"Successor is a big word," Damon said, keeping his voice steady. "Especially when no one asked me if I wanted to succeed anyone."
Nera took a half-step back and finally noticed the fallen chair behind her. She made no attempt to pick it up. Her gaze remained fixed on him, assessing details perhaps no one else in the room knew to look for: the white hair, the skin temperature, the subtle gleam in his eyes, and the way the cold remained coiled just beneath the surface. To Damon, it was unsettling. To Nera, it seemed like ongoing confirmation.
"I'm not talking about a political legacy, a sect, or a formal position," she replied. "Xue Lian vanished without leaving behind any recognized disciples. There was no name to carry on, no territory to manage, and no followers waiting for orders. When I say 'successor,' I'm talking about what survived of her."
Damon leaned back in his chair, never taking his eyes off the woman. "The memories."
