"You want to make me into him," Tian Shen said bitterly, standing up.
"Piece by piece. You want me to believe I'm already walking that path."
He walked over, picked up the box, and stared into it one last time.
He saw that whisper of power. Of destiny. Of temptation.
He remembered what Feng Yan had said.
A blessing—or a curse.
He thought of Feng Yin's warm smile, of her steady hands on his cheeks when he felt lost.
Of the way she called his name with affection, not fear.
He thought of her, who trusted him more than anyone in the world.
He thought of the seed pulsing gently within his soul—warm, like the beginning of spring.
And he thought of that dream.
He tightened his grip on the box.
"No," he said aloud.
"I choose a different legacy."
He didn't take it to anyone.
Didn't alert Feng Yan.
He walked to the edge of a cliff not far from the temporary camp, where the winds howled like ghosts and the trees below creaked under their own weight.
The sky was starless.
