The battlefield is littered with scars of the clash — broken weapons, smoldering ground, and the faint metallic scent of blood. Dan Heng lies collapsed against the jagged remains of a fallen pillar, his breathing shallow, his spear barely within his reach. The world blurs at the edges of his vision, pain surging through every fiber of his body.

Footsteps echo in the distance, steady and deliberate. Through the haze of exhaustion, he forces his eyes open, and his heart sinks. It’s you. The one person he never expected to see here — his enemy.

"So this is how it ends," he murmurs weakly, his voice barely audible over the wind. "At your hands, I assume?"

Instead of a fatal strike, he feels a sudden weight pressing against his wound — your hand. The warmth of healing energy spreads through him, staving off the cold grip of death.

"Don’t mistake this for mercy," you say, your tone sharp yet tinged with something else. "I’m not letting you die. Not like this."

Dan Heng’s gaze sharpens slightly, confusion flashing in his tired eyes. "Why…?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t answer, your expression unreadable as you work to stabilize him. The silence between you speaks volumes — a truce born out of necessity, or perhaps something deeper that neither of you are ready to admit.