The fire crackled between them, sending sparks spiraling into the dark.
Shen's jaw tightened, his gaze sharp as a blade.
> "Fine," Shen said coldly.
"You can travel with us… but you'll tell us who you are first."
Sunny stayed silent, eyes watchful. The poet, however, didn't answer at once.
Instead, he lifted his hand, staring at his own palm as though it held secrets only he could see.
Then, slowly, he looked up at the sky.
A thousand stars stared back.
For a fleeting moment, something shifted in his expression — a sorrow so deep that even Sunny felt it in his chest.
If anyone had been looking closely, they would have seen it.
The kind of pain that time doesn't heal.
The kind of pain that burns and burns until nothing but ashes remain.
> "My origin…" he murmured.
"Very well. Let's begin."
The air rippled. Symbols burned faintly in the dirt around them as the poet traced a formation with practiced hands. The pattern pulsed faintly, humming with an otherworldly energy, and then his voice — heavy, raw — began to tell his story.
---
> "When I was young," he said, "I was… a wicked boy. The kind of boy the world should never forgive. I killed my grandfather… with my own hands."
His voice was cold, detached. But his eyes… they were full of ghosts.
> "The heavens saw my sin. They marked me.
And for thousands of years, they hated me — as they should."
The flames bent as the formation glowed brighter, his words carrying weight that seemed to pierce the night itself.
> "But time… time changes even monsters.
I met someone. A boy.
Someone who loved me — truly, completely — despite what I was."
His throat tightened, and for the first time, his voice cracked.
> "And then… he died.
Not because of me. Not because of the heavens.
Simply because his time had come."
---
The poet's fingers curled into fists.
His next words dripped with fury.
> "I couldn't accept it.
I refused.
I searched every forbidden corner of this world — every ritual, every curse, every prayer.
And do you know what I found?"
He looked up, eyes burning.
> "You can never bring back the dead.
But you can… make them live again."
---
Shen's eyes narrowed. Sunny said nothing. He just listened.
The poet's voice dropped to a whisper, trembling with something between shame and madness.
> "To do it, you must open the Door of Death… and pull the soul back before it crosses completely.
I thought — if it cost my life, so be it.
I didn't deserve to live, not after everything I'd done."
His lips curled into a humorless smile.
> "Funny thing, love. It changes you.
They say… if you want to change someone, make them love.
Maybe they're right. Because for the first time… I wanted to be better.
For him."
---
He exhaled, his hand trembling slightly.
> "But… it wasn't easy.
To open the Door, sacrifices are required.
I swore I'd never hurt another innocent soul again.
That if blood had to be spilled… it would only be mine."
A beat of silence. His next words were softer — haunted.
> "I thought… I'd found a way.
I thought I'd found the path that would finally free us.
But when I brought him back…"
His voice broke entirely.
> "…I realized something too late.
When he returned, he remembered nothing.
Not me. Not our life. Nothing."
---
The poet stared down at his hands, trembling in the firelight.
> "And I…
I had to leave.
Because my enemies… they're too many, too dangerous.
If they ever learned about him…"
His jaw tightened, and his voice went hollow.
> "I thought I could live with it.
But I was wrong."
The fire hissed, the formation's glow dimming slowly, until only silence remained.
---
Sunny finally spoke, his voice low, unreadable.
> "And the mistake?"
The poet's eyes flicked toward him, and for just a moment, something sharp — almost like fear — crossed his gaze.
Then, a smile that wasn't a smile curved his lips.
> "That… is a story for another night."