forgive myself."