Yuehwa hated the idea of fate and destiny, but she could no longer deny it.

When Shoya stole into the Dahai encampment to rescue her, the spell that Lady Kang had cast upon her broke the moment she laid eyes on his face. The fog in her mind cleared, as if he was the light that dispelled it. Her memories came rushing back, as did the anger at what the dark magician had tried to do to her.

Perhaps that was the strength of their bond, a bond that had transcended through the centuries from their previous lives to this one. Even if she was forced to forget everything she knew, even if she had forgotten her own name and identity, her heart could not be made to forget him.

She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him to take her away from this wretched place. To lash out and pummel him for knocking her out and not trusting her enough to take her with him. To tell him how afraid she had been when she had woken up with no memories of who she was, with a blank space in her heart, not knowing who filled it.

But this was not the time for happy reunions.

With the dark magician's hold upon her removed, she had a valuable opportunity to turn the tides of this war, but it meant that she needed to keep up the pretense a while longer.

Yuehwa pressed the tip of her dagger to Shoya's neck, trying not to flinch when she saw a hint of red trickle down his skin.

"What are you doing? Don't you recognise me?"

"Of course I recognise you. The White Scorpion, am I right?"

How could she not recognise him, that brazen rogue who had barged into her ship cabin uninvited and insisted on sleeping upon a ceiling beam. They had come such a long way since then.

"We don't have time. We have to go now, before they realise I'm here. Come, Yuehwa, come with me and once we're out of here I'll explain everything."

"Do you think I'm foolish enough to follow you, after what you did to me? To my father?" she scoffed. "Now that you've delivered yourself to our doorstep, don't think of leaving here alive."

"What are you talking about? What father?"

Hurry up and leave, Shoya!

Lady Kang had already expected that he would attempt a rescue tonight. If it weren't for the woman's sadism of wanting to see Shoya killed by the one person he loved, perhaps he would have been captured already. If they continued tussling, the dark magician would get impatient, and who knew what she would do then. Even with their skills, there was no way two of them would be able to get out of the Dahai camp unscathed.

Her dagger jabbed towards him, slowing down just before she could nick the fabric of his robes. She continued stabbing in his direction, desperately willing him to give up and leave. Already she could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching the tent, but Shoya was too focused on her to realise.

"Yuehwa, stop this! Listen to me. They've tricked you. This is not who you are. Everything that they've told you is a lie."

As if you haven't lied to me before.

She caught a glimpse of a shadow cast against the wall of the tent, behind where Shoya was.

They're here. We don't have anymore time.

In her moment of distraction, Shoya spun behind her and grabbed her arm and shoulder, forcing her to drop the dagger.

"Please, just come with me. I can undo whatever she's done to you," he begged.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Yuehwa spat. "If you want to take me away from here, then you'll have to take my dead body."

"Yuehwa!"

She mustered all the emotion and rage inside her to return his call with the most hateful glare she could manage.

It worked. Shoya stopped, and the shock registered on his face. Shock—and pain.

The disbelief and hurt in his eyes came so close to making her break out of her act, to throw everything to the wind and say, "Let's go. Let's fight our way out of here, and even if we die, we'll still be together."

But she could not be so selfish. It wasn't only their lives at stake. It was the lives of thousands of innocent people.

She turned and ran for the bronze bell in the corner, ringing it loudly. Lady Kang had told her to do so if she felt like she could not take down "the assassin". She had hoped that it would not need to come to this, else Shoya would find it harder to escape, but he was leaving her no choice.

She let her gaze linger greedily upon his face, seering every detail into her memory. Tomorrow, they would be fighting on opposite sides of the war, and who knew whether or not she would get the chance to look at him properly again.

Shoya hesitated, as if contemplating whether or not to take her with him, then he turned and left, as he should.

Don't forgive me, Shoya. Don't ever forgive me.

#

Shoya was suffocating. The tears that he had been holding in came streaming down his cheeks, mixed with the blood and dirt from all that pointless fighting. He wanted to reach for her, to stop her from doing it, but he could not.

He could only watch.

And so he watched as Yuehwa brought the sword down—towards her own chest.

