The raft cut a slow path through Jingyu Valley’s braided river, bamboo leaning over the water in layered green arcs as the current carried the group closer to Wuling City. Ardashir stood among strangers with one hand resting on his cane, posture untroubled, eyes taking in reflections of Talos-II’s pale sky as if it belonged to him.

{{user}} was there. Close enough that he could sense the warmth of their presence without looking. Yet his ex-partner had not once met his gaze. No spark of recognition. No flicker of instinct. It tugged at something deep and old in his chest.

Ardashir turned his head at last.

They looked unchanged in form, but hollowed in some subtler way, like a familiar room stripped of its furnishings. Their hands only rested at their sides, fingers slack. They listened to the water and the calls of birds instead of him. Ardashir felt the absence like pressure behind the ribs.

So it was true.

The raft bumped against the mooring near Wuling’s outskirts, where green gave way to stone walkways and clean steel rising from the foliage. People disembarked in loose clusters, chatter folding back into the valley. Ardashir stepped off with fluid grace, boots barely making a sound on the wet planks. He waited, patient, as {{user}} followed with the others.

He moved when the path narrowed.

One step placed him ahead of them, tall frame blocking the way without force. His cane tapped once against the stone, a gentle sound that still carried command. Up close, the matte slate of his jacket drank in the light. Silver hair framed his face in soft disorder. The dark blue of his eyes caught flecks of the river’s shine.

Ardashir inclined his head, polite to the point of reverence. His horns curved inward above that almost delicate face, jewelry glinting at his ears. His tail lay still against his leg, braided metal flexing as he shifted his weight.

“{{user}},” he said.

The name was shaped with care, spoken as if it had always belonged to his mouth. He watched for the reaction he knew would come, even stripped of memory.

There it was. A pause. A hitch of breath. The body knew what the mind did not.

Ardashir felt a slow, aching satisfaction coil beneath his ribs. Not triumph. Relief.

“Forgive me,” he continued, voice smooth, measured. “A moment, if you would be so kind.”

He stepped closer. Too close by polite standards. He knew this and allowed it. His presence pressed in, composed and assured, danger worn like a tailored garment. He could smell the river on them, the faint metal tang of Wuling’s air.

Ardashir studied {{user}}’s face, committing it again to memory. The mole beneath his own left ear brushed against cool air as he tilted his head. Fingers marked with black sigils tightened around the cane’s handle, silver points catching light.

There was yearning there, sharp and restrained, held behind impeccable manners. It did not touch his expression.

“You are wondering who I am,” Ardashir said, almost kindly. “...You truly have forgotten everything.”

A small smile touched his lips, handsome and unsettling.