.
Jin Mu waited beside the small grave long after the last light had faded.
The girl didn't speak again. She only sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her gaze hollow, tracking something far beyond the reach of sight.
At last, when the chill grew too deep, he rose and offered his hand.
She did not take it right away. For a moment, he wondered if she would bolt into the trees and vanish.
Then, slowly, she lifted her head.
"Come," he said gently. "Let me take you somewhere warm."
After a long silence, she slipped her thin fingers into his.
He could feel the faint tremor in her grip.
He did not let go until they reached the path winding back toward the compound.
The frost had thickened in the grass, glittering like shards of glass around their boots. Each step was measured, careful—he did not hurry her.
When she stumbled, he caught her around the shoulders.
She did not pull away.
They passed beneath the old gate just before dawn.
The first servants were stirring, hauling water and lighting the courtyard braziers.
Most of them averted their eyes when they saw him. The sight of Jin Mu returning with a red-haired slave girl, her face still blotched from tears, was not something any of them wished to notice.
He was grateful for the silence.
When they reached the annex where he sometimes took meals alone, he eased her down onto the low bench beside the hearth.
The fire had burned to embers in the night, but he fed it fresh kindling until the warmth returned.
She sat motionless, her gaze fixed on the flames.
He crouched before her.
"What is your name?"
Her voice came hoarse and brittle.
"Su Lin."
Her eyes did not waver from the coals.
"And your brother?"
The flicker of grief there was sharp enough to bleed.
"Ren."
Jin Mu swallowed against the heaviness in his throat.
"I am sorry I could not save him."
She did not answer.
But her hands, clenched in her lap, began to shake.
He rose and busied himself with the pot of porridge he had left cooling near the coals.
He ladled a portion into a wooden bowl and set it in her hands.
"Eat," he said softly. "You have gone too long without food."
Su Lin stared at it, unmoving.
At last, he reached down and guided the spoon to her lips.
The first mouthful she swallowed without protest.
After that, she ate by her own will, though every motion was numb and automatic.
When the bowl was empty, he settled opposite her on the floor, feeling exhaustion gather behind his eyes.
"Su Lin," he said quietly, "do you understand what was done to you?"
Her gaze lifted at last, wary and uncomprehending.
"The brands," he explained. "Not only the marks on your skin—but the ones buried deeper. The ones meant to keep you broken."
Something flickered there—fear, maybe, or rage.
"They have a name," he continued. "The Binding Sigils. No matter how strong you might become, they would shackle your spirit and chain your potential."
She drew a ragged breath.
"I've seen what happens to those who carry them. They die never knowing they could have been more."
He shifted, pulling a small case from his satchel. Inside were three slender iron implements etched with pale runes.
"I can remove them," he said. "But it will hurt. And afterward…you will not be the same."
Her eyes met his, and for the first time, he saw something kindle behind the grief—some tiny defiance that had survived the long night.
"I don't care," she whispered. "I won't live as nothing."
He nodded once.
"Then let us begin."
He set the first iron to heat in the brazier, murmuring the invocation under his breath. The rune along its length began to glow a dull, sullen red.
When he pressed the point to the narrow brand just beneath her collarbone, she did not cry out.
Her jaw clenched, every muscle rigid.
A thin coil of smoke rose as the sigil sizzled.
He counted to thirty under his breath, then drew the iron away.
The mark was blackened, the runes in her flesh seared inert.
Two more times he repeated the process—once along her left shoulder blade, again at the hollow of her throat.
When it was done, sweat beaded her brow, and her breathing came ragged and shallow.
But her eyes were clear.
And when he reached to steady her, she did not flinch.
"It is finished," he said.
"No," she whispered.
She lifted a trembling hand to touch the final burn.
"Now…it begins."
For a long moment, they simply sat in silence, the crackle of the brazier the only sound.
Then she looked up, and something shifted.
"Why did you help me?"
He considered a dozen answers, each one colder than the last.
But none of them fit the quiet truth in his chest.
"Because no one helped me," he said finally.
When the last of her shivering had passed, he placed a hand gently against her breastbone, feeling the faint pulse beneath.
"Now," he murmured, "you will awaken what they tried to steal."
Her eyes widened.
"You will have to surrender to it. Let it rise. I can anchor you, but only you can open the gate."
Her throat bobbed.
"Will I…hurt anyone?"
"No," he said softly. "Not if you hold to yourself."
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, very slowly, a thin red shimmer began to gather around her skin.
It flickered like a phantom flame, pulsing with a rhythm deeper than breath.
He felt the pressure of it—like a storm gathering just behind his senses.
A Sub-Path Awakening.
Rare. Potent.
More than most masters ever glimpsed.
He laid his hand over hers.
"Breathe."
The light flared, growing more intense.
A ring of invisible force rippled outward, stirring the embers of the brazier.
Her back arched, and she sucked in a ragged gasp.
Then the glow contracted, sinking into her bones.
When her eyes opened again, the irises burned with a glint of red-gold.
He knew, without any need for further proof, that she had become something the overseers could never have imagined.
"You are free," he said softly. "Truly free."
Her gaze searched his, bewildered.
"I feel…"
He waited.
"…like I can finally breathe."
He helped her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed.
Outside the annex, the first light of morning broke across the frost-bitten courtyard.
"Come," he said quietly. "Let us leave this place."
She nodded, wiping the last tears from her cheek.
And together, they stepped into the dawn.