Yuren sat in stunned silence, the faded cloth still glowing faintly between them.
"You saw me in your dreams?" he finally managed.
Zhaoyan gave a slow nod. "Always reaching. Calling my name. Your voice... it sounded like it was breaking apart."
Yuren opened his mouth to make a joke. Something stupid. Something safe.
But nothing came out.
Because deep down, he knew what Zhaoyan was talking about. He remembered those dreams too. Not just fire and screaming—but grief. A hollow, aching grief that felt too real to be imagined.
"I thought they were just nightmares," he muttered. "Like, trauma dreams. Y'know, fun psychological curses."
Zhaoyan met his eyes. "They're memories."
Yuren flinched. "Of what?"
"Of who you were. Who we were."
Silence.
Then: "Okay, cool, no big deal, just casual reincarnation and soul-bonding with the only emotionally constipated monk in existence."
Zhaoyan's lips twitched. "I'm not a monk."
"You meditate and glare like one. Same thing."
But the tension didn't lift this time.
Because something had shifted. The dreams, the prophecy, the mark—all of it wasn't just happening to Yuren. It was returning to him.
---
That night, they didn't sleep in the same bed.
Not because they didn't want to. But because Yuren needed air.
He stood outside the temple, staring at the sky. The moon was high—round, silver, watching.
And then it happened.
The wind died.
The stars blinked out.
And the vision took him.
---
He stood in a battlefield of ash.
Corpses lay in every direction. Flags burned. The sky was red.
And in the center stood a woman cloaked in flame. Her hair floated like embers. Her eyes were molten gold.
She turned.
And Yuren felt her rage in his bones.
"You failed me," she whispered.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
The woman lifted a hand—and fire raced toward him—
---
"Yuren!"
Zhaoyan's voice snapped him out of it. Hands grabbed his shoulders.
Yuren was kneeling on the ground, shaking. Smoke curled around his fingers—but there was no fire. No battlefield. Just him and Zhaoyan under a silent moon.
"What happened?" Zhaoyan asked, voice urgent.
Yuren looked up, eyes wide. "She remembers me."
Zhaoyan's grip tightened. "Who?"
"The woman. From the dreams. From before."
He touched his chest, right where his mark used to burn. "She said I failed her."
Zhaoyan's face darkened. "That confirms it."
Yuren looked at him. "What?"
"You're not just part of the prophecy. You were the flame."
"…Wait, I was the scary fire lady?!"
Zhaoyan shook his head. "Not her. With her. You were the one who sealed her. Who made the choice."
Yuren stared. "So I'm the reason she's pissed off."
"And now she wants you to remember what you did."
A beat.
"Well that sucks," Yuren said, flopping back onto the grass. "No pressure or anything. Just cosmic guilt and world-ending fire."
Zhaoyan lay beside him, arms crossed. "You're handling this better than expected."
"Oh, I'm dissociating," Yuren replied cheerfully. "Very spiritual of me."
Zhaoyan turned to look at him.
Not a glare. Not confusion.
Just… quiet.
"I'll stay beside you," he said. "Whatever happens."
Yuren's breath caught.
"Even if the world burns?"
Zhaoyan smiled faintly. "Then we'll burn together."
Yuren covered his face with both hands. "Stop. Saying. Cool. Things. I can't emotionally regulate when you do that."
Zhaoyan just looked at the stars, like he hadn't just declared poetic war against destiny.
---
Elsewhere, in a cavern of shadows, the masked figure placed a hand on the icy altar again.
"She remembers the fire."
Behind them, the second figure stirred. "What if she remembers the truth next?"
The first one didn't answer.
Instead, they stared into the flame in their palm… which suddenly flickered blue.
"She's waking faster than expected."
They turned to the other.
"Prepare the second seal. If it breaks, there will be no stopping her."
To be continued...