"Thank you for the visit, Nightbane, but I should have lunch with Spark now." Flint shifted carefully on the bed, mindful of her injured legs stretched out before her. Her hands fidgeted with the blanket's edge as she glanced between the two men, tension building in her chest.

But Nightbane's face lit up at the sight of Spark, his amber eyes sparkling with enthusiasm that seemed wildly misplaced given the crackling tension in the room. "Oh, Spark! I was just thinking about our lovely chat the other day." He bounced on his heels, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the way Spark's jaw clenched at his words. "Why don't we all have lunch together? I'd love to continue our discussion about—"

Spark strode past him without a word, his movements sharp and precise. With one fluid motion, he grabbed the small wooden table and repositioned it next to Flint's bed, the legs scraping against the floor with a harsh sound that made her wince. The table now served as a perfect height for her to eat while sitting propped against the headboard, though she doubted Spark's thoughtful arrangement was meant to be noticed amid his obvious anger.

But Nightbane dropped into the chair right next to Spark. He leaned in close, that strange eclipse mark on his forehead seeming to pulse with his excitement. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you about your experiences in the Inferno Wolf clan. It must be fascinating being a prince—"

"Get. Out."

The words cut through the room like ice, each syllable dripping with aristocratic disdain. Spark hadn't moved, hadn't even turned his head, but the temperature in the small room seemed to drop several degrees.

Nightbane froze, his perpetual enthusiasm faltering for the first time as understanding slowly dawned in his amber eyes. His ears – just visible beneath his dark hair – twitched nervously. "Oh, I didn't mean to offend. Perhaps we could talk about something else—"

The chopsticks slammed against the wooden table with a sharp crack that echoed through the small room. Spark's golden eyes, usually so carefully controlled, blazed with a predatory fury that betrayed his royal heritage. "Get. Out," he snarled again, the aristocratic polish completely stripped from his voice, leaving only raw anger. His fingers remained curled around the chopsticks, knuckles white with tension.

"Ah... right... well..." Nightbane stumbled backward, his earlier confidence evaporating like morning dew. His hand fluttered in an awkward wave as he retreated toward the door, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Enjoy your meal..." The words tumbled out in a nervous rush as he slipped through the doorway, the eclipse mark on his forehead seeming dimmer than before.

In the sudden silence that followed, Flint stared at Spark, trying to reconcile this seething figure with the composed prince she knew. She watched as his shoulders remained rigid, his breathing still heavy with barely contained rage. Her fingers twisted in the blanket as she pieced together the fragments of conversation, the hints of a previous meeting. Finally, her voice came out small and uncertain: "You've... met before?"

The question hung in the air between them, as delicate as a soap bubble and just as likely to burst at the slightest touch.

Spark's jaw tightened as he deliberately ignored Flint's question. His golden eyes, usually warm when looking at her, had frosted over with an arctic chill. "Why was he here?" The words came out clipped and precise, each syllable carved from ice.

Flint felt her chest tighten with an absurd sense of guilt, as if she'd been caught having an affair – which was ridiculous, she knew, but Spark's cold demeanor made her feel defensive nonetheless. "He was just passing by," she mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her blanket. "He wanted to... to introduce himself..."

"He's not a good person..." Spark turned away abruptly, his movements sharp as he reached for the bamboo food container. The rich aroma of fried pork cutlet wafted through the room as he opened it. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl: "Not a good dog, either."

"Why?" Flint watched his profile, noting how the muscles in his jaw worked. To her, Nightbane had seemed merely overenthusiastic, perhaps a bit socially unaware, but certainly not malicious.

"There is no why." Spark's voice had that aristocratic finality to it again as he picked up the chopsticks. He held them out to her, his movements precise and controlled, though tension still radiated from his shoulders. "It's intuition. Now eat."

———

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room as Sage South Rain settled into the chair beside Flint's bed. In her hands, she held a pair of intricately carved wooden crutches, their surface smooth and polished to a gentle sheen.

"I visited the Abyssal Pavilion," South Rain began, her voice carrying its usual tranquil tone. Her fingers traced the delicate patterns on the crutches as she spoke. "I went to ask Wind Patio about any records Obsidian Snow might have left behind." She paused, a peculiar smile playing at the corners of her lips. "These crutches... someone there heard about your injury and insisted on making them for you."

That smile deepened, becoming something more complex – a mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and perhaps a touch of melancholy. "The person who made these... or should I say, the tree..." She shook her head slightly, silver hairpins catching the light. "He has quite an unusual way of doing things. He chopped off everything below his neck, but there was no blood. Instead, the severed body transformed into a pine tree, complete with branches."

