They spiraled downward.

The darkness cracked open beneath them, revealing a vast, broken land. Red rock stretched dry and brittle across the horizon. The air shimmered with heat. The scent of sulfur burned her nostrils. Below, a crude wall—no taller than a man—encircled a sprawling encampment. Aurora flinched as sounds hit her all at once: guttural laughter, women screaming, the silence of the children, hiding.

Her stomach twisted.

Milo’s eyes flicked sideways, unreadable. He didn’t speak. Not because he had nothing to say. No, of course he always had something to say. Instead, simply because the moment was still unfolding—and he refused to rush revelation.

Her vision surged forward, pulling her into the camp. Some women wore tattered clothes, if lucky. Fights broke out and went ignored, mean pointing and laughing. Blood dried on skin like a tattoo.

Inside a ragged tent, a small girl sat among others. Eyes sharp. Shoulders tense. She flinched as a boy ran past, chased by jeering men.

There was something so familiar about this scene. Like a replayed nightmare. No.

A large man crooned. The girls stood. The one in the back slipped into the crowd, but didn’t follow. She waited. Then bolted.

There was something about the way she moved. She seemed no longer driven by fear, nor by pride. Aurora watched her like a mirror held too close. Aurora’s breath caught. She knew this scene —

Now that she looked around, she recognized everything.

The child ran in sharp, precise arcs. Ducking behind huts. Pressing against shadows. Her chest heaved with the effort, but her eyes never wavered. She crawled beneath a tent flap, returning unseen.

The scene accelerated—days, maybe weeks. The same routine, repeated. The girl explored. Dug behind the wall. Always came back. Always hidden. Until—

“You!”

She froze. Caught. Doomed. Gone was the fire in her eyes. Replaced with stillness. Not fear, something worse. She didn’t scream as they dragged her away.

The setting melted and another surged forward.

A boy now, older, ran through an alley. Men gave chase.

Jin.

The girl was now taller, sharper. She watched from the shadows then ran. “This way!” she called. The boy followed, taking the knife from her hands.

Their pursuer fell with a blade in his head. And the two slipped through the wall, vanishing into the night. But the memory didn’t end. It shifted—pulled them forward — into a cave carved into the edge of a rocky hillside. Moonlight trickled in through the cracks. Outside, distant shouts still echoed. The Fire Kingdom wasn’t done hunting them for days, for weeks. Then finally, five years had passed.

Inside, the boy had grown. He seemed to be neither a child nor an adult. He was shaking as he crouched in the back of the cave, arms around his knees, trying to make himself small. Dust clung to his skin. Blood dried on his hands. The knife lay on the ground beside him, as if too heavy to hold. He had been caught, it was all his fault. It was a matter of time before he led them here. He had exposed himself – and her.

But the girl stood at the entrance. She wasn’t hiding, but waiting. She scanned the dark horizon, face lit silver-blue by the moon. Her shoulders didn’t tremble. Her hands didn’t shake. Her bare feet were blistered, but she didn’t sit.

Then, the approaching noises. The boy stared at her, wide-eyed.

She turned.

Kneeling, she took the knife and slid it back into its hiding into his hands. He looked at her wide-eyed. His eyes pleaded with her. But she looked at him—direct, unflinching.

“Only the things you’re willing to die for,” she said, voice calm, “have meaning.”

He didn’t answer.

She came closer, brushing the hair from his forehead with surprising gentleness, kissing it.

“You run and survive,” she said. “No matter what.” His mouth opened— to protest, but she pushed him back harshly. “Promise me.”

Before he could speak, she was already standing. The girl turned back toward the night, toward the danger still hunting them. She didn’t hesitate. Her back was straight. Her gaze steady. Her eyes—lit by the moon—seemed to glow with something fierce, something terrifying.

She looked back. He noticed what it was and reeled: Gratitude. As if this wasn’t punishment, but a gift. As if saving him gave her miserable life meaning.

She stepped into the dark.

“Thank you, Jin.”

—————————————————————————————-

Aurora gasped as the cold air of the forest rushed in—wet leaves beneath her hands, the scent of woodsmoke stinging her nose. Her chest rose too fast. The fire crackled behind her like it never stopped.