"Wha—" Lady Kang gasped as Yuehwa's sword pierced right through the latter's body, and entered her own. Blood the shade of blackest night oozed from the wound. "You tricked me."

"You underestimated me. You always have," Yuehwa replied, a victorious smile curling upon her lips. Her face was rapidly losing colour, turning ghastly pale. She wobbled, then fell to her knees.

The blackened end of the sword dislodged from the dark magician's body, and the latter collapsed. "Do you think you have won?" the woman sneered. "Do you believe you can kill me with this measly wound?" Touching the tip of her staff to her injury, Lady Kang began chanting a spell.

Nothing happened.

"W-w-what's going on? Why isn't it working?" The woman stared at the Staff of Night in disbelief, checking it over and over, repeating her frantic chanting.

Still nothing changed. The dark stain on her red fur cloak continued to spread.

"A life for a life, a soul for a soul, and from the darkness comes the dawn," Yuehwa replied.

But it didn't have to be your life, Shoya wanted to scream, but no words came out.

That was what the monks of Horanjit meant. In order to defeat the practitioners of the dark arts, a sacrifice of blood had to be made. Only that could neutralise the power of the Staff of Night and allow its wielder to be killed. By stabbing herself first, Yuehwa had willingly chosen to become that sacrifice, the same way Wan Jue had done many years back.

The dark magician's body began to contort violently, her limbs twisting in awkward angles. Her once porcelain-fair skin turned ash grey and shrivelled, and the thick, luscious locks of hair on her head fell away until only a few oily strands remained. She was no longer the beautiful Lady Kang, but the same gruesome creature that Hwang Nanzhe and Wan Jue had fought on this very same battlefield.

"This is not the end," the creature hissed. "I... I will rise again, even if I have to wait another hundred years." With the last vestiges of strength in its frail body, it hugged the Staff of Night close to its chest, as if hoping that the weapon would conjure a miracle.

The staff did not answer.

Once the creature breathed its last, its body slowly disintegrated, until there was nothing left but a pile of ash.

"It's our reinforcements! They're here. They're finally here!" someone shouted.

The cacophony of the battlefield had returned. Time was beginning to flow again. All around them, the soldiers were slowly regaining control of their bodies. In the distance, they could hear the loud pounding of tens of thousands of footsteps belonging to the reinforcement army.

Then, something else happened.

One by one, the undead soldiers that had been raised with dark magic began to fall, crumbling into dust as they hit the ground. The fighting stopped. All the surviving soldiers on both sides exchanged perplexed glances with one another.

Shoya dropped down, his body no longer held in mid-air. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to Yuehwa's side, carefully cradling her in his arms. The sword still remained lodged through her chest, but he knew he could not draw it out, else she might only die sooner.

"Why did you do something so foolish? You should have left it to me. If someone has to die, it should be me, not you!"

Yuehwa raised a hand, wiping the tears off his cheeks with shaky fingers. She smiled, and it broke his heart.

"Because this is our destiny... and because I love you. When I'm gone, look after Yi'en and Yangyang for me. We don't need a kingdom. We only need family."

"You can look after them yourself. Please, no, you're not going anywhere. I'm not letting you go." Shoya felt for her pulse, rapidly diminishing beneath his fingertips, his mind struggling to maintain coherence so that he could figure out a way to save her.

"Yuehwa, Yuehwa!" Baixun ran over to them and fell to his knees. "Gods no..."

Yuehwa shifted her gaze towards Baixun. "You'll be a great king, Baixun. Rule well. Help the people and the land prosper," she said, her voice faltering to a bare whisper.

Shoya quickly shifted Yuehwa so she was seated upright, then he moved behind her, sealing a number of her acupoints. He was battling time, and battling death, but he would not let her go. Not again.

"Shoya... She's gone," he heard Baixun say.

"No she's not."

He needed to work faster. Sweat beaded upon his brows as he continued working down her spine, trying desperately to protect the few critical channels that led to her heart.

Around him, Ru Fei and the surviving Firebrands were all kneeling in salute, heads bowed in mourning.

He would not mourn.

He would not give up.

And up in the skies, hidden by the glare of the sun, three stars winked back.

#

Six months later.

