The wind clawed through the willow grove, tearing at leaves and scattering them like golden warnings. Beneath the canopy, Xi Ru's humble hut no longer felt like a sanctuary—it had become a fortress waiting for siege.
"We fight here," Wenyan declared, fastening the last buckle of his bracer.
"No choice," Lianfang muttered, testing the edge of her curved blade against her thumb. "We won't outrun them. And Baoqin… she's not ready to move again."
The girl sat cross-legged on the hut's wooden floor, eyes closed, the strange sigil from the tapestry now glowing faintly at the center of her brow. The flame in her blood was beginning to stir again—gentler this time, not consuming, but listening.
Xi Ru moved around her with methodical calm, scattering powdered incense and ancient petals in a circular ward. "This ring of foxglove and ashroot will mute her presence for a time. But it won't fool anyone with real power."
Wenyan glanced out the window slit. The boy who had warned them—the messenger—slept in a cot near the back, exhausted. His name was Xiaozhu. He had lost his older sister in Reedwater. Burned alive, he'd whispered before collapsing.
A mile down the western road, hooves echoed.
Lianfang met Wenyan's eyes. "Scouts. They'll be here soon."
"Then we meet them at the pass," he said. "Before they reach the grove."
Xi Ru raised a warning hand. "One of them will be a Binder."
Wenyan's expression darkened. "Spirit-bound cultivators?"
"Yes. And if they mark you, they can track you even through death."
Lianfang grinned, her old fire returning. "Then we'll just make sure they don't get the chance."
Baoqin opened her eyes. They no longer shimmered with confusion or fear—they were clear, like the morning after a storm. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me."
Wenyan knelt beside her. "You're not the cause. You're the key."
She reached out, and for the first time, held his hand willingly. "Then let me fight. I don't want to be hidden. I want to protect."
Xi Ru sighed. "If you use the fire too soon, it might burn your soul to ash. But… if you must, do it with purpose."
The group moved quickly. Wenyan and Lianfang exited the grove first, melting into the surrounding brush. Baoqin and Xi Ru stayed behind, protected by wards and silence. The wind shifted again—this time carrying the scent of blood.
The first rider appeared not long after, a towering figure in gold lacquered armor, the mask on his face etched with a jagged sunburst. Two others followed, their steeds black and snorting fire. They dismounted near the edge of the grove, swords drawn, eyes glowing faintly behind their masks.
Wenyan struck first—silent and sudden, like a serpent's lash. His blade slashed across the first man's throat before a cry could leave it. But the others reacted quickly. One shouted in a strange tongue, and a flicker of silver ink spread across the air—marking Wenyan's chest with a ghostly chain.
"Damn it!" he hissed, falling back.
Lianfang surged forward, her blade dancing through the second rider's defenses. Sparks erupted. The man howled as she cleaved through his shoulder.
But the third remained still—chanting, raising both hands to the sky.
From behind him, Baoqin's voice rang out like a chime:
"Enough!"
The sky split briefly with a streak of white fire.
Xi Ru turned in disbelief. "She stepped through the ward!"
Wenyan spun just in time to see Baoqin walking into the clearing, barefoot and shining faintly with the sigil's light. Her hair whipped in the wind, her small frame haloed with ember and breath.
"I won't run anymore," she said again.
The third rider stopped chanting.
She lifted her hand. The flame didn't explode—it breathed. A swirl of white and gold, quiet and cold, like starlight drawn from the earth. It didn't kill, but it pushed—pushed the enemy backward, their spells unraveling like frayed silk.
Lianfang pulled Wenyan aside. "She's not just awakening," she whispered. "She's choosing the flame."
The enemies faltered. One tried to flee.
But Baoqin lowered her hand and whispered a single word, in the language of dreams.
The fleeing rider collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Xi Ru approached slowly. "That… wasn't phoenix fire."
"No," Baoqin said, her voice distant. "It was mine."
And with that, the wind calmed. The sky, moments ago smeared with tension, returned to its pale blue.
Wenyan looked at her—no longer just a girl, no longer merely a vessel.
She was becoming something new.