A withered twig that was used as a hairstick, with new flower buds sprouting on the end. Now, the past is long gone, and the stick inlaid with parcel-gilt flower buds commemorates the beginning of a new life.

A distant and yet familiar feeling of nervousness wrapped around him, sharp and distinct with phantom pain, as the unnamed woke from his long and deep slumber. His past was shattered into razor-edged shards, and he forgot even his own name.

Wandering aimlessly, he drank melted snow to quench his thirst, hunted wild beasts to fill his stomach, and chopped a withered branch to use as a wooden hairstick to fasten his flowing hair.

Like the incessantly flowing stream of a mountain spring, his long, black hair never ceased growing. His flesh twitched and throbbed beneath his skin, like river carps flipping and swarming… Fascinating power ceaselessly reconstructed his body, bringing an everlasting pain of bones and tendons rupturing and healing. As countless phantom agonies and torments tore through his body, his shattered past was also beginning to come together… As he glanced at his own reflection in the water, the story of the tragedy gradually cleared in his mind.

When the face in the reflection was no longer a stranger's, the unnamed suddenly realized the dead branch was sprouting flower buds.

Epiphany struck him like lightning. The curse of immortality still raged on, and the grudge of past misgivings never died out. HE was now the newborn flower on this once-dead branch.

Bracers made from flowing coral gold and the leather of unknown beasts. Only master artisans from the Vidyadhara dragon race can create this kind of superior armor.

It seems that pairs of objects have telepathic connections with each other. Though the unnamed only had one bracer in his possession, his fingertips could still faintly feel the temperature from the other.

He closed his eyes, trying his best to extract any information about the other bracer from the tenuous connection, be it its location or master.

A slender yet strong hand once wore the other bracer. That owner, whose sharp spear glinted with a cold light and flourished like shooting stars, once sparred with the unnamed. That owner also once shared company and drinks with the unnamed, the two of them simply gazing at the moon with no words exchanged. However, in the end, it was also this person who stubbornly adhered to their plans with the unnamed, turned the beloved into a monstrosity, and pushed all into an abyss of eternal hatred and remorse.

Pairs of objects are destined for an eventual reunion. The long years of grudges and hatred between them should be savored, like ice-cold aged liquor, one slow sip after another until the bottle of resentment is finally empty.

Would the wearer of the other bracer feel the same? The unnamed didn't want to know.

An old coat with a ragged hemline. The embroidery has been ruined by blade marks. Flesh heals quickly, but a coat does not, nor does a person's pain.

A durable pair of boots that have left shoe-prints on many worlds and have witnessed many lethal situations.