The kingdom of Gi was awash with festivities. Their entire capital was decked with colourful lanterns and streamers, exuberant music filled the air and people from all across the lands thronged the streets. Today, the kingdom would witness the coronation of their new king, and usher in a new era of peace.

Instead of preparing himself for the ceremony, Baixun was standing on top of the city walls, looking out towards the Jilin mountains in the distance. It felt like only yesterday when they had been fighting for their lives against the horrific forces of the dark arts. Even till today, those memories haunted his dreams. It could have turned out differently. They could have lost, and the kingdom would not be celebrating today.

It was thanks to her that none of that darkness and suffering had come to pass.

He owed everything to her.

Yuehwa, how are you now?

The contingent from Hwa had already entered the capital two days ago, and Queen Dowager Yi'en—now serving as regent—and the young king had personally made the journey for the coronation. Feng had sent their chief astrologer, Sheng Yun, as their representative, citing the king's poor health as reason for his absence. It was no wonder the king was poorly, as he was now without an heir and the future of the crown seemed so uncertain. The prophecy of Shoya's birth had come full circle, and with his departure, the kingdom of Feng was near its end. Now, more than ever, the king of Feng relied upon the astrologers, hoping that the stars would portent a miracle. As for Dahai, their newly crowned king—the former king's eldest son—had made the trip across the seas to attend on the pretext of visiting his beloved sister. The former king of Dahai had not survived long after the end of the war, his mind and body already emptied by the effects of poison. Upon learning of her father's death and the truth behind Lady Kang's sinister intentions, Naying had chosen to retire to the Temple of Huashan, spending her days in solitude and prayer ever since.

Since the end of what was now called the Great Battle of Jilin, the kingdoms had come to an agreement to ensure continued peace. Hwa, Feng, Jin and Dahai had all accepted Gi—and Baixun—as their leader, and would pay tribute to Gi in exchange for continued autonomy over their own territories and the promise of protection against any potential incursions. All the kingdoms had suffered heavy losses from the war, and their people were weary of political instability. The land needed time to heal.

"But who will give me time to heal?" Baixun murmured, watching as an eagle soared freely above the mountaintops. A freedom that he had chosen to sacrifice, in exchange for power and great responsibility.

"Your Highness, it's almost time for the coronation ceremony to begin. We should head back to the palace," Maroo said.

"Of course."

As his horse carriage trundled through the crowded streets back towards the Gi palace, a sudden outpouring of applause caught Baixun's attention. Curious, he lifted the curtain of the carriage and peered outside.

"What's going on over there, Maroo?" he asked, gesturing at the large crowd that had gathered ahead.

After a quick check, Maroo returned with the answer. "It's only a puppet show, Your Highness," he said quickly. "Just some boring street entertainment."

"What's the show about?"

"It's about... It's about..."

Baixun sighed. Judging from the way Maroo was hemming and hawing, he could guess what the story was. It was no surprise, because this tale had become something of a legend across all the kingdoms, told from the lips of every street storyteller.

They called it "The Last Dahlia"—a tale of strength, destiny, and love.

He stepped out of his carriage and began walking towards the crowd.

"Wait, Your Highness, the coro—"

Baixun held out his hand, silencing his anxious advisor. "It's alright. A story won't take long," he said.

Standing in the audience, he watched as the curtains to the puppet show was raised and two clay figurines took to the stage. One dressed in white from head to toe, with a matching mask that covered half his face; the other in flaming red, with long flowing streams of silk dancing from her sleeves.

He watched the entire show from beginning to end, and in his mind, the memories began weaving themselves with every scene, until he could no longer distinguish which was fact and which was fiction.

By the time the stage curtains were lowered, almost everyone in the audience was in tears.

"Do you think they really died?" a squeaky voice piped up from beside him.

Baixun looked down at the owner of the question—a young chubby boy of about five or six, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

That seemed to be the preferred ending of most storytellers, an ending where the Phoenix sacrificed herself to save the people, and the White Scorpion ended his life to keep her company in the next. Tragedies tugged at the heartstrings, and more tears meant more donations to the performance troupes.

"No," he replied with a smile. "No they didn't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I was there."

Patting the child on the head, Baixun turned and headed back to his carriage. If he dallied any longer, Maroo would have a heart attack. And he did have a coronation to attend.

The End