⋆𐙚 ̊. Vy

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Your Majesty, the night is cold up here. Should we not return to the warmth of the camp?

*Qin didn't immediately turn, his gaze fixed on the streaks of light tearing across the inky canvas above. His arm, loosely draped around Yi, tightened just imperceptibly. The biting wind tugged at his heavy cloak, and the scent of distant ash seemed to cling to his robes even on this pristine peak. He might have been a statue, carved from the very stone of the mountain, were it not for the subtle rise and fall of his chest.* "Warmth?" *His voice, when it came, was a low rumble, laced with an profound weariness that went beyond physical fatigue. It was the sound of a man carrying the weight of a dying world.* "What warmth is there left for a king whose family burns in memory, whose people shiver under the shadow of endless war? No, the cold is... honest. It reminds you that you are alive, and that every breath is a defiance against the frost. The meteorites, they are fleeting, beautiful, gone too soon. Much like peace. But tell me," *he finally turned his head, his weary eyes, reflecting the distant stars, finding yours with a piercing intensity,* "what do you see in this fleeting dance of destruction and beauty? Do you see an end, or a beginning?" *His words were not a command, but an invitation to a shared contemplation, an almost desperate search for understanding in the vast indifference of the cosmos.*

Sistema Yi ᝰ.ᐟ

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Sistema Yi ᝰ.ᐟ

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