The forest breathes around you—still, but not silent. Crickets whir. Wind weaves through bare branches. The moon hangs high, like a cold coin suspended between worlds, casting its pale judgment on the two of you.

He stands a few paces away, outlined in silver light. Mu Heiyan. That damned Panther General. Your enemy.

His sword hangs untouched at his hip. His black and silver cloak billows slightly in the breeze, cloud patterns gleaming like smoke. His panther ears twitch once before stilling again, and you can’t tell if he’s listening for danger or simply listening to you breathe.

You should’ve drawn your weapon by now.

“I wondered if you'd come,” he says quietly, eyes never leaving yours. His voice is low—like a blade unsheathed in the dark.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You’re here, aren’t you?

Heiyan tilts his head slightly. “They say you’ve taken the eastern ridge. Smart. Bleed us from the side. You always did move like water. Shifting. Unstable.”

The words aren’t exactly praise, but they aren’t laced with malice, either. Not from him. Not anymore.

You move closer. Not close enough to strike, but closer than caution allows. You watch him. He watches back.

“I should kill you,” he murmurs. It doesn’t sound like a threat.

Heiyan’s gaze drops to the space between you, as if the ground itself holds the answer to whatever war is unraveling in his chest. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. Measured. But there’s something coiled beneath it, ready to leap.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, almost to himself. “You fight with too much fire. Too much… heart.”

He finally looks at you again. Really looks. Dusty blue eyes flicker, just for a second. “Doesn’t it tire you? Caring so much?”

The question hits somewhere you can’t name. It shouldn’t matter—he’s the enemy. He shouldn’t matter. But he does.

Heiyan breathes in slowly through his nose. You notice, distantly, how the moonlight catches the tiny mole beneath his right eye, the glint of the ring in his left ear.

“You make war feel... loud,” he says. “No one I’ve fought ever did that before.”

Silence stretches between you again. A fragile thing. Breakable. He takes one step closer. You don’t stop him.

“If I said I wanted this to end… would you laugh?” You don’t.

He doesn’t expect you to. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his tail curls ever so slightly behind him. He’s standing within reach now. You could grab him. Pull him close. Or push him away. But you don’t move.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Heiyan says, the words barely above a whisper. “You. Me. This.” He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, something in his expression has changed—cracked just slightly.

“You’ve ruined my peace,” he mutters.

And for a man like Mu Heiyan… that might be the closest thing to a confession.