Snow burst beneath their feet as the shadows closed in.
The first masked figure lunged, blade catching the faint gleam of firelight. Xiyue was already moving—his sword flashed once, steel ringing, sparks scattering against the dark.
Ruo Han barely had time to draw breath before another dropped from the branches above, dagger angled straight for his throat. Reflex, not thought, guided him—his palm lit with a searing glow, the sigil he'd traced in the snow answering his call. The flare struck the attacker full in the chest, hurling him back into the trees with a crack of splintering bark.
Ling Han gave a sharp laugh. "About time we stop playing mice." His twin sabers spun in his hands, carving arcs of silver through the gloom as two more shadows rushed him.
But the ones that came for Ruo Han were relentless. Every strike carried precision, as though they'd studied the rhythm of his breath. And still—still—Xiyue was there, his blade intercepting the blows Ruo Han couldn't turn aside, his steps fluid and unyielding, closing every gap before danger could touch him.
At first, Ruo Han thought he was merely protecting him. But then he noticed it—
The way Xiyue's movements fell in time with his own.
When Ruo Han shifted left, Xiyue's sword cut right, filling the opening. When Ruo Han cast light to blind, Xiyue's strike followed, merciless and precise.
Not protection.
Coordination.
It was as though they'd fought together for years.
A masked fighter hissed, trying to retreat into the trees. Ruo Han raised his hand, light coiling like a whip, catching the figure's leg and yanking him back into Xiyue's waiting blade. Steel pierced cloth and flesh alike—one less shadow to haunt them.
The others hesitated. Just for a breath. Just long enough.
"Afraid?" Xiyue's voice was ice, his sword dripping red. His eyes, sharp with killing intent, fixed on the nearest mask. "Good. You should be."
The figures faltered. Then, as if on command, they melted back into the forest, disappearing with eerie silence, leaving only the bodies of two fallen behind.
The forest stilled.
The fight was over.
Ruo Han's chest heaved, light still sparking faintly between his fingers. Slowly, he unclenched his hand, watching the glow die away. His gaze slid to Xiyue—calm, poised, sword gleaming in the moonlight as though he hadn't just carved apart their hunters.
Their eyes met.
And in the silence that followed, the truth pressed between them, undeniable as the blood cooling in the snow:
Together, they were not prey.
Together, they were something far more dangerous.