The fire had gone low, its orange light flickering in uneven breaths. Beyond the broken gate, the city slept under a thin veil of fog — everything quiet, too quiet for comfort.
Violet hadn't left.
She was still sitting there beside him, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves dangling over her hands. Her eyes gleamed faintly — not from the fire, but from something inside.
> Yè Yī: "You're still here."
Violet: "You say that like it's a problem."
Yè Yī: "It is."
Violet: "Too bad."
She grinned — not wide, just enough to make him more uneasy than before.
> Violet: "Hey, wanna see something cool?"
> Yè Yī: "No."
Violet: "You're gonna anyway."
She turned slightly, stretching out her right arm to the side — hand clenched in a fist.
For a second, nothing. Then a faint hum. A ripple in the air.
A circle of light burst open beside her arm — thin, shifting rings stacked one over the other, each spinning in a different direction, like a clock trying to find its rhythm. The wheels rotated faster, faster — until the faint sound of wind wrapped around them.
It was beautiful and wrong at the same time. Ethereal blue, transparent but solid, the center glowing like starlight caught underwater.
Yè Yī's eyes widened. "What… is that?"
> Violet (quietly): "An Art. Something I made up."
> Yè Yī: "Made up?"
Violet: "Mhm. Not from any book, not from any Specialist class. Just—" she snapped her fingers "—an idea that wouldn't stay an idea."
She turned to him, that little smirk returning.
> Violet: "Here. Try it."
> Yè Yī: "I don't even know what that is."
Violet: "Good. That's the first rule. You're not supposed to."
She gestured. "Stretch out your arm. Don't think about it — just remember what it looked like."
Yè Yī hesitated, then sighed and extended his hand, mirroring her stance.
> Violet: "Now… pretend the air's listening."
He closed his fist. Nothing. Then—something shifted.
A whisper. A static crack.
Black light bled into the air like ink through paper. It formed a single spinning ring, dark and thin, growing into a web of layered circles, each moving opposite to the next — the same pattern as Violet's, but darker, heavier, like it carried weight.
The sound of it filled the air — a low vibration, alive and wrong.
Yè Yī stared. "What did I just—"
> Violet: "Shhh."
She leaned forward, eyes glowing faintly blue now, inspecting it like a scientist admiring her experiment.
> Violet: "Yours is black."
Yè Yī: "And yours is blue."
Violet: "Colors mean nothing. Intent does."
> Yè Yī: "You said you made it up."
Violet: "I did." A small smile. "Don't tell anyone."
> Yè Yī: "Who would I even tell?"
Violet: "Good point."
They stayed like that for a while — two strangers sitting by a dying fire, their twin wheels humming quietly against the night.
Somewhere deep in the ruins behind them, a faint vibration stirred — like something old and listening had just opened one eye.