They walked slowly back to the clearing, dawn already lifting the pines into columns of pale gold.
Su Lin's steps were steadier now, though she still glanced sidelong at Jin Mu as if afraid this moment of reprieve might evaporate.
When they reached the circle of frost-blackened grass, he lowered himself onto a smooth stone and gestured for her to sit across from him.
"You did well," he said, and this time his voice was free of the iron edge it so often carried.
She folded her legs beneath her and met his eyes directly.
"I want to learn," she said simply.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"That's good," he murmured. "Because the truth is…the learning never ends."
He scooped a handful of cold soil into his palm and let it sift between his fingers.
"Yesterday I spoke of Cycles and Sub-Paths," he began, voice thoughtful. "Today, I'll tell you of something deeper. The derivements."
She tilted her head.
"Derivements?"
He nodded.
"Think of the Cycles as the main trunk of a great tree," he said. "From that trunk grow branches—your Sub-Path. And from each branch sprout smaller branches and twigs, sometimes so fine you can hardly see them."
He drew a quick sketch in the dirt with a fingertip: trunk, branch, then dozens of smaller shoots.
"Those are derivements. Splinters of potential. They emerge when your will and your circumstances collide in a particular way."
She frowned in concentration.
"So…they're like…?"
"Like refinements," he supplied gently. "But more unpredictable. A derivement can make you powerful in one moment…and a slave to that same power the next."
He rested his hand on his knee.
"Let me give you an example."
"For me, the Cycles were never enough," he said, voice low. "Even before…everything."
Her eyes flickered with curiosity.
"I walked the Ascendant's Vein," he continued, "which most call the Black Emperor's Line."
She went very still.
"That's…that's one of the High Sequences," she whispered.
"Yes," he agreed, "but High doesn't mean safe."
He lifted his hand, letting a thin ripple of darkness spill across his palm—more shadow than substance, shimmering faintly like a mirage.
"This is a derivement I earned," he said. "I call it Silent Annexation. It lets me draw in a portion of what resists me—whether it's an argument, a threat, or an attack—and bind it as part of my own power."
Su Lin watched, wide-eyed, as the darkness coiled back into his skin.
"But the cost," he went on, softer, "is that the more I use it, the more it tries to use me."
She swallowed.
"What happens if it succeeds?"
He met her gaze without flinching.
"Then the Will I have fought to keep as my own…drowns in something older and hungrier."
He drew another line in the dirt, splitting from the first sketch.
"There are derivements that are merely tools," he said, "and then there are Splinters."
Her brow knit.
"Splinters?"
"Imagine," he said, his tone almost gentle, "if your Hidden Flame were to fracture. Instead of one path forward, you would have several smaller routes, each leading to something distinct."
He tapped the diagram.
"A Splinter is a break in your sequence. It is both danger and opportunity. If you choose one, you sacrifice the others. If you fail to master it, it devours you."
Her eyes went wide.
"But…have you ever had one?"
A faint, rueful smile touched his lips.
"Three times," he said softly. "And every time, it nearly ended me."
He held up a finger, ticking them off.
"The first was the Splinter of Sovereignty—power to impose my will on weaker minds. The second, the Splinter of Undoing—power to erode any force directed at me."
"And the third?" she whispered.
His gaze drifted to the line of pines, voice turning quiet as falling snow.
"The Splinter of Nullity," he murmured. "A power that makes all things fade."
She shivered.
"Which did you choose?"
"The second," he said without hesitation. "Undoing. Because sometimes survival matters more than triumph."
He studied her face, gauging how much she could absorb before it broke her spirit.
But she surprised him.
Her shoulders were square, her jaw set.
"I want to learn how to see my own Splinters," she said, voice steady.
He inclined his head in approval.
"That will come," he promised. "But first you must finish stabilizing the First Cycle."
She nodded.
He leaned forward, voice soft.
"When you sit in cultivation, focus on the ember in your chest. Will it to circulate—not merely fill you. Picture it flowing through your limbs in a spiral."
She closed her eyes, lips moving silently as she committed his words to memory.
"And when the spiral becomes steady," he continued, "you will feel a pressure at the center of your mind. Like a door waiting to open."
She opened her eyes.
"And behind that door?"
He smiled faintly.
"Possibility," he said. "And danger. Both always come together."
They fell into silence for a time.
Wind sifted through the clearing, stirring stray leaves around their boots.
Su Lin looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as if she expected to see them alight with flame.
"Does it ever get easier?" she asked finally.
His answer came without bitterness.
"No," he said softly. "But you get stronger."
She nodded, accepting this without complaint.
After a while, she lifted her gaze to his.
"Jin Mu," she began, hesitant, "why did you choose the Ascendant's Vein? If it's so dangerous?"
He studied her for a long moment, then let out a quiet breath.
"Because," he said at last, "some of us are born with nothing. No inheritance, no patronage, no claim to respect."
He closed his hand into a fist, feeling the old anger, the old hunger.
"And if the only way to survive is to climb a path no sane person would touch…I would climb it again."
Her eyes searched his face, and he thought he saw understanding dawn.
Then she asked, very softly:
"Will you help me choose, when the time comes?"
His voice was quiet but certain.
"Yes."
He let the silence stretch until her breathing had returned to calm steadiness.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked:
"Su Lin. When you were captive…did you ever hear the Collector speak of names? Buyers?"
She blinked, then nodded slowly.
"He…he used to boast," she said, voice brittle. "About how much the Pale Courts would pay. About how he was protected."
"Protected by whom?"
She swallowed.
"I don't know. He called them the Concord—said they were everywhere. That they could erase anyone who interfered."
Jin Mu felt his jaw tighten.
The Concord.
That name had surfaced before, always buried behind layers of rumor. But if the Collector had spoken it openly…it meant arrogance. Arrogance bred by security.
A security he intended to break.
He reached out, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.
"Listen to me," he said, voice low and calm.
"They will not erase you. They will not bury you."
Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but her jaw set in defiance.
"And they will not bury me," he finished.
In the hush of the clearing, as the morning wind lifted the last of the frost, she looked at him with something that almost felt like trust.
And for the first time in many months, he allowed himself to believe they might win.