Water arrived without force.No tearing of air.
No burning heat.
The temperature simply shifted.Mist rolled across the platform, cooling scorched stone and quieting the restless wind. The pressure that had lingered since the fire surge slowly eased, as if the world itself had taken a careful breath.
Prince Gong stepped forward from the mist.
His expression was calm, but his eyes missed nothing.
"Enough," he said gently. "If this continues, the realms will damage each other faster than any enemy could." Changhe scoffed from a distance. "You always arrive when the interesting part ends."
Gong glanced at him. "Fire calls attention to itself. Water observes what it leaves behind."
His gaze moved—settling briefly on Rui.
Rui felt it instantly.Not judgment.Concern.
"You're overextending," Gong said quietly.
Rui shook his head. "The imbalance isn't done yet." Yang turned sharply. "You've done enough." Rui stiffened slightly,
surprised by the edge in Yang's voice.
"The earth is holding," Rui continued,
steadier than he felt. "If I stop now—"
"If you stop now," Yang interrupted, "you recover." The wind around him tightened unconsciously.
Gong raised a hand. "Yang." Yang didn't look away from Rui. "You've been absorbing instability from three elements. That isn't balance. That's sacrifice." Rui met his gaze. "Someone has to bear it."
The words landed harder than expected.
The withdrawal came suddenly. Rui's breath hitched as the ground beneath him trembled—not violently, but unevenly. His knees buckled before he could steady himself.
Yang moved without thinking.He caught Rui before he hit the stone.
The wind froze.
For a moment, the world went unnaturally still. Rui's weight was warm, solid, real against Yang's arms. His breathing was shallow, uneven, his fingers tightening instinctively into Yang's sleeve.
"You're stubborn," Yang said quietly, more strained than angry. Rui tried to straighten.
"You don't get to—". Yang didn't let go.
"You don't get to decide alone anymore," he said.
Gong watched them closely, saying nothing.
Changhe's flames dimmed, his smile fading into something sharper, more thoughtful.
"So that's how it is," Changhe murmured.
"The wind has found something it refuses to let fall." Yang ignored him.
He helped Rui sit, keeping one hand firmly at his back. The contact lingered longer than necessary.
Rui noticed. "So," Rui said softly, "you care now?" Yang's jaw tightened. "I care about the balance." Rui looked up at him. "Liar."
The word wasn't cruel.Just honest.
The wind stirred—gentle, uncertain.Gong finally spoke. "The Brilliants are reacting to you," he said. "Not individually. Together."
Yang looked away first."That is dangerous," he said.
"Yes," Gong agreed. "And necessary."
As the mist thickened and the realms settled into uneasy quiet, Changhe turned away, fire coiling restlessly around him.
"This isn't over," he said lightly. "If the world is changing, I want front-row seats." He vanished in flame.
Gong remained a moment longer. "Be careful," he said to Yang. "Water adapts. Fire consumes. Earth endures.". His eyes softened. "Air must learn when to release."
Then he was gone. Yang stayed where he was, the wind low and calm around him.
Rui leaned back slightly, exhausted but steady.
"Next time," Rui said quietly, "don't wait until I fall." Yang answered without looking at him
"There won't be a next time where you stand alone." The wind shifted—not in command, not in resistance—but in agreement.
And deep beneath the Water Realm, the Brilliant of Water pulsed, slow and deliberate, as if preparing to move.