Dawn crept over the mountains, soft and golden, its first rays weaving through jagged peaks. The light merged with the last threads of silver spilling from the Jian, the ancient blade pulsing in Shun's hand. For a fleeting moment, sky and sword burned with the same color, a radiant harmony that bathed the Summit in an ethereal glow. The battlefield, scarred and blood-soaked, transformed into something almost sacred, as if the earth itself held its breath.
A low hum vibrated from the Jian, spreading outward like ripples on a still lake. Light folded in on itself, coalescing into a shimmering dome of silver that arched over the Summit, a second sky woven from power and will. Dust settled in slow spirals. The last echoes of clashing steel and desperate cries faded into a profound quiet, broken only by the faint pulse of the dome above.
Shun lowered his wings, their scales glinting as they caught the dawn. His eyes swept across the field. Fighters stood frozen, some leaning on their weapons, others pulling comrades upright. The madness of battle had evaporated, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. Faces were drawn, eyes hollow, but alive. They were all alive.
He turned and strode toward Xin, his steps steady despite the wounds lacing his body. Each movement sent faint sparks of silver trailing from the Jian, as if the blade wept light.
Xin knelt on the stone, one hand clutching the Dharma Wheel. Its golden surface flickered once, a dying ember, then fell with a hollow clatter against the rock. His shaking hands reached for it, lifting it slowly, cradling it to his chest like a shield. His breathing was uneven, ragged gasps betraying the toll of the fight. Sweat and blood streaked his face, the crimson smear under his nose a stark sign of overclocking his ether. He blinked up at Shun, eyes glassy but defiant.
Shun crouched before him, his gaze searching Xin's face for cracks in his resolve. "Are you all right?"
Xin nodded once, a jerky motion, then forced himself to stand. His legs trembled, threatening to buckle, but he locked his knees. "I'm up."
They stood in silence, the weight of survival settling between them. Shun's wings caught the dawn light, bending it around him in a halo of refracted gold and silver. Xin's eyes drifted to the horizon, where the sun broke fully over the peaks, painting the world in fire.
"We did it," Xin said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," Shun replied, his tone steady. "We did."
"We survived."
Shun's expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing. "We survived."
Xin's grip on the Dharma Wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. "How… how were you able to do that?" His voice cracked, raw with awe and exhaustion. "That light… that power… I've never seen anything like it."
Shun's wings folded against his back, their shimmer dimming. "It was your power," he said simply. "You're the one who made me shine."
Xin blinked at him, confusion flickering across his face. "Because of that, I'm out of ether." He gave a shaky laugh, wiping at the dried blood under his nose. His hands trembled, betraying the cost of channeling so much energy. "I burned through everything to hold that dome."
Shun's gaze lingered on the blood, a shadow passing over his eyes. He sighed, a long breath that seemed to draw from somewhere deep within. "Leave the healing to me," he said.
Xin frowned, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure? You were just… your body was pierced. You should be resting."
"I still have enough energy to keep going for hours." Shun's smile was thin but unshakable. "I'll be fine."
Xin shook his head, stubborn. "You shouldn't push—"
"I said I'll be fine." Shun stood, the Silver Jian still glowing faintly in his hand, its light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "Let me do this."
The dome above them shimmered, its edges rippling like liquid glass as Shun's wings spread once more. Light pooled around his feet, soft and warm, casting delicate shadows across the stone. He looked at Xin one last time, his eyes calm and resolute, then turned toward the wounded strewn across the Summit.
"I'll start with the others," he said. "Then you."
Xin watched him go, clutching the Dharma Wheel to his chest. The rising sun cast a long shadow behind Shun, nearly engulfing Xin, silver and gold trailing from each scale as he walked. The battlefield stretched out before them, a mosaic of broken weapons, shattered armor, and bodies—some stirring, some still. The dome's light bathed them all, softening the harsh edges of destruction.
Shun moved with purpose, his wings trailing faint arcs of light. He knelt beside a young warrior, her arm bent at an unnatural angle. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. Shun placed a hand over her wound, and the Jian hummed softly. Silver light flowed from his palm, knitting flesh and bone with a gentle glow. The warrior's eyes fluttered open, wide with disbelief, then gratitude.
He moved to the next, and the next, each step measured, each touch precise. A swordsman with a gash across his chest. A spearman clutching a broken leg. A mage whose hands were burned black from overchanneling. Shun's light touched them all, mending what was broken, easing pain, pulling them back from the edge. The Jian sang with each healing, its hum a quiet hymn that seemed to anchor the dome above.
Xin stood rooted, watching. His own body ached, his limbs heavy with the weight of spent ether. The Dharma Wheel felt cold against his chest, its power drained. He traced its etched surface with a trembling finger, remembering the moment he'd poured everything into it. The dome had been his creation, a desperate act to shield them all from the storm of blades and fire that had threatened to consume the Summit. He'd pushed past his limits, felt the ether burn through his veins, felt his body scream as he held the barrier steady. And Shun… Shun had taken that power and turned it into something miraculous.
Across the field, a faint cheer rose. A group of fighters, now healed, stood together, their voices hoarse but alive. They looked at Shun with something akin to reverence, their weapons lowered, their hands open. The dome pulsed once, brighter, as if responding to their voices.
Xin's legs gave out, and he sank to one knee again, the Dharma Wheel slipping slightly in his grasp. His vision blurred, the edges darkening. He pressed a hand to his temple, willing the dizziness away. He couldn't collapse now. Not when Shun was still moving, still giving.
Shun glanced back, his eyes catching Xin's. For a moment, their gazes locked, and Xin saw the strain behind Shun's calm. The Jian's light was dimming, its pulses slower. Shun's wings, though still radiant, hung lower, their edges trembling faintly. He was pushing himself, just as Xin had.
"Idiot," Xin muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He forced himself to stand again, using the Dharma Wheel as a crutch. His body protested, every muscle screaming, but he took a step forward. Then another. He wouldn't let Shun carry this alone.
The Summit was alive with small movements now. Fighters helped each other stand, shared water, bound minor wounds. The dome's light had given them something more than healing—it had given them hope. The battle was over, but the war wasn't. They all knew it. The horizon held more threats, more blades, more blood. But for now, they had this moment, this fragile peace under a silver sky.
Shun reached the last of the wounded, a grizzled archer whose quiver lay empty beside him. The man's chest was bandaged, but blood still seeped through. Shun knelt, his hand glowing faintly now, the Jian's light nearly spent. The archer grabbed his wrist, his grip weak but firm.
"Thank you," the archer rasped. "You… you saved us."
Shun shook his head. "We saved each other."