"Leora, why are you here?" Lord Ling's voice was icy, slicing through the air with authority sharp enough to draw blood. Power radiated from him like a storm about to break. Shao instinctively shrank behind him, heart pounding, head spinning with pain. His vision blurred. A ringing filled his ears, and he struggled to stay on his feet.

  "Why am I here? Really?" Leora’s voice was low, husky—like smoke curling through steel bars. It was soft, but it could pierce through skin and soul alike.

  Shao dared to peek out from behind Ling, and the moment he saw her, he forgot how to breathe.

  She was stunning—almost unearthly. Long silver hair flowed down her back like molten moonlight, and her eyes… gods, those eyes. They were beautiful but empty—hollow, merciless. Like love had once lived there but had long since been drowned in centuries of betrayal.

  “How could I not be here,” she continued, “when the greatest sorcerer of our time—Wang Jian—the one who caused me the most pain, has returned from the grave?”

  Wang Jian? Shao’s thoughts spun in chaos. Was that... me? In another life? Why does that name feel like a sword through my ribs?

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  His anxiety clawed at him. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing.

  “You have no permission to be here,” Ling said coldly. “You will leave now. I won’t let you lay a hand on him again. Not in this life. Never.”

  His voice was like iron and fire—undeniable. For a moment, Leora hesitated, her eyes narrowing.

  “Still trying to play the royal card, Lord Ling?” she spat. “You think your title can shield him forever? It won’t work. Not when I learn the truth about your past life… and your real connection to Wang Jian.”

  Ling’s jaw tensed. The temperature in the room dropped.

  “You should leave. Now.”

  There was a pause.

  Then—the door slammed shut on its own.

  Silence.

  Shao staggered, the ache in his chest unbearable now. Ling turned to catch him before he fell.

  “She’ll be back,” Ling muttered. “And next time, she won’t come alone.”

  He helped Shao to the bed, gently resting a hand on his forehead. But the moment their skin touched, another vision exploded behind Shao’s eyes—a battlefield, drenched in fire and blood. Lord Ling, with black wings. And Shao—no, Wang Jian—standing over a corpse. A woman’s corpse. Leora.

  Shao gasped. “I... I killed her?”

  Ling flinched. He didn’t answer.

  “Why don’t I remember everything?” Shao asked, gripping the sheets. “What are you hiding from me?”

  Before Ling could respond, a shadow unfurled in the corner of the room.

  It wasn’t human.

  It wasn’t even alive.

  A figure stepped out—tall, cloaked, faceless. The air around it grew heavy and bitter. A low whisper echoed inside their minds.

  “Two souls bound by fate. But only one may remain.”

  Shao’s body went rigid.

  Ling drew his sword instantly. “Reaper.”

  The shadow tilted its head, amused.

  “You broke the balance when you brought him back. Now the debt must be paid. The soul of Wang Jian belongs to me.”