The ash-shapes returned. Not many, but enough to surround them, trembling with hunger.
Jin lifted his blade. Hyun-tae braced himself, though his form wavered.
Ahri stepped between them. "Stop."
The shapes froze.
She looked into their hollow, flickering bodies. "You're not enemies. You're fragments. And I am tired of turning fragments into corpses."
Drawing from her thread, she wove something fragile. A circle of light. Not binding, not consuming. An offering.
The ash-shapes hesitated, then pressed into it. For a moment, their bodies shivered into clarity—faces half-remembered, voices half-formed. They whispered promises, bargains, curses.
One voice was louder than the rest: We will follow, if you promise not to abandon us.
Ahri's throat tightened. "Then follow. But know this—I cannot save you all. I can only walk with you."
The ash-shapes trembled, then bowed—not in servitude, but in fragile trust. They melted into her shadow, lingering like scars that had agreed not to fester.
The Pact was sealed.
Jin stared, horrified. "You've just bound yourself to the wound."
Ahri's voice shook. "No. I've bound myself to its victims."