The morning was still, but it carried the weight of sorrow heavier than any storm.

  Feiyin sat close to Yue, his hand moving gently through her hair as she sobbed against his chest. His other hand rested on her back, offering what little comfort he could, though his own heart felt hollow. His eyes, usually sharp and full of purpose, were clouded, staring numbly at the still form before them.

  Hui lay there, her body covered by his robe, the fabric barely shielding her from the cruel reality of what had been done to her. Even in death, traces of the nightmare she endured clung to her skin. But now, wrapped in his robe, she was at least hidden from prying eyes, given back a sliver of dignity that had been stolen from her.

  The sun was rising, its golden light filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls, yet it did nothing to warm him.

  The quiet was broken by the sound of a door creaking open. Feiyin lifted his head as Shen Mu and Ren stepped out from the adjoining room, their faces carved from stone, their hands still stained crimson. In each of their grips, they held a severed head.

  Kui Long’s expression was frozen in horror, mouth parted in an eternal, soundless scream. Shin’s was eerily calm, as if in his last moments, he had finally understood that he had no right to struggle against the inevitable.

  Feiyin let out a slow breath, looking away from the grisly sight. He pressed his lips against the crown of Yue’s head in a silent gesture before gently shifting her to the side.

  “It’s time,” he murmured.

  Yue sniffled, rubbing at her swollen eyes as Feiyin stood, moving toward Hui. He bent down, his arms sliding beneath her, lifting her with the same care one would a sleeping child. Her body, though cold, felt strangely light in his grasp.

  No one spoke as they left the cabin, stepping into the quiet morning. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft sobs that escaped Yue as they walked.

  They made their way through the forest, their path already decided without words. It was a place they all knew well—a small hill, near a sturdy old tree where they had often gathered after missions, seeking solace in rare moments of peace.

  The air was different there. The breeze carried scents of earth and leaves, crisp and fresh, yet it only heightened the ache in Feiyin’s chest.

  As they stepped onto the hill, memories flooded them. They had spent so many evenings here, roasting meat beneath the shade, sharing laughter, teasing Hui about how seriously she took her cooking. She had always been the first to prepare the fire, the last to sit down, making sure everything was perfect for them.

  Feiyin clenched his jaw, his throat tightening. The lump he had been holding down since last night finally surged forward, and his vision blurred as tears spilled silently down his face. He inhaled shakily, trying to contain the storm inside him, but it was impossible.

  Beside him, Ren cursed under his breath, his voice thick as he wiped furiously at his eyes. "Damn it, damn it, damn it..."

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  Yue fell to her knees, pressing her forehead to the grass, her sobs raw and unrestrained.

  Shen Mu stood rigid, his head tilted back as if looking at the sky, his lips pressed so tightly together they had turned pale. But the tremor in his shoulders betrayed him.

  Feiyin looked down at Hui in his arms. Despite the traces of abuse that marred her, despite the cold that seeped from her skin, under the soft glow of the rising sun, she almost seemed… at peace. As if, just for a moment, she had returned to the safety of their little group, ready to cook one more meal, to chastise them for eating too quickly, to blush shyly as they teased her.

  A fresh wave of pain crashed over him, but he forced himself to breathe. He needed to be steady. Just a little longer.

  With a shaky breath, he knelt down, setting her down gently beneath the tree.

  “It’s time,” he repeated, his voice hoarse.

  Ren stepped forward, handing him a shovel without a word.

  Feiyin took it and drove it into the earth.

  The sound of metal hitting soil felt too final, too cruel.

  But there was no hesitation.

  One after another, the others joined him. No one spoke, but their movements were swift, determined. The trench deepened quickly beneath their combined effort, dirt flying as they worked with the desperation of those trying to stave off reality just a little longer.

  As they neared the final depth, Yue, her voice steadier now, murmured, "She loved to watch the sunsets here, under the shade."

  Feiyin paused, nodding slowly, his grip tightening on the shovel. "Yeah… she used to say it was like a lullaby. She’d always end up falling asleep watching."

  Ren let out a shuddering breath. "And she’d chastise us for being too loud while she was trying to ‘appreciate the moment.’"

  Shen Mu exhaled shakily, his voice barely above a whisper. "And when we actually quieted down, she’d just smile at the sky, like it was telling her a secret only she could hear."

  A faint, bittersweet smile flickered over Feiyin’s lips before it faded.

  They laid her down, covering her gently in the remaining fabric of their robes, leaving themselves only in their tunics. Each motion, each handful of dirt they tossed onto her, felt like another stab to their hearts. A quiet, irreversible truth that she was gone.

  When the last bit of earth settled, they stood together in front of the grave, huddling close, as if trying to share what little warmth remained between them.

  Feiyin took a step forward, toward the tree. His fingers curled around his saber, and with careful, precise movements, he carved into the bark:

  Here lies Hui Ying.

  He stepped back, letting the others take their turn.

  Shen Mu approached first, his needle scratching delicate strokes beside the name.

  A dear friend.

  Yue followed, her claws marking deep, unwavering lines.

  A beloved sister.

  Ren hesitated, then with a dagger, he etched his words beneath the others.

  And the best damn cook in the world.

  They stood in silence, staring at the words, at the tree that would stand watch over her. Then, Feiyin stepped forward again, placing the two severed heads beneath the trunk. He dipped his saber into the pooling blood, letting it stain the steel, and carved the final words:

  May she rest in peace.

  He let the silence stretch before finishing.

  I promise, this is just the beginning.

  The wind carried their grief into the sky, and as the sun climbed higher, they stood together, a quiet, unyielding promise taking root in their souls.

  Hui would not be forgotten.

  And this would not go unpunished.