The first blow came from nowhere—a chain snapping out of the smoke toward Ling Han's throat. Xiyue's sword caught it mid-air, steel ringing against steel.
Xiyue: "Yours?"
Ling Han: "Not mine anymore."
He wrenched the chain forward, dragging its wielder—a shadow in his own shape—into the open. The doppelgänger's eyes were cold mirrors, lips curling in silent accusation.
At the same time, the traitor-branded version of Ruo Han lunged at him, blade flashing.
Snow burst underfoot as Xiyue spun, blocking the strike aimed at Ruo Han's heart.
Xiyue: "I'll take him. You get the chain."
They moved like that—one word, one glance, each knowing where the other would be. Ruo Han ducked under the shadow's blade, slicing the chain that bound Ling Han's wrists. Ling Han pivoted, driving his sword through the burning hall's collapsing door to give Xiyue a path forward.
Every cut they made splintered the illusions, light bleeding through the cracks in the air. But the chimes only grew louder, each note slowing their movements, pulling at their thoughts.
Then the shadows changed tactics.
They began speaking.
Shadow Xiyue: "You failed him once. You'll do it again."
Shadow Ruo Han: "No matter how close you get, he will leave."
Shadow Ling Han: "You were never enough."
The words bit deeper than the steel. Ruo Han's grip faltered. Ling Han's stance tightened. Xiyue's breath came sharp.
And in that moment of hesitation—the chains struck again, the brand flared, the flames roared higher.
Xiyue, through clenched teeth: "We end it. Now."
They turned, three against three, cutting through their own ghosts while shielding each other from the ones they couldn't face. Every swing was heavier, every breath harder, until—
With one final strike, Xiyue shattered the burning hall's roof, Ruo Han ripped the brand from his double's neck, and Ling Han snapped the last chain.
The chimes fell silent.
The snow returned.
And the three of them stood in the pines again—closer than before, but with the weight of unspoken things between them.