The air between them cracked with pressure. Candle-flames bent sideways, caught in an unseen current that swirled around Li Wei and Kyran like two storms colliding.
Kyran took one step closer. "You think you can keep pretending, Li Wei? Pretend to be tame?"
His voice was calm, but every word scraped against the edges of power. "I remember when your scales darkened the sky. When even gods trembled."
Li Wei's pupils narrowed to slits. "That part of me died with heaven's judgment."
"Then let me see the corpse," Kyran whispered.
The floor trembled. Wind burst through the windows, scattering the candles completely. Gold light began to leak from beneath Li Wei's skin—first at his throat, then down his arms—until arcs of lightning crawled over him like living veins.
Ren stumbled backward, shielding his eyes. "Li Wei—stop!"
But the serpent inside him had already woken. Scales shimmered across his torso, iridescent and sharp as glass. His voice was no longer only human—it resonated, layered with something vast. "You came here knowing what you'd awaken."
Kyran spread his hands, unafraid. "I came to remind you what you are. Not this fragile shape. Not a lover's shadow." His gaze flicked to Ren. "He binds you. He weakens you."
The words hit Ren harder than he expected. "You're wrong," he said, even as his mark burned. "He saved me."
Li Wei turned toward him then—just slightly—and that tiny motion was enough to crack the fury. For a heartbeat, Ren saw the man beneath the storm: tired, desperate, afraid to lose him again.
Ren stepped forward, ignoring the sting of the power rushing off Li Wei's body. He pressed a trembling hand to Li Wei's cheek. "Please. Look at me."
Lightning stuttered. The temple's pillars groaned but held.
"Li Wei," Ren whispered, "it's me."
The serpent's eyes flickered—gold giving way to human brown. The glow dimmed, the scales retreating one by one until only faint traces shimmered under his skin. His breathing hitched, uneven. The storm outside died with him.
Kyran's expression faltered; surprise crossed his face, then a twist of envy. "He calms you," he said softly. "Even now."
Li Wei straightened, voice hoarse. "Leave, Kyran. You've had your answer."
For a moment it seemed Kyran might argue, but instead he smiled—thin, unreadable. "This isn't over. The heavens will call for you both." Then his form dissolved into mist, vanishing as quietly as he'd come.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Ren swayed; Li Wei caught him before he fell. The scent of ozone still lingered, but his touch was warm again.
Ren looked up at him, still breathless. "You almost lost yourself."
Li Wei nodded once, weary. "And if you hadn't spoken, I would have."
Outside, dawn was just beginning to stain the clouds red—a fragile, uncertain peace after the storm.