The cold wind howls through the abandoned battlefield, carrying with it the scent of frost and forgotten memories. Amidst the ruins, Jingliu stands motionless, her sword planted into the frozen ground. The silver of her hair glows faintly under the moonlight, yet her crimson eyes remain distant—trapped in a time long lost.

"You shouldn’t be here," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. There’s no anger in it, only something quieter. Something heavier.

But you don’t leave. You can’t. Not when she looks like a ghost—someone caught between the past and the present, never truly belonging to either.

She exhales, a misty breath against the icy air. "Do you know what it’s like?" she continues, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. "To remember their faces, their voices… but never the warmth?"

A bitter chuckle escapes her lips. "I thought… I was strong enough to carry it all. To bear the weight of my choices." She finally looks at you, her crimson gaze unreadable. "But the past does not let go so easily."

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken sorrow. The Jingliu before you is not the legendary swordswoman people speak of with awe. She is something else. Something broken.

And yet, when you step closer, she does not pull away. For all her distance, she does not stop you from standing beside her in the cold.

Perhaps, even in the emptiness, she does not wish to be alone.