The fight was a blur of breath and steel.
The lieutenant pressed hard, forcing Xiyue back step by step, every blow so precise it felt rehearsed. Snow hissed underfoot, and the storm's roar seemed to close them in tighter with each strike.
Ruo Han's pulse thundered.
He could see it—that one gap in the lieutenant's guard, the fraction of a heartbeat when his footing slipped on the ice.
Xiyue caught it too, angling his blade to bait the next strike.
The moment came.
Ruo Han moved without thinking.
Power uncoiled inside him—not the measured, restrained threads he usually allowed, but the raw, burning force he'd kept locked away since leaving his sect.
It spilled from his palm in a rush of light, cutting through the snow like a blade of its own.
The blast hit the lieutenant squarely in the chest.
The man staggered, boots carving deep lines in the snow before he righted himself. The black-etched mask turned toward Ruo Han, head tilting slightly—like he'd just seen a ghost.
"That power…" the lieutenant murmured.
And though the wind howled, Ruo Han heard the words as clearly as if they'd been spoken beside his ear.
"…It is you."
The storm surged violently, throwing them all off balance.
When Ruo Han blinked, the lieutenant was already gone—swallowed whole by the white.
Xiyue caught his arm, pulling him back from the sudden drop at their side.
"What did you just do?" His voice was low, but it carried the edge of something sharp—concern, or suspicion, Ruo Han couldn't tell.
He swallowed. "I… didn't mean to—"
The wind shifted again.
Far above, the clouds rolled and split for the briefest second, revealing that same shadowed serpent coiled in the sky.
Only this time… its eyes were open.