Frozen in motion, he pressed one fist against the floor, the other arm propped on his knee while your legs dangled over each of his shoulders. You could feel the movement of his breathing between your thighs, heavy, even and tense.

The ice was already beginning to melt at his ankles as he turned his head slightly to the side to gift you a look.

"Down.", his voice had the sound of thunder on a cloudy day without rain.

Whenever he spoke, you thought you could smell lightning, the ground trembling beneath your feet. With a smile, you withdrew the blade to remove the threat from his neck.

He relaxed a little. But the bruised ego remained.

"How lucky you are that the only person who can defeat you is on your side.", you whispered into his ear with a smirk. "Grandmaster."

With a scoff, he shook slightly, silently telling you again to climb off his back. But when you still didn't do as he ordered, he simply stood up.

The jolt caused you to slide down, but you rolled away and landed smoothly on the ground on both feet. The knife danced between your fingers.

You looked down at yourself scrutinisingly. Dust covered the Lin Kuei uniform, black and soft violette like the clouds on a summer sunset before the stars came out. Silver and gold adorned the collar, the sleeves and the tips of the shoes.

A custom-made piece, similar to his own in blue and black from the same fabric. An emblem shone on your chest, marking you as someone who had only existed since Bi Han's ascension to Grand Master.

His right hand.

Not in the sense of a successor or representative, but as someone who took over his position in his absence. He had never trusted even his brother Kuai Liang so much. This emblem was yours and yours alone.

Concentrating, he moved his fingers, checking how stiff his limbs were. Ice grew on the fingernails and melted again when he demanded it.

"There will be some tingling.", you remind him and put the blade back on your belt.

He hummed in agreement.

"You use your powers against me.", a hint of displeasure resonated in his voice.

But that was not unusual for him. It was rare that Bi Han didn't sound dismissive. You could often count on one hand the moments when he smiled or showed emotions that were not related to anger. Even in moments of calm and concentration, his expression was not inviting.

"You always use your ice against me.", you accused him, strutting across the Lin Kuei training ground and bending down for your mask.

But when your fingers brushed the fabric, you paused. Small flowers of ice had formed on the silver, like a painting someone really wanted you to see. It melted into water at the touch of your skin.

Still, you had to smile.

The next moment, you wondered why your body felt so light, so completely unaffected by the use of your powers.

Like his brother Kuai Liang, Bi Han was a necromancer, a human with the ability to control a kind of magic. In keeping with their personalities, the elder, heir to the clan, had been given the ability to command ice, while the younger son of the deceased Grand Master was able to set everything on fire with his temper.

You had also been born with such powers as a result of calculated connections between families. However, they had taken a different form than a simple element. Mostly it ate away at your own powers, the state of your body.

As if your flesh was just waiting for the right thought, a wave of dizziness suddenly hit. Taken by surprise, you lurched, almost tripping over your own feet as you tried to stand up again.

Your eyelids flickered. Suddenly everything was so heavy, sluggish. But before you could fall, a hand slid under your arm and held you up.

It wasn't a particularly friendly gesture, rather than a show of support between two sworn people who were unreservedly loyal to each other.

Your gaze met brown eyes in the centre of an angular face with thin lips. Bi Han was certainly a good-looking man, a fact that he owed not least to his late father.

As usual with the Lin Kuei, he was tall, his body muscular and steeled from battle. With a broad chin, high cheekbones and silky hair the colour of tar, he easily stood out in a crowd of people.

If he hadn't been so well trained to move silently despite his size. He looked down at you silently, his arched eyebrows slightly drawn together and small wrinkles on his forehead.

Sucking in the air sharply, you closed your eyes, shaking off the dizziness.

"I'm fine.", you said, forcing yourself to stand upright in front of him.

You were neither particularly short nor tall compared to him. And yet your head barely reached above his chest. If you wanted to look him in the eye like you did at that moment, you had to lean your head back.

He looked at you with a typical expression of mistrust on his face. His hands hung loosely at his sides. His fingers twitched.

Without a word, he lifted his hand to tuck a loose strand of (H/C) hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. Although he did nothing but fight, the touch was surprisingly soft.

He smelled of winter, but felt like a camp fire in a small room while a blizzard raged outside the windows.

"Mûdān.", his voice shook, raspy and scratchy yet there was a tinge of care to be found.

Whenever he spoke, it sounded like he was holding his breath or in pain. This was not least due to you, because you had accidentally damaged his larynx in a scuffle when the two of you had been children.

It had healed, but had grown into his throat through puberty, which is why he now sounded as threatening as he looked.

Some days you still regretted this stupidity. At others, you wanted nothing more than to listen to him, to feel the scratching in the back of your head that every word from his mouth triggered in you.

"I'm fine, Grand Master.", you assured him with a bowed head. "I will be able to fulfil my duty next mission."

Brown eyes travelled over your face as if they could freeze the little lie.

"Fine.", he finally said. "My right hand must stay ready."