Jared shrugged out of his outer robe. A shallow slash scored the muscle of his left arm, flung there by shrapnel when Quentin had self-destructed.
Though not deep, a ghost of demonic energy still pulsed along the edges. Lyra’s eyes shimmered, soft with hurt on his behalf.
Kneeling, cautiously dabbed a cloth in the hot spirit water and dabbed away the dried blood with feather-light strokes, as though one careless move might cause pain.
The warmth of the spirit water and the crisp scent of the mystical herbs seeped into the wound; the lurking demonic energy began to fade like frost under the sunlight.
“Next time, please, be more careful…” Her words quavered, the salve jar trembling slightly between fingers. “I know you’re strong, but I still worry. I worry something might happen and I’ll never see you again…”
He traced a calming line through silvery hair. “Silly girl, I promise, I’ll watch myself from now on.”
She looked up, lashes damp. “Mr. Chance, Master Morden told me that you and Mr. Flaxseed plan to march on Malevolent Path Hall’s headquarters. Is that true?”
The question struck squarely. He exhaled, then nodded once. “It is… Mr. Flaxseed’s clan’s divine souls are trapped in the headquarters. I won’t let face it alone. Besides, the leader of Celestial Palace’s Sixth Hall has made me his favorite target. I must make a trip to Celestial Palace’s Sixth Hall on level six.”
Lyra pressed teeth to lower lip. A long, trembling breath slipped past before finally spoke, voice steady but soft. “I know I can’t hold you back. You have your own path to walk, your own battles to fight. I won’t be the weight that drags you down.”
She drew in another breath, and a quiet spark flared behind eyes. “I’ll stay here in Swordmaster City and cultivate with everything I have. When you return, and I will be stronger by then, if danger finds us again, I’ll fight at your side, not behind you.”
That fierce resolve shining in gaze struck Jared harder than any blade. It reminded how much the shy girl once guarded had already grown, how fiercely spirit now matched his own.
He understood then that Lyra no longer needed constant protection. She carried a pride and strength that were entirely hers.
“All right,” Jared said at last.
A smile softened the sharp angles of his face. “I’ll wait for that day, when the two of us stand shoulder to shoulder on whatever battlefield awaits.”
Night deepened. Sword Sect’s compound fell into a hush broken only by the hum of distant crickets and the faint ripple of spiritual energy from disciples cultivating through the dark.
Lyra did not leave. Instead, settled at Jared’s side, quietly arranging the belongings would carry at dawn, vials of healing salve, woven pouches of mystical herbs had picked by moonlight, and a small bundle of fresh garments folded with meticulous care.
“Mr. Chance, level six’s celestial energy is richerthan what we breathe here on level five,” murmured while packed. “When you cultivate there, control your spiritual energy. Don’t chase more power than your core can handle…”
“If you come across a demon beast you don’t recognize, watch it first, don’t rush in swinging. And keep this bottle of mind-purifying pills on you at all times. Should demonic energy seep into your heart, it’ll steady your thoughts long enough for help to reach you…”
Jared listened in patient silence, nodding now and then, knowing that each word of warning was merely another thread in the tapestry of concern. Behind every practical instruction lay a sorrowful truth, already missed him.
He interrupted gently, his tone low and warm, saying, “Lyra, once I finish what must be done on level six and once I trace Malevolent Path Hall’s headquarters, I’ll return for you.”
Her hands stilled. She lifted face, devotion shining through unshed tears. “I’ll wait, Mr. Chance. For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.”
She rose and slipped into his embrace, arms tightening around his waist. Her cheek pressed against his chest, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed the storm inside her.
Jared held close, letting the faint fragrance of alpine blossoms in hair fill his lungs and soften the iron in his soul.
“Mr. Chance,” whispered into the cloth of his tunic, voice muffled. “Promise you’ll remember me…”
He lowered his chin, resting it atop hair. “I could never forget you.”
Lanternlight quivered across the room, painting two entwined silhouettes onto the wooden wall, figures caught between the ache of parting and the comfort of shared warmth.
Jared’s gaze swept over her, worry flickering behind his tenderness. “Does that spot still hurt?”
