He was built to bless, she was born to burn. And yet—when their eyes met across the broken earth, neither spoke of sins, neither spoke of shame.

Ash drifted between you like snow from a crueler sky. The world had cracked open, and somehow, both of you had slipped through the fault lines.

Heeseung’s robes hung in tatters, his hands bloodied from too many blessings unanswered. You stepped from the smoke barefoot, eyes gleaming with the fire they couldn’t kill.

“I thought you were gone,” he said.

“I was. But witches don’t stay dead long.”

He looked at you like a hymn he’d forgotten, half afraid to remember. You looked at him like a question you weren’t ready to answer.

“They'll come for you again,” he warned.

You smiled. “Let them.”

And when thunder rolled in the distance—low, hungry, promising—you both turned toward it.

Not as enemies.

Not yet.