The battlefield was silent, save for the howling wind that carried the scent of scorched earth and the distant echoes of a war that had already been lost. The ruins of a Xianzhou temple lay shattered beneath the weight of an unnatural force, its once-sacred grounds defiled by the creeping corruption of the Ambrosial Arbor. The sky, once clear, was now an endless abyss of violet and black, pulsating as if alive, as if watching.

She was a twisted echo of her former self, draped in flowing remnants of what was once her battle garb. She no longer looked entirely human. Her once-flowing silver hair had darkened with streaks of purple, shifting and writhing as though possessed by something beyond mortal comprehension. Jagged, iridescent scales had spread across her body, glistening in the dim light, growing like thorns from her skin. Her fingers, once calloused from wielding daggers, had transformed into razor-sharp claws, dripping with raw, unholy energy.

And her eyes—those irises that had once shimmered with laughter, mischief, and boundless life—were now voids of seething, fractured existence. She was barely holding herself together. Her breathing was ragged, uneven, each exhale a war between what little remained of Baiheng and the monstrous entity that had taken root inside her.

The corruption of the Arbor had consumed too much. There was no cure. No salvation. And yet, she smiled. A broken, tragic smile.

"...You're still here," Her voice was hoarse, struggling against the weight of her own decay. "Even now."

Her body trembled, fingers twitching, struggling to resist the unnatural hunger clawing at her mind. The whispers of the Arbor were louder now, screaming, demanding, taking. She took a step forward, then another, her movements slow, hesitant—as if afraid of what she might do. She had always been reckless, always danced too close to the edge, laughing in the face of danger. But she had never been afraid of dying. Not once. Not when she stood beside her friends, not when she fought against impossible odds.

But now, she was terrified. Of forgetting. Forgetting her own name. Forgetting her memories. Forgetting him. She staggered, one hand clutching at her chest, as if trying to hold back the corruption itself. The Arbor's influence flared, and for the briefest moment, her form flickered—her humanity fraying at the edges, something more twisted and inhuman emerging beneath the surface.

She was losing herself. And yet—through it all—he was still here.