Yun Shi stared at the girl before her, the girl who always wore a lantern-bright smile, and her heart tightened like a knotted skein.

Not long ago, they’d brushed sparks and ash; it had been her fault, a storm she’d hurled from her own chest onto Mia, and by the time she woke, the damage was done.

She felt the sting first, like winter biting bone; only then did she think that Mia probably wouldn’t forgive her, a chill that felt expected as nightfall.

Yet Mia looked steady, no smoke of anger in her eyes, no frost of displeasure on her lips, everything as calm as yesterday’s lake.

Confusion fluttered in Yun Shi’s ribs like startled sparrows, and Mia drifted closer, soft as a breeze through bamboo.

“What’s wrong, Miss? You look like trouble’s weighing you down,” Mia asked, her voice warm as spring rain.

“Mia, I…” Yun Shi’s throat felt like a clogged reed, words sticking like wet leaves.

“Forgive me, I shouldn’t pry. Please forget I asked,” Mia said, her tone folding away like a fan.

“Mia…” The name slipped out again, a leaf on a hesitant current, and nothing else would cross the stream.

Her chest swelled with unsaid speech, but the mouth of her river stayed dammed; despair dimmed her eyes like dusk rolling in.

“Right—almost forgot this,” Mia said, light as a bird landing on a branch.

As Yun Shi’s mood fell like a shuttered lantern, Mia felt around and drew out a small thing, gentle as lifting a moth from silk.

Yun Shi’s gaze tightened like thread through a needle, and she saw a bracelet, the cord knotted at its edge like tiny anchors, several beads missing like stars blown out.

A bracelet shouldn’t make her gape, but shock cracked through her like ice—this was the one Yun Shi herself had smashed, a mirror she’d shattered with her own hand.

Mia met Yun Shi’s bewildered look with a smile bright as sunrise on water.

“I fixed it. Not bad, right? It still looks pretty,” she said, eyes like calm ponds. “Though… some spots wouldn’t mend, like chips on old jade.”

Her smile bent into a wry curve, a reed in wind; once a bracelet is thrown to stones, its original color fades like autumn leaves, and repairs can’t hide scars.

The one who caused it all was Yun Shi, a blade she’ll remember against her own palm for the rest of her days.

“But it’s fine. It still wears. If you don’t mind, please take it,” Mia said, offering it forward like a candle passed in twilight.

Yun Shi felt lost, a traveler at a fork swallowed in fog; she didn’t know what face to show Mia, what tide to let through.

“This bracelet—clearly I broke it. Why do you act like nothing happened,” she said, her voice shaking like a thin bell.

Yes, it shouldn’t be like this; shouldn’t she be hated, a shadow cast out by noon sun?

“This has nothing to do with you, does it? Why did you fix it? Why give it back?” she pressed, anger and shame mixing like storm and sand.

“Miss, I…” Mia’s lips trembled like petals in rain.

“Don’t you see? This is my problem alone. Why forgive me? What makes me worth this bracelet?” Yun Shi’s words leapt like sparks from dry tinder.

“Please calm down, Miss, and hear me,” Mia said, sensing the self-blame like a thorn; only an explanation could pull the splinter free.

“It’s true, you broke it, but I don’t blame you,” Mia said, steady as a hearth flame. “Or rather, I never blamed you at all, because this life of mine was saved by you; if you ever ask for it back, I won’t resist.”

“Stop! Don’t say things like that!” Yun Shi snapped, fear tightening like a sudden gust through shutters.

“I know this much: you’re kind, and you’re gentle, like moonlight on quiet roofs,” Mia said, every word plain as bread. “I could never hate someone like that. So I want my heart, along with this bracelet, to reach you. Even if you break it again, I won’t mind; no matter how many times it shatters, I’ll keep repairing, until you accept.”

Her vow wasn’t a whim; it was a river spilling straight from the source.

Because of that, Yun Shi’s confusion deepened like a well.

“Mia… why?” The question was a moth circling a lantern, drawn and afraid.

“Because I’m not only your maid,” Mia said, eyes clear as morning, “I’m also your… friend.”

Friend.

The word felt unfamiliar, like a wildflower at the edge of a courtyard, yet it stood so close it brushed her sleeve.

Yun Shi’s dazed gaze brightened like a lamp relit, and the mist in her heart thinned like fog when the sun climbs.

Twelve years ago, before she ever drew breath in this world, the word friend was ordinary as bread, common as rain.

But once she was born, everything changed, like a road suddenly cut by cliffs; her fate shifted like sand in a storm.

Her childhood ran counter to the old days, a winter of iron bars; it filled her with pain, and at its worst sealed her heart like a lidded jar, turning her into a machine with a tiger’s strength locked inside.

One could say her life was not beautiful, even carved with sorrow like etchings on stone.

She didn’t expect the word friend to return, not to this courtyard, not to her ribs.

Yet she received it, a gift she’d never dared to dream, like a sparrow finding a window open at dawn.

“Miss, we’re friends, right?” Mia asked, hope like a small flame cupped in her hands.