Her clear eyes sparkled with barely contained mirth as she continued, "And there he was, just a head and half a shoulder, eagerly directing his friend to craft these crutches." She gestured at the the crutches across Flint’s laps. "The next morning, his body had fully regenerated. He was absolutely delighted, saying he felt honored that a part of him could be of help to you."

Flint's brow furrowed, her mind flickering back to that snowy day in the forest. She remembered the stark image of Spark's teeth tearing through Lenient Pine's arm, the way the severed limb had transformed into a branch bristling with pine needles, drawing blood from Spark's mouth. The memory sent a chill down her spine despite the warm afternoon sun.

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"Was it Lenient Pine?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, though she already knew the answer. The thought of someone willingly dismembering themselves to craft her a pair of crutches filled her with a strange mixture of gratitude and unease.

"You know him?" South Rain's eyes lit up with delighted surprise, the silver hairpins in her dark hair catching the afternoon light as she leaned forward.

Flint shifted uncomfortably on her bed, her fingers absently tracing the grain of the wooden crutches. "We... had a brief conversation under less than friendly circumstances." She paused, weighing her words. "Wind Patio was leading him and another person in pursuit of Spark at the time."

"Oh—" South Rain's smile transformed into something sardonic, though the mockery wasn't directed at Flint. Her voice dropped to a contemplative murmur, rich with irony: "To think old Wind would end up leading The Bamboo Sovereign in pursuit of Obsidian Snow..." She shook her head, causing the pendant on her hairpin to sway in unison.

"That pine tree has much he wishes to tell you," South Rain continued, her clear eyes studying Flint's reaction. "He begged me to bring you to the Abyssal Pavilion. He misses you terribly." She emphasized the word 'terribly' with such deliberate weight that it seemed to hang in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

"Should I go now?" Flint asked, unconsciously straightening against her pillows.

South Rain's laugh was soft but sharp-edged, like wind through autumn leaves. "I told him to wait a few years. After all," her lips curved in another mockery-laden smile, "as long as Wind Patio doesn't accidentally poison him to death, his lifespan is quite considerable." She smoothed her white robes with elegant fingers, her movements precise and measured. "The cultivation world isn't as safe as it appears. I informed him that you would visit the Abyssal Pavilion only after reaching Adept level."

South Rain settled more comfortably in her chair, her movements carrying the fluid grace of centuries of cultivation. "Let me share the most valuable discovery from my visit." She raised her left hand, the storage ring on her fourth finger gleaming as she retrieved a book with practiced ease. "Obsidian Snow created many cultivation methods, most of which have been lost to time, unfortunately. This book appears to be written by someone else, but it contains Obsidian Snow's marginalia. She seems to have practiced these methods herself."

She extended the book to Flint, her voice softening with an almost imperceptible sadness. "Do try to keep better records than she did." The words carried a weight that seemed to stretch across centuries.

Flint carefully propped the crutches against the wall by her bedhead before accepting the tome. Her eyes traced the title emblazoned across its cover: "Twilight Harmony Cultivation." Next to the title was the author’s name, Sage Twilight. Opening to the first page, she found herself drawn into the author's meandering introduction:

In my youth, I discovered I possessed two conflicting Spirit Roots of Gifted level - Light Element and Shadow Element. Finding no existing methods to cultivate such opposing forces, I departed from the cultivation world... At fifty-six, after losing my wife and son to tragedy, I abandoned my homeland in despair... While watching the sunset by the sea, enlightenment struck me - where day and night overlap, opposition must contain harmony. I began experimenting with absorbing these contradictory natural aura. Twenty years later, at seventy-six, I achieved Adept Level... As I pen these words, I have lived six hundred and twenty-seven years and reached Legend level…

The writing carried the unhurried confidence of someone who had discovered profound truths through centuries of patient observation.

Flint stared at the book, her brow furrowing. Without any spirit roots, how could she practice these methods? Skipping past the author's meandering introduction, she found herself studying an abstract diagram of the human body. The eyes and digestive tract were drawn with particular emphasis – beside the eyes, an annotation indicated "Light Element natural aura" flowing inward, while near the digestive system, another note marked "Shadow Element natural aura" paths. Below, an urgent warning was scrawled: NEVER REVERSE THE FLOW!!!

The memory of her own bloody eyes after attempting to absorb Shadow Element natural aura made her wince. If only she'd had this book earlier. In the margins, Obsidian Snow's sparse notes caught her attention: "Can use others' spirit roots." Another notation read simply: "Can split Genesis into two types."

"Obsidian Snow was certainly economical with words," Flint thought wryly. "Just like me. Perhaps that's fitting for my past life."

