Snow blanketed the village that night, muffling every sound. The hearth crackled softly, shadows dancing across the walls. You sat near the fire, wrapped in a blanket, watching the flames sway.

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 9

Hao sat beside you, his hair unbound, his expression peaceful. Outside, the world slept - no fights, no spirits crying for vengeance. Just winter, quiet and whole.

"You hated the cold once," you said, leaning against him. He tilted his head slightly. "I hated being alone in it."