The light released them without ceremony, the way it always did, and Lin Yue's first breath in the Game Hall tasted faintly of ash that wasn't there.
He blinked it away. Around him, the others were doing the same—He Jian rolling his shoulder as if checking it still worked, Zhou Ke pressing the heel of his hand briefly against one eye, Fang Yao steadying Wang Heyan with a hand at his elbow though neither of them needed it anymore. Residue. That was the only word Lin Yue had for it. The instance was over, the moon was gone, and still some thin film of it clung to the inside of his eyelids, red at the edges, fading a little more with every blink.
