I did not answer her immediately, not because I lacked words, but because every instinct inside me was measuring distance, weight, consequence, and survival all at once, and the silence between us thickened into something almost tangible as the moonlight traced the calm certainty in her posture and the talismans around the courtyard continued to hum uselessly, aware that whatever stood before me was not bound by rules they understood.
"You are standing inside a warded courtyard that answers directly to heaven," I said slowly, forcing each word to stretch and settle instead of rushing out like fear wanted them to, "and yet you walk as though the laws that govern this place were written for someone else, so before I decide whether to call the guards or listen to you, I want to know why you believe I would trust a stranger who speaks of regret and blood as casually as others speak of weather."
Her gaze sharpened at that, not with anger, but with something closer to approval, and she circled me with unhurried steps, her presence brushing against my senses in a way that made the seal in my chest stir uneasily, as though recognizing an echo of itself and resenting the reminder.
"Because," she replied calmly, her voice carrying an old authority that did not ask for permission to exist, "you already understand that calling the guards would only hasten the shape of your death, and because despite what heaven branded you today, you are not as ignorant of danger as they hoped you would be."
I clenched my fists at my sides, aware of how close she was now, aware of how the air between us felt heavier, warmer, charged with something that was not quite hostility and not quite invitation, and when I spoke again, it was with the kind of care one used when stepping onto thin ice.
"You speak as though my fate has already been decided," I said, meeting her eyes without flinching, "but heaven made it very clear that I am only a possibility, a threat that may be erased if it grows inconvenient, so tell me why you believe your arrival changes that."
She stopped directly in front of me then, close enough that I could see the faint lines etched into her irises like ancient script, close enough that the seal in my chest pulsed painfully as though responding to her proximity, and when she reached out, her fingers did not touch me, but hovered just above my skin, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with fear.
"Because heaven does not mark things it does not intend to destroy," she said softly, her voice lowering as though the walls themselves might be listening, "and because sealed beast imprints do not awaken quietly, they either rot their vessels from the inside or tear the world open when the seal cracks, and heaven would rather kill you young than admit it made a mistake."
My breath caught despite myself, not because her words were new, but because she spoke them with the intimacy of someone who had lived through the same judgment and survived long enough to mock it, and for the first time since the awakening ceremony, I felt something shift inside me that was not despair.
"You speak like someone who knows what happens after heaven decides," I said, my voice rougher now, stripped of its earlier composure, "so if you are here to warn me, then speak plainly, and if you are here to use me, then do not insult me by pretending otherwise."
Her lips curved slightly, not into a smile, but into something far more dangerous, and she finally let her fingers brush my chest, directly over the seal, the contact brief but electric, like a spark dragged across dry tinder.
"I am here," she said, her tone measured and honest in a way that felt almost obscene, "because heaven failed to kill me once, and because I require a vessel that it cannot fully control, and because you, Lin Yue, are standing at the precise intersection of fear and potential that only appears once every few centuries."
The way she said my name made it feel heavier, as though it carried a history I had not yet lived, and I stepped back instinctively, my heart racing as the seal flared and then settled, leaving behind a dull ache that pulsed in time with my thoughts.
"You expect me to believe that this is coincidence," I said, forcing myself to breathe evenly, "that you found me on the very night heaven declared me a calamity because fate simply wished it so."
She tilted her head slightly, studying me as though reassessing a calculation, and when she spoke again, there was no amusement left in her voice, only something sharp and cold and very real.
"Coincidence is a lie heaven tells mortals so they will not notice its patterns," she replied, "and tonight, those patterns led me to you because the seal inside your body is beginning to weaken far earlier than it should."
My blood ran cold at that, my hand flying instinctively to my chest as the implications settled heavily, and I stared at her, searching her expression for deceit and finding none.
"Weaken," I repeated quietly, "that is not possible, the Examiner said it would remain dormant for years, long enough for them to decide whether to erase me."
"Yes," she said simply, her eyes darkening as though remembering something painful, "and the Examiner was either lying to preserve order, or ignorant of the fact that your seal is reacting to proximity, emotion, and exposure to higher-ranked existences, all of which you experienced tonight."
I swallowed hard, the courtyard suddenly feeling much smaller, much more exposed, as the weight of her words pressed down on me, and when I spoke again, there was a tremor in my voice I did not bother to hide.
"If the seal breaks," I asked, "what happens to me."
She did not answer immediately, and the pause that followed stretched painfully, filled with the hum of talismans and the distant sounds of the sleeping clan beyond the walls, and when she finally spoke, her voice was low and unyielding.
"Either you die," she said, "or you become something heaven cannot afford to let exist."
The truth of that settled between us like a blade laid carefully on a table, and I laughed once, softly and without humor, the sound scraping my throat as I looked up at the moon that had witnessed my branding only hours earlier.
"And you," I said slowly, lifting my gaze back to her face, "where do you fit into this choice you are offering me."
Her eyes did not leave mine as she answered, her voice carrying the certainty of a woman who had already decided the outcome long before she arrived.
"I fit into the part where you survive," she said quietly, "because if you accept my guidance, my seal, and my name, heaven will no longer be able to pretend you are merely a mistake."
The night seemed to hold its breath, the talismans flickering wildly as though sensing a shift they could not prevent, and I realized with sudden clarity that whatever she was offering was not salvation, but escalation, a path that would make retreat impossible.
"You are asking me to bind myself to someone heaven already failed to erase," I said, my voice steady despite the storm gathering inside me, "and you expect me to believe that doing so will not simply paint a larger target on my back."
She stepped closer again, close enough that I could feel her breath against my ear as she spoke the final words of the night, words that settled into my bones and refused to leave.
"I am not asking you to believe it," she whispered, her tone dark with promise and threat alike, "I am asking you whether you are willing to be hunted for the rest of your life, or whether you would rather become the reason heaven starts losing sleep."