“…Mm.” The consent rose soft as vapor; she couldn’t refute it, or rather, she didn’t want to.

Mia smiled, arms unfolding like wings, and she held the startled girl in a hush warm as quilts.

Her eyes were gentle, so gentle the girl found no strength to push away, as if resistance would break a fragile cherry blossom.

“No matter what you choose, I’ll stand on your side,” Mia murmured, voice like light rain. “If you don’t want to marry, then I won’t press you. I didn’t understand before, and I upset you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that. It… it was my fault,” Yun Shi said, shame pooling like ink; “I went too far.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Mia replied, firm as a straight beam. “You just resisted what you dislike. In this world, having the nerve to resist is remarkable; at least, I don’t have that courage.”

“I don’t have any courage,” Yun Shi whispered, her words thin as smoke. “I can’t even say I dislike things; how could I claim courage?”

In Mia’s arms, Yun Shi’s tiredness spilled like water from a tipped bowl; maybe she truly needed a shoulder, a harbor for a night.

“If your heart dares to grow wings, even just wings in the mind, that’s enough,” Mia said, faith steady as a lighthouse.

Maybe that’s right; the bird that dreams of leaving its cage will one day bend iron bars, and that bending is courage.

Now, Yun Shi was no different; she felt a small wind filling a small sail.

She slipped from Mia’s embrace, and her voice turned clear, like a stream after rain.

“Mia, I’m leaving,” she said, each syllable falling like pebbles on a path.

“!” Surprise flashed in Mia’s eyes like lightning, then faded to calm like thunder rolling away; the outcome made a certain sense.

“I see. You still choose marriage?” Mia asked gently, offering shelter like shade. “It’s fine. I’ll stand with you…”

“No, Mia,” Yun Shi said, steady as a drawn line. “This time… I might never come back.”

A big wind swept through, lifting both girls’ hair like grass, and their shadows burned into the ground like inked seals.

Facing Mia’s shock, Yun Shi stayed placid, surface smooth as an evening pond.

“Long ago, the Flamebu Family saw plenty of escapes,” she said, a history like soot. “Runaways grew until no one was left to run. Now, a new betrayer will appear.”

“I have no choice,” she said, spine straight as a spear. “I don’t want chains; I want the open sky.”

“I never dared to face it because I was afraid,” she admitted, fear like frost. “But if I don’t go now, only a cell waits.”

“Sorry, Mia. Forget me. Your Miss won’t appear again,” she said, cutting the thread like a knife on cord.

Better to fight for life than sit and wait for ruin; even on a road of cliffs, there’s always one ledge with a rope.

If your courage has wings, you’ll reach the end, even if storms blind the way.

“Miss, are you going… to the outside world?” Mia asked, the words trembling like a reed.

“…I don’t know,” Yun Shi said, uncertainty a fog-bank.

She didn’t even know if she could get out, a gate that might stay iron.

Maybe she’d slip into another corner of the Underworld, a shadow among shadows.

She might die before stepping past the threshold, a candle snuffed before dawn.

So much is unknown, but because of that, you push through, like a river that won’t turn back.

“Take me with you, Miss,” Mia said, surprise burning off into resolve like mist into sun, and her smile held steel under silk.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Yun Shi said, stern as a shut door. “It’s too dangerous. I won’t drag you into it. Give up.”

“I won’t slow you down!” Mia’s answer sprang like a hawk.

“No means no,” Yun Shi said, flat as stone.

She wouldn’t let Mia join her wrecking of fate; one person was enough to bear the storm, no need to pull another into rain and knives.

“Just keep quiet for me,” Yun Shi said, a final request like a sealed envelope. “Mia, goodbye.”

She snagged the bracelet from Mia’s hand like a twig caught by a current, and walked the opposite way on a dark road.

Mia could only watch her leave, eyes like night wells, and do nothing.

But in her chest, a plan unfurled like a paper crane.

Night came—the best chance, and the last hour—drifting down like velvet.

Yun Shi took a final look at her family, feelings rising and falling like tides; born here, leaving here, what an odd circle.

She had decided. She would leave the Quadra Eye Family and plunge into the Underworld. She’d planned to go after her engagement ceremony and after learning the secret arts, but now she would go early, like a seed sprouting before spring.

Kananin Rin had once said Yun Shi kept avoiding, never resisting, and that’s why the cell had closed like teeth.

If that’s true, then if she resists now, will she find a future? She didn’t know, but she was willing to search, lantern in hand.

She would challenge fate, a swimmer against a black current.

But first…

She had to deal with the two trailing behind her, shadows rustling like foxes in grass.

“Mia. Eil. Why are you following me?” Yun Shi asked, eyes sharp as blades, fixed on the siblings crouched in the brush.

“Miss, we…” Mia began, voice like a thread snagged on thorn.

“…” Eil stayed silent, tongue a stone, and the two walked out, sheepish as children caught under moonlight.

No one here seemed to know their gears had started to turn; once the cogs bite, there’s no room to turn back, only the grind forward.