Ashes. A promise beyond death

She was dying again. But no one mourned her. Not even herself.

In the vast space between dreams and memory, voices drifted like smoke, whispering cruelty into her mind. Shadows pressed against her chest, heavy, suffocating. Cold fingers of regret wrapped around her ribs. Her body trembled, and her heart — her heart beat as if it still hoped.

"Is she dead?"

"That's what I heard."

"Good. She should've died long ago."

The voices echoed with venom, faceless and sharp. Each word was a knife, carving doubt into her soul.

She couldn't see them. Only silhouettes. Blurred faces. But the judgment in their tones was unmistakable — they were relieved she was gone.

"I heard she killed the King and Queen."

"Her own parents, can you believe that?"

"She killed Bao Fang too… wasn't she her master?"

"Yes. The one who raised her. Trained her."

Their laughter pierced her like daggers. Each accusation stabbed deeper. It felt real — too real. Her breath hitched. Her body, though unseen, crumpled inward. Her hands curled as if trying to shield her heart from further pain.

She wanted to scream. To say it wasn't true.

But…

What if it was?

What if she really had done those things?

The weight of guilt was unbearable. She clutched at her chest as if trying to tear the pain from it.

"She even killed the Prince of Heaven before taking her own life," someone whispered.

That name… it struck her like lightning. Her eyes widened. A spark — a memory? A dream? — flickered in her mind. Someone's voice… deep, sorrowful.

"He killed everyone."

Or was that what they told her?

"She'll never be reborn," another voice said. "Not with her sins. Not someone like her."

"Even if she is, she'll never be immortal again."

"She was a demon."

"A curse upon all realms."

"No one mourned her."

And still, no one spoke her name. As though even mentioning it would defile their tongues.

She was suffocating in silence.

And then —

A cry, sharp and furious, broke through the haze.

"How dare they speak about our princess like that?!"

The crowd recoiled.

"They didn't even know her!" a voice snarled. "Idiots. They speak lies with such ease!"

"Ziwan, calm down." Another, softer voice intervened.

"Brother Ruan, why should I? They talk as if they saw everything!"

"They speak out of ignorance, not malice," the older voice soothed. "Let their words fall like dust. She doesn't need their pity."

She blinked.

Who were they? These defenders?

Their loyalty burned bright. It warmed her. These voices — familiar, aching. They didn't believe the stories. Their hearts mourned her. And that… made the pain lessen.

But as she reached for them, they vanished.

A shift again.

Suddenly, she was standing in a field. Morning mist curled around her ankles. A gentle breeze carried the scent of dew and wildflowers.

Clank. Clank.

Two swords clashed ahead of her.

A young girl and a woman with wise eyes sparred beneath the rising sun. Their movements were graceful, swift — not battle, but training. A test of strength, of spirit.

The girl's face…

It was her own.

She staggered back.

Was that… her?

"Resentment is born of pain," the master said, striking again. "Love can turn into hate… and hate, with enough courage, can be melted by love."

The girl dodged. "But forgiveness… is what truly breaks the cycle."

The older woman smiled. "Yes, Yu Bin. You understand."

Yu Bin.

Her name.

It struck her like a bolt of lightning. That was her. She knew it — not just in the dream, but in her soul.

The scene shimmered.

Now they sat together on stone steps overlooking a valley. The master's voice was low, solemn.

"Yu Bin, if you walk down a street and see someone kill another, what do you think?"

"That it's wrong. Killing is forbidden." Her younger self's voice was sharp with certainty.

The master nodded. "Yes. But what if the man he killed destroyed his family? Killed his parents, his wife, his children. Would you still call him evil?"

The young girl hesitated. Her conviction cracked.

"Justice is never black and white, Yu Bin," the master said gently. "And that's why you must keep your heart clear. Don't judge with anger. Seek the truth first."

Then her voice faded into a whisper, and the valley dissolved.

"Master…?" Yu Bin murmured in the dark, but there was no answer.

Another scene bloomed like a memory ripped from a better time.

"Mom? Dad?" she whispered.

Two glowing figures stood before her, laughing. Her father tousled her hair.

"Oh, wife, look at this little devil. She thinks we're ghosts!"

"Dad!" her younger self pouted.

"You're still our little devil." Her mother kissed her forehead. "We came to surprise you. Let's make some memories today."

They walked into the sunlight, the three of them laughing.

The older Yu Bin — the dreamer — watched them go, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

And then, Bao Fang returned. She extended a hand.

"You've grown, Yu Bin," she said softly. "But listen closely. Not everything that looks white is good, and not everything that looks black is evil. And… most importantly… it wasn't your fault."

The embrace that followed wasn't just warmth — it was healing.

And just like that, it all vanished.

---

"Miss… Miss, wake up."

A gentle voice.

"Miss?"

Her eyes fluttered open.

A kind old man was smiling down at her.

"You've reached your destination," he said.

Rain tapped softly on the window beside her. The bus had stopped. The streetlights flickered outside, bathing the sidewalk in golden puddles of light.

"Oh… thank you, sir," she murmured, her voice hoarse. She rose, bowed politely, and gathered her things.

"Wait," the old man said just as she was stepping down.

She paused.

"Thank you for always protecting our city. I sleep easier knowing you're here."

Yu Bin smiled faintly. Her heart still heavy from the dream.

"It's my honor," she replied softly. "Thank you, sir."

She stepped off the bus and into the rain.

But the weight in her chest remained.

Because even though it was a dream… it wasn't just a dream.

It was a memory.

Of another life.

Of a death no one mourned.

Except maybe… herself.