The forest didn’t greet her gently. It yanked her back—mud under her palms, the scent of firewood. Her own breath, ragged and real. The memory clung like frost, and Milo was already watching.

She didn’t turn to face him when she heaved, “You let me die.”

Milo didn’t speak for a moment. Then, he nodded.

She remembered him, and now understood why she felt that buzzing between them. She tried to steady her breathing, her chest rising and falling heavy but slow. She studied him. Her head tilted. She didn’t doubt the authenticity of what she had seen. She felt goosebumps spring on her skin, her face turning pale for the first time during this journey. Something in her…softened without warning.

“Jin,” she whispered, standing to match him. “What happened to you?” She stepped forward, hesitated. He almost flinched.

She wrapped her arms around him. Not with softness, but finality. She didn’t feel him breathe. Didn’t see him close his eyes as if he’d been waiting for this since the beginning. When she pulled back, their faces were close. And for a moment, the space between them narrowed to nothing. Her fingers brushed the spot she had once kissed on his forehead. His breath caught. She pressed her forehead to his in a new kind of embrace.

But then—her body stiffened. Not dramatically. Just a flicker. A hesitation in her breath. Her shoulders froze, coldness creeping into her fingertips.

And she remembered things in this life.

Hands that didn’t ask. Voices that laughed while she couldn’t scream. Skin she had to shed to survive. The heat in her stomach twisted—flipped into nausea.

She snapped him back. She shook, panting. She felt like she was going to die. Milo didn’t move, didn’t speak. But she felt it—the way his gaze followed her. Not with pity nor confusion. With something worse – understanding.

Without having seen her story, he knew it. By observation. By instinct, maybe. The stutter in her magic. The way her pupils contracted. The armor sliding back into place. And still, he said nothing. Only took one slow step forward. Close enough for her to feel the heat of him again. Close enough to remind her he could reach out, could pull her in. But he didn’t.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly.

His voice was low, controlled. His face closed like a gate. Jin was gone. He was pure Milo. “You think I want who you used to be. But you’re wrong.,” he murmured.

She said nothing.

“You think I sought the girl you once were. But I know too well that she died long ago. I’ve accepted it. I came for the version no one else would trust. The one willing to fracture the world if it meant seeing it clearly.” His voice dropped. “The version where no one can hurt you, not even me. You don’t need to rise from her bones. I don’t want you to. You are not here to return. You misunderstand me if you think I want that. No…” He shook his head. “I desperately want to see you evolve — to see who you become not beside me, but in spite of me.”

She didn’t speak or move. For one fractured moment, she let herself believe he still felt it too—that pull between them. That history only they remembered. The boy who once saved her from a meaningless life. Her only friend she ever had who’d truly seen her in her most visceral moment.

And maybe, just maybe… he missed his friend too.

But then she remembered the way he tested people like insects in jars. He said he wanted her to evolve, but he wanted it his way. She knew because of the cruel way he told her to pick up the knife. Because of the way his silence wasn’t gentleness, but unsolicited study. And she knew—whatever had once existed between them was real.

But it didn’t make him safe. Or kind. Or her friend.

He was a master manipulator in this life. Aurora shook her head, slowly and hissed,“I’m not yours to study.” She tried to keep her voice steady, her eyes trained on his. “You’re not my hero,” Aurora said. Her voice didn’t shake. “And I don’t need to be your experiment.”

Milo stilled. Then… smiled. Not with cruelty, not even pride, but with wonder.

“Ah,” he murmured. “There you are.” He stepped back, just slightly—like making room for something sacred. “The others always fold in the end. Righteous, reluctant, or predictable. Like Kristo, Samantha, Selus…”

His eyes gleamed, catching firelight. “But you’re not conforming. You’re choosing.” Silence bloomed between them. “Most want to be seen, but you—” He studied her. “You don’t need me.” He tilted his head slightly, voice lowering. “You don’t need anybody. They can scorn you, hate you…and yet you continue choosing. And that… makes you the first person I’ve ever met who might understand me.” He gave a small, wistful smile before he turned and walked away, the fire still crackling.