The fire had gone low, its orange light flickering in uneven breaths.
Beyond the broken gate, the city slept under a thin veil of fog — everything quiet, too quiet for comfort.
Violet hadn’t left.
She was still sitting there beside him, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves dangling over her hands.
Her eyes gleamed faintly — not from the fire, but from something inside.
> Yè Yī: “You’re still here.”
Violet: “You say that like it’s a problem.”
Yè Yī: “It is.”
Violet: “Too bad.”
She grinned — not wide, just enough to make him more uneasy than before.
> Violet: “Hey, wanna see something cool?”
> Yè Yī: “No.”
Violet: “You’re gonna anyway.”
She turned slightly, stretching out her right arm to the side — hand clenched in a fist.
For a second, nothing.
Then a faint hum.
A ripple in the air.
A circle of light burst open beside her arm — thin, shifting rings stacked one over the other, each spinning in a different direction, like a clock trying to find its rhythm.
The wheels rotated faster, faster — until the faint sound of wind wrapped around them.
It was beautiful and wrong at the same time.
Yè Yī’s eyes widened.
“What… is that?”
> Violet (quietly): “An Art.
Something I made up.”
> Yè Yī: “Made up?”
Violet: “Mhm.
Not from any book, not from any Specialist class.
Just—” she snapped her fingers “—an idea that wouldn’t stay an idea.”
She turned to him, that little smirk returning.
> Violet: “Here.
Try it.”
> Yè Yī: “I don’t even know what that is.”
Violet: “Good.
That’s the first rule.
You’re not supposed to.”
She gestured.
“Stretch out your arm.
Don’t think about it — just remember what it looked like.”
Yè Yī hesitated, then sighed and extended his hand, mirroring her stance.
> Violet: “Now… pretend the air’s listening.”
He closed his fist.
Then—something shifted.
A whisper.
A static crack.
Black light bled into the air like ink through paper.
It formed a single spinning ring, dark and thin, growing into a web of layered circles, each moving opposite to the next — the same pattern as Violet’s, but darker, heavier, like it carried weight.
The sound of it filled the air — a low vibration, alive and wrong.
Yè Yī stared.
“What did I just—”
> Violet: “Shhh.”
She leaned forward, eyes glowing faintly blue now, inspecting it like a scientist admiring her experiment.
> Violet: “Yours is black.”
Yè Yī: “And yours is blue.”
Violet: “Colors mean nothing.
Intent does.”
> Yè Yī: “You said you made it up.”
Violet: “I did.” A small smile.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
> Yè Yī: “Who would I even tell?”
Violet: “Good point.”
They stayed like that for a while — two strangers sitting by a dying fire, their twin wheels humming quietly against the night.
Somewhere deep in the ruins behind them, a faint vibration stirred — like something old and listening had just opened one eye.