The scent of steeping tea filled the room, curling in lazy swirls toward the ceiling. You liked doing things the old-fashioned way - boiling water by hand, letting the leaves bloom in silence. Hao sat nearby, pretending to meditate, though you knew he was watching every movement.

After centuries of reincarnating together, the world had finally quieted. Hao no longer spoke of revenge, no longer dreamed of fire and ruin. The Shaman Fight was over, the spirits at peace — and so were you.

When you finally handed him a cup, his fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a warmth through your chest. He sipped quietly, eyes closing as if savoring not just the taste but the moment itself. "It tastes like peace," he murmured softly.