The chamber fell away.
Jinryu stood now in a circular clearing, surrounded not by stone, but by void — a liminal realm conjured by the Gate's awakening. The shrine behind him faded into pale mist. The cat at his side growled low, fur on edge.
Across from him, the mist parted.
A figure walked out.
Barefoot. Calm. Flame trailing in her wake like dust.
Maeryn.
Her presence was like stepping into a battlefield moments before detonation — not violent, not loud… but inevitable.
Jinryu didn't reach for his blade.
But his hand drifted near it.
She stopped three paces from him. Her eyes — molten bronze — scanned him like scripture.
"I thought you'd be taller," she said.
"You're not what I expected either."
Silence stretched between them — thick, coiled, ancient.
They weren't strangers.
Not completely.
She tilted her head. "The Ninth," she said. "It's inside you now."
"Yes."
"You can feel it waking."
"…I can."
Her expression darkened slightly. "Then you're already dangerous."
"Are you here to kill me?"
"No," she said. "Not unless you prove disappointing."
The Core inside Jinryu pulsed once — involuntarily — sensing proximity to hers.
She reacted instantly.
In a blur, her blade Shinma was unsheathed, burning crimson-red with raw Qi. The heat cracked the ground beneath her feet.
Haeryun was in Jinryu's hand before he even breathed.
The air between them warped. Two Cores, opposite in nature but ancient in lineage, recognized each other.
Two pulses.
Two flames.
The cat hissed, "She's linked to the Seventh Core. That one devours. It doesn't share."
Maeryn didn't strike.
Not yet.
But her voice lowered — serious now.
"I saw you once. A long time ago. Before the Core was sealed in you. You were unconscious. Covered in blood. The Council had you in chains. I thought you were dead."
Jinryu's expression shifted — slightly. "I don't remember."
"You wouldn't. They erased most of it. Or buried it under suppression seals."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Maeryn stepped closer, blade still raised — not attacking, but not relaxed.
"Because if we fight now, one of us dies."
"And if we don't?"
"Then maybe we both get to ask what the hell the Council is hiding."
Jinryu didn't lower his blade.
But his grip loosened.
The pulse between them stabilized — no longer hostile, but still volatile.
"They'll be watching us," he said.
"They already are." Maeryn raised her free hand, motioned toward the mist. "This realm? It's a resonant plane tied to the Core fragments. The Council can't enter it — but they can watch."
"I don't care."
"You should," she said. "Because they're not afraid of you. Not yet. But they're terrified of us meeting."
The cat blinked. "You mean—"
"Yes." Maeryn looked directly at Jinryu. "Our Cores… were once one."
Jinryu's pulse froze.
The words sank in like a blade through water.
One Core.
Split into two.
And now — after centuries of separation — those two pieces had found each other again.
His hand dropped from Haeryun.
Maeryn lowered Shinma slowly.
Still, no peace.
Only silence.
Then she turned.
"I'm heading south. Toward the Crimson Divide. There's a ruin there — one of the original sanctums. You'll feel it when it calls."
Jinryu didn't stop her.
As she vanished into the mist, the Core inside his chest thrummed once.
Not with power.
But with recognition.
The cat stared after her. "You still don't remember, do you?"
"…No."
"Then the next Gate will hurt even worse."