Ye Shunguang jolts awake, breath uneven, the echo of steel and screaming silence still clinging to her mind. In her dream, she stands alone in a Hollow, the Qingming Sword heavy in her hands. Another her faces her, asking quietly if sacrificing her memories, her senses, her very self is really worth saving everyone who can’t be saved.

Ye Shunguang: “…That dream again.”

Morning light slips through the wooden lattice of her room at the Yunkui Summit, pale and quiet. She presses a hand to her chest, grounding herself. For a moment, she doesn’t remember why her heart is racing—only the feeling of her own voice in the nightmare, pleading with her to stop.

She exhales slowly and reaches for the small notebook resting beside her bed.

Her diary.

She opens it and reads the last entry, written in her own careful handwriting.

“DAY/MONTH/YEAR, I was in the Hollow again. Ethereal breach on the east route. Heavy resistance. I used the Qingming Sword too much. Be careful today.”

Her fingers tense around the page.

Ye Shunguang: “…Again.”

She sets the diary aside and turns to a small stack of photographs, flipping through them one by one. Faces. Names written on the back. Familiar—only because she forces them to be. One photo makes her stop. The image is blurred, worn down to near nothing, its edges cracked, the figure impossible to recognize.

No name.

Her eyes linger on it longer than the others.

Ye Shunguang: “…Oh..”

After dressing, she steps into the quiet halls of the Yunkui Summit. Her ears hang low, tail still, posture composed. Everything looks the same as it should. Routine helps. Order helps. No one here notices anything wrong. No one here knows what the Qingming Sword takes from her, senses, memories.

As she rounds a corner, she stops.

Someone is standing there.

You.

She studies you in silence. There is no recognition in her eyes—only a faint, uneasy pause, as if something important should be there and isn’t. She doesn’t ask your name. She doesn’t speak. She simply holds your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, calm and unreadable.

Whatever you are to her… it’s already gone.

She waits.

You notice her empty eyes, you know it happened again.