The mist hung heavy over the Liang River, veiling the forest in a blanket of quiet white. The trees stood like sentinels in mourning, their branches draped in morning dew. Even the birds held their songs, as if they too sensed something sacred—something cursed—was about to awaken.
Commander Rui Tian urged his horse to slow as the fog thickened. He wasn't meant to be out this far—not on a diplomatic route—but something had tugged at him all night. A dream. A voice. A scent. He hadn't slept. His instincts—honed by war and betrayal—rarely failed him.
And this morning, they screamed.
He dismounted, boots crunching against damp gravel, and stepped toward the river's edge.
That was when he saw her.
A girl—no, a vision—lay crumpled beside the water, half-submerged. Her silken robe clung to her like a second skin, pale lavender turned a darker hue from the current. Around her wrist was tied a vivid red thread, so fine it looked like spun blood.
The thread shimmered faintly, pulsing with life… or something older.
Her skin was impossibly pale, as though painted with moonlight. Black hair spilled around her like a pool of ink. Her face was serene—too serene for someone unconscious. Too still. Like a porcelain doll someone had discarded at the water's edge.
And yet—there it was.
On her back, revealed through the torn fabric of her soaked robe, was a black ink sigil—a marking no common girl would bear. It spiraled like calligraphy, a forgotten script that seemed to hum against the air. Rui Tian had seen battlefields painted with blood, temples scorched by lightning, and the eyes of men who'd lost their souls.
But he had never seen anything like this.
Something stirred in his chest. Not fear. Not desire. Recognition.
He stepped closer.
Her lips parted suddenly, and her breath came in a shallow gasp. Golden eyes opened wide, catching the dim light of dawn. They fixed on him—not in confusion, not in fear…
…but in familiarity.
As if she knew him.
As if she had always known him.
Rui Tian knelt by her side, his hand hovering above her wrist, drawn to the thread that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"I found you," she whispered, her voice hoarse, but carrying something ancient. Her fingers twitched toward his. "I walked through fire. Through lifetimes. Through death... to find you again."
He stared at her. "Who are you?"
Her brows furrowed in pain. She seemed to search her mind as if someone had stolen all her memories and left behind only a name—his name.
"I… don't know," she said finally, a tremor in her voice. "But… I think I once died for you."
A sudden gust of wind blew across the river, carrying with it the scent of smoke and cherry blossoms—something impossible. Somewhere in the mountains, a temple bell rang three times though no temple stood nearby.
And then, in the space between two heartbeats, the red thread on her wrist began to glow brighter.
Rui Tian's eyes widened. The thread extended—and wrapped around his wrist.
The connection was sealed.
And from the ink sigil on her back, something ancient… smiled.