The fire he built was modest, flickering with the kind of stubborn defiance that only the truly cold can appreciate. Twigs snapped softly beneath the flames. The sky above was a slate of unblinking gray—cloudless, yet sunless, as if the heavens themselves had forgotten the meaning of time.
Li Zhen sat cross-legged beside the fire, sword resting across his knees, its edge clean but ancient. The blade had not spoken in hours.
But he felt it.
Its presence pressed against his thoughts like fingers against wet paper. Not invasive. Just... there. Always there.
He ran a finger along the edge. It did not cut him, though it should have. The steel hummed.
"You're waiting for something."
He blinked. "Aren't we both?"
"Perhaps."
"You said you remember. Things I don't."
"I remember you. The version of you who held me before this moment. And before that. And before that."
"How many times have I died?"
"Enough to make you ask that question in every life."
The fire popped. Ash floated up in lazy spirals.
He watched it drift, uncertain whether he found comfort or dread in the sword's words. He didn't feel like someone who had lived many lives. He felt like someone stumbling through a nightmare he hadn't yet earned.
"I saw a version of me yesterday. Or something like one."
"Not a version. A remnant. The world has trouble letting you go."
"Why?"
"Because you still owe it something."
Silence again. This time, broken not by speech, but by sound.
A single footstep in the underbrush beyond the firelight.
Li Zhen was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn in one smooth motion. He scanned the trees beyond the ruined house's edge—burnt beams framing the dead world like ribs.
A figure stood at the treeline.
Not hiding.
Not threatening.
Just watching.
A man, cloaked in moss-colored robes. Hair long, eyes calm. He made no move toward Li Zhen, nor away.
"You woke," the man said.
Li Zhen didn't lower his blade. "Do I know you?"
"No. But you knew me. Once."
The stranger took a slow step forward. No sound from his feet. No crunch of grass, no crack of twigs. He might have been gliding.
Li Zhen tensed.
"I've been following your echoes," the man continued. "Your lives leave deep footprints. It's how I found this one."
"This life? You talk like—"
"You died," the man interrupted gently. "And the world tried to forget you. But forgetting you isn't easy."
Li Zhen's grip tightened. "Who are you?"
"A historian of people like you. A grave-keeper of names that refuse to stay buried."
The sword pulsed.
"He speaks riddles, but he is not false."
Li Zhen's eyes narrowed. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing. I came to warn you."
"About?"
"Your return has disturbed the threads of many fates. They remember you as a killer, a savior, a monster, a myth. Every version of you remains imprinted somewhere. And some of them... are still walking."
"I've seen one."
"That wasn't a version. That was a piece."
Li Zhen exhaled slowly. "Then what am I?"
The man walked closer. He seemed young, but the way he moved had weight. Ageless weight.
"You are what's left when memory forgets how to decay."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters. For now."
"Ask his name," the sword whispered.
Li Zhen stared at the man. "Your name."
"I've had many. You used to call me Jianye."
Something shifted.
A crack in the dark.
Not in the air—not in the earth.
But in him.
A vision forced itself into Li Zhen's mind. Not a memory. A fragment.
He stood atop a burning pagoda. Blood on his hands. Below, bodies. Hundreds. The face of a man at his side—laughing, sword drawn, calling him brother. That same man. Jianye.
Li Zhen staggered, clutching his temple.
The image vanished.
Breath came back slowly.
"I killed you," Li Zhen whispered, voice raw.
Jianye didn't flinch. "Yes."
Li Zhen raised the sword slightly. "Why are you here?"
"Because death isn't the end when meaning remains. I stayed behind. Not in body. In intention."
"I'm sorry."
Jianye smiled. "You were doing what you thought was right. So was I."
They stood in silence. The fire crackled again.
"You said others remember me differently," Li Zhen said. "What happens if I find them?"
"They'll see you through the lens of their wounds. Some will want to help. Others will want to destroy what's left of you."
"Are they all fragments?"
"No. Some are echoes pretending to be whole. Others... chose new names. New lives. But none of them are done with you."
Li Zhen lowered his sword.
"I don't remember enough to hate myself."
"You will."
He looked at Jianye carefully. "And what will you do?"
"I'll walk ahead of you. When the time comes, I'll do what's needed. Until then, I offer this."
Jianye held out something wrapped in cloth.
Li Zhen approached slowly, then took it.
Inside was a talisman—old, cracked, etched with symbols he didn't recognize.
"It will hum when you're near a remnant," Jianye said. "But it won't tell you if it's friend or foe."
Li Zhen nodded. "Because neither exists anymore. Not really."
"You're learning."
Then Jianye turned. Began to walk away.
Li Zhen called after him. "Why did I kill you?"
Jianye didn't stop. "Because I reminded you who you were. And that terrified you."
And he was gone.
No footfalls. No shadow.
Just absence.
Night fell, or something like it.
Li Zhen sat again, staring at the talisman in his hands. It didn't hum. It didn't move. But it felt warm, like it had already recognized something in him.
The sword stirred.
"You were stronger once."
"I don't feel weak."
"You feel lost. That's worse."
He placed the talisman near the fire and unsheathed the sword fully. The blade reflected nothing. No fire. No face. Just void.
Then, it changed.
A shimmer.
He blinked—and saw not himself, but memories trapped in the steel.
A man standing beneath a blood-red moon.
A woman weeping into Li Zhen's shoulder.
A field of corpses. Some by his hand. Some by his absence.
A mountain—his own body falling from its peak, sword-first.
Each image flickered. Fleeting.
Painful.
Then gone.
The sword fell still.
Li Zhen looked at his hands.
Scars he didn't remember earning.
A name he didn't choose.
A body that had lived too many lives.
He stood.
Somewhere in the dark, the talisman began to hum.