Yaya didn't let go.
Even after the light vanished—after the final line of system text dissolved into the air like breath on glass—her fingers stayed curled around Ye Han's hand. His palm was still resting against her forehead. Her hair was warm beneath it. Slightly damp.
They stayed like that for a while.
He didn't ask what had happened.
The system didn't answer.
But the wind felt different. The quiet felt deeper. And something inside his chest—something he never looked at too closely—had gone still.
Yaya shifted. Not away. Closer.
She leaned into him, and for the first time since he had found her, **slept**.
---
Qingye Town was waking up when they returned.
Dawn stretched long shadows across the stone road. Smoke curled from the forge chimney. Water buckets clinked near the well, and the baker's son was shouting about loaves again.
No one asked who the girl was.
Ye Han carried her most of the way. She walked the last stretch, wrapped in his coat, her hand tucked loosely into his sleeve. The hem dragged in the dust. Her footsteps made no sound.
A few townsfolk glanced their way.
No one spoke.
That was something Ye Han appreciated about Qingye. It wasn't kind. But it didn't pry.
---
The old storage hut near the ridge still leaned at a crooked angle.
Ye Han slid the door open, wiped the mat near the back wall, and waited for Yaya to step inside. She didn't look at him—only the corners, the dust, the tiny window near the top beam. But she walked in.
He brought her a blanket later. Found an old clay cup. Left a half-loaf of bread near her elbow.
She said nothing.
But when he rose to leave, her hand caught his coat.
Just lightly. Just enough.
He stayed a little longer.
---
That night, the system whispered.
> "Ledger Page 1: Stable."
> "Aura Link: Sustained."
> "Current Status: Held."
Held.
Ye Han didn't know what it meant to hold someone in a ledger.
But when he checked the hut before dawn and saw her curled under the blanket, still breathing steady, still asleep—
He thought maybe it didn't matter.
---
The shouting started near midmorning.
Ye Han had just drawn water from the well when it echoed down the alley behind the forge—sharp, fast, too close together.
Then came the scream.
And a burst of red light.
He set the buckets down.
---
The alley behind the smithy had a dozen people standing outside it, none too close. Most of them wore wariness like an old habit. One of them—a grocer—held a broom like it was a spear.
In the center of the alley, a boy knelt in the dirt. Ten, maybe eleven. Face pale, arms wrapped around his ribs.
Under his skin, light pulsed—red and raw, like veins filled with fire. It flickered every time he breathed.
"He's flaring again," someone muttered.
"Third time this month."
"No guild band?"
"Unregistered. Unstable."
> When a system spiraled, the discharge could burn through walls—or people. Especially in children.
No one stepped closer.
Ye Han did.
---
He didn't speak. Didn't shout.
Didn't use his own system—if that's what it was.
He just walked forward. Quiet. Deliberate.
The boy's eyes flicked up.
The flare brightened for a moment—reflex. But then, as Ye Han stopped beside him, the glow stuttered. Dimmed. Once. Twice. Then steadied low.
The boy gasped. Not in fear.
In relief.
Ye Han knelt beside him. Didn't touch him. Just let his shadow fall across the boy's back.
The red light stayed low.
---
> "New Page Detected."
> "Unbound Echo Registered."
> "Echo: 'I don't want to hurt anyone anymore.'"
> "Ledger Entry Created."
> "Passive Unlocked: Aura Dampening – System flares within 3m of Warden presence reduce by 8%."
Ye Han let out a breath.
The boy slumped forward, trembling—but unburned.
---
Someone behind them whispered, "How'd he do that?"
No one answered.
But a seed had been planted.
And somewhere near the alley's edge, a small figure stood watching—the hem of a too-large coat brushing against her ankles.
Yaya didn't speak.
But her eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on Ye Han's back.
Like something in her recognized what had just happened.