She turned the book toward South Rain, her finger tracing the diagram. "I tried absorbing Shadow Element natural aura once... my eyes started bleeding. This shows it should go through the digestive tract instead – that's actually quite helpful. I could try that next time."

"You can absorb natural aura already?" South Rain's voice lifted with pleasant surprise. She leaned forward, studying the diagram intently. "Thaddeus mentioned something similar... though since very few people possess Gifted level spirit roots in opposing elements, it's rarely discussed." Her voice softened with fondness. "Thaddeus is my husband, a scholar in the Immortal Alliance. He has a passion for collecting unusual knowledge."

She traced the flowing lines on the diagram with an elegant finger. "Most practitioners fill their entire body with natural aura, but the spirit roots actually have specific locations. Light Element in the eyes, Shadow Element in the digestive tract, Stasis Element in the brain, Flux Element in the limbs, Void Element in the kidneys, and Vita Element in the heart." She paused, her clear eyes suddenly sharp with realization. "You said your eyes bled when exposed to Shadow Element natural aura? That would suggest a high-level Light Element spirit root..."

"It is strange," Flint murmured, her brow creasing as she absorbed this new information. While South Rain's insights were invaluable, they seemed to spawn even more mysteries. "But this is crucial information. Thank you – and please thank Thaddeus as well." She offered a small smile, genuine despite her confusion.

South Rain returned the smile, her silver hairpins catching the afternoon light. "No need for thanks." She paused, her fingers sliding along the edge of her robes. "There's more – some folklore Thaddeus collected. While cultivators generally believe only The Perfect Completion of Deity allows access to past life memories, the mortal realm's stories about reincarnation are far more... colorful." Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Though they do seem to mix truth with fiction..."

With graceful movements, she retrieved a small notebook from her storage ring. The pages rustled softly as she found her place: "There was a case of a man who inexplicably murdered an elderly stranger a thousand miles away, claiming the old man was his past life's enemy who had violated and killed his wife and daughter. Yet in his village, the elder was known for his virtuous character..."

Her clear voice continued, each story carrying its own weight: "Children born decades after a devastating earthquake, at age three or four, would describe in detail being crushed beneath collapsed buildings. Upon reaching adulthood, they claimed no memory of these accounts."

South Rain's lips curved with gentle amusement as she read on. "One woman claimed memories of her past life's lover would surface whenever she felt sad. These memories led her to someone who resembled her previous beloved... ah, it seems this one's source is actually a novel."

She shook her head, silver hairpins tinkling softly. "Another claims a fear of dogs, saying the sight of them triggers memories of being mauled to death in a previous life..." She closed the notebook with a soft snap. "Thaddeus does have a habit of recording absolutely everything, doesn't he?"

"That story about the novel..." Flint's voice trailed off as she remembered that face so similar to Spark's, glimpsed through the haze of pain while absorbing the resentment force. "I wonder if pain and sorrow are really the keys to unlocking past memories?"

Perhaps I should deliberately create some painful experiences? The thought crossed her mind unbidden. She tried to summon sad thoughts, but found herself growing inexplicably calmer instead, as if her emotions were a still pond refusing to be disturbed.

South Rain's smile held a trace of bitterness, a shadow of ancient grief flickering behind her clear eyes. "When I'm in pain, I can't remember anything at all." She released a soft breath that might have been a sigh. "I suppose everyone's different."

She smoothed her expression back to its usual serene mask, though something vulnerable lingered in the set of her shoulders. "Just... pay attention to what triggers your memories. Watch for the patterns."

The afternoon light had shifted, casting longer shadows across the room, as if marking the passage of not just hours, but lifetimes.

———

As Spark came for dinner, Flint gathered her courage. "Have you ever experienced something... really painful or sad?" she asked, studying Spark's reaction carefully.

Spark paused, his chopsticks hovering above his bowl. "I... suppose so?" His brow furrowed in confusion. "Why do you ask?"

"Did you ever..." Flint hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. "Did you ever recover memories of a past life during those moments? Like... memories of a past lover?"

The word 'lover' seemed to hang in the air between them. Spark's golden eyes widened slightly, and his usual composure faltered. "I... no, I don't think so?" His voice caught slightly. "Why are you suddenly asking about... lovers?"

Flint lowered her gaze to her bowl, watching the steam rise in delicate spirals. "When that deranged cultivator was chasing me, I absorbed the resentment force from his body. It was excruciating, but in that pain..." She lifted her eyes to meet Spark's. "I saw someone who looked just like you."

"I've been wondering..." Her voice grew softer, almost a whisper. "Who could he have been in my past life? Could he have been..." She swallowed hard, the word feeling both foreign and familiar on her tongue. "...my lover?"

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken possibilities, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern flame.