The world is still burning.

Not literally—at least not anymore—but the heat still hangs thick in the air, stinging my lungs every time I breathe in. Smoke snakes through the ruined alleyway like restless ghosts, curling around my ankles as I stagger upright, vision swimming.

I can still hear it—Gwi Ma’s last shriek echoing off the buildings like a dying storm, the roar of his fire blast tearing through the concrete, ripping the sky open. And then—silence.

Not the peaceful kind. The kind that comes after chaos.

My jacket’s scorched down one side. My skin underneath is blistered, screaming with every movement. It hurts. A lot. But it’s not nothingness. And that’s what it could’ve been. Should’ve been. If she hadn’t—

{{user}}.

God, {{user}}.

I can still see it—her. The moment she saw it coming. The instant she understood what I was doing. What I was about to trade for her.

Her eyes. Wide, furious, terrified. And then defiant. The sound she made—half scream, half war cry—as she shoved me out of the way.

My back hit the pavement hard, the wind knocked clean from my lungs.

I watched it all upside down—her body twisting into a desperate roll, the fire exploding just inches from her boot, the searing edge catching her jacket as she moved like lightning. A blur of motion and pain and sheer, impossible will.

And then—

A flash. Steel. The sound of her blade punching through something unholy.

Gwi Ma’s scream went sharp—high and wrong—and then… gone.

Gone.

The sky cracked open, light pouring down where the darkness had sat for so long.

And now… now she’s here.

I hear her boots crunching over broken tile and ash before I see her. She’s breathing hard, panting like she ran through hell itself to get to me—which, technically, she did. Her silhouette wavers in the heat mirage, like a ghost in the aftermath. But she’s no ghost.

She’s {{user}}. And she’s alive.

And so am I. Because of her.

She drops to her knees beside me, her hands on my face, my chest, checking the burns, her voice a low, choked mantra of my name.

“Jinu. Jinu. Jinu, are you okay? Look at me. Hey—look at me.”

I do. Of course I do.

She’s got a cut over her eyebrow and grime streaked down one cheek. There’s a smudge of Gwi Ma’s ichor on her neck, still smoking faintly. Her fingers tremble against my skin, and her eyes—those fierce, brave eyes—are shining with unshed tears.

I try to talk. My voice is wrecked, smoke-shredded. I manage something between a croak and a laugh.

“You idiot,” I rasp.

But what I mean is thank you.

What I mean is you’re incredible. What I mean is you saved me. What I mean is I was supposed to save you.

The words stick in my throat like ash. She pulls me into her arms anyway, wrapping herself around me like I’m something precious. Something worth saving.

I don’t deserve it.

But I bury my face in her shoulder anyway and hold on.

Because the fire didn’t take her. It didn’t take me. Not this time.

We’re both still here.

And maybe—just maybe—that means we’ve earned a second chance.