The world hadn't stopped shaking when the sky finally quieted. Rain still slid down the cracked roof of the old temple, thin ribbons of light glinting off the puddles where Ren and Li Wei lay.
Ren blinked slowly. The last thing he remembered was the flash—the serpent's eyes, the roar, his own voice whispering that ancient vow. Now everything was too still. His body ached as if lightning had crawled through his veins.
Li Wei was there, crouched beside him, human again but soaked through, strands of dark hair stuck to his cheek. He touched Ren's face with a trembling hand. "You're awake."
Ren swallowed, throat raw. "Did we—did you stop it?"
"The storm obeyed," Li Wei said quietly. "For now." He looked away toward the horizon where mist rolled over the city. The skyline was half-hidden, washed clean and ghostly.
Ren sat up, every movement heavy. "People saw, didn't they?"
"They'll think it was just a typhoon." A tired smile curved Li Wei's mouth. "Humans forget what doesn't fit in their world."
Ren stared at his hands—pale, unmarked, yet he could feel something thrumming under his skin, faint and alive. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered.
Li Wei's gaze softened. "You never will. Even if I wanted to disappear, the bond wouldn't let me."
The words should have comforted him. Instead they felt like chains. He pulled back, shaking his head. "I can't keep living like this, Li Wei. Every time you reach for me, I—"
Li Wei caught his wrist gently, the serpent mark beneath Ren's skin pulsing at the touch. "You what?"
Ren looked away, voice breaking. "I stop being me."
For a heartbeat neither moved. Then Li Wei released him, rising with slow grace. "Rest. The storm took more from you than you think."
Outside, the rain thinned to a mist. The scent of damp earth and incense clung to the air as Ren lay back down, eyes on the cracked ceiling. He could feel Li Wei's presence settle beside him again, silent, protective—an unspoken promise that tomorrow would come, no matter how fragile the world felt tonight.