They traced the phantom shape of the bird through a shroud of fog that clung to the hills like a spectral veil. The air was chill, damp, scented faintly of moss and cold stone. Neither spoke; both were absorbed in their thoughts—silence between them was not emptiness but a sacred pact. In this realm of half‑light, every footfall was soft, every breath deliberate.
Li Wei's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, ever ready—even though he would not provoke conflict without cause. He had learned long ago that a wise warrior picked his battles as one picks one's steps on treacherous terrain; to bide strength was not cowardice but craft.
Ahead, the bird drifted—its plumage a soft gleam against the grey landscape. Li Wei's eyes, fixed upon it, barely registered the shifting ground, until the mists parted and revealed the faint outline of a sanctuary lying nestled in a hollow between two mountain spurs. The sight struck him with sudden surprise: he had been so lost in planning that he nearly missed what should have been obvious.
The structure before them was ancient, worn by centuries of wind and time. Stone pillars leaned at odd angles; corridors yawned behind collapsed archways; walls, mottled with lichen, bore cracks like spider threads across their faces. The very bones of the place whispered of decay—and of a grander glory long passed.
Yet above it all—hovering like a veil of divine water—was the aurora blue screen: a shimmering canopy of light that stretched across the courtyard, undulating in subtle waves as though stirred by an unseen sea. From a distance it glowed like moonlit silk, rippling now and then as though breathing.
Leng Yue's voice broke the hush "This building style is much akin to those in the upper plains—see the sweeping eaves, the raised platforms, the symmetry of halls." She stepped forward, fingertips grazing a cracked column. The stone was cold, and her fingers left faint traces of warmth. She frowned, moving to peer at the foundation—roots of ivy weaving through the mortar.
"This seems to be a formation surrounding the place," Li Wei murmured, stepping nearer to the blue veil. He lifted a hand, fingertips glowing softly with Qi. He flicked a strand of energy toward the barrier. The strand struck the shimmering film—~ shrrt —and vanished, absorbed. The barrier rippled, spreading a gentle wave, then settled once more.
Li Wei's brows knitted. "That amount of force will not suffice. A subtle path must be found." He turned to Leng Yue. "We must not squander our strength here."
They looked at one another, silent counsel in their eyes, and each pondered alternatives. Leng Yue withdrew a small orb-like relic from her sash, its surface swirling with pale light. She raised it and projected its aura toward the barrier. The canopy responded, rippling fervently, then stilled. The orb's glow dimmed; it failed.
She allowed a small, rueful smile to touch her lips. "Clever as it is, that will not suffice." Her tone was dry, though no bitterness. She tucked the orb away and looked upward, half expecting inspiration.
At that moment, the bird—who had led them thus far—returned, its head cocked, eyes sharp. It fluttered close, inspecting them with suspicion. Its feathers ruffled in the still air, and it gave a short, wary cry.
Li Wei's expression was unperturbed. From beneath the folds of his robes, he withdrew a slender paper-black talisman, its surface gleaming with golden script. "This should work," he whispered. He drew a finger across the surface, tracing a character, and summoned the bird closer. At his signal, he placed it with deft motion upon a patch of plumage. The bird did not struggle; it merely flinched slightly, then took off again—phasing through the blue barrier.
Leng Yue stared, curiosity flickering in her eyes. Before she could speak, Li Wei produced another identical talisman and placed it in her palm. Light from within both parchments pulsed faintly.
"Careful now…" He guided her in a quiet incantation, and she mirrored his gestures. The runes glowed, beams of azure energy flaring outward. The air hummed—~ vrrrr —as the parchments burst in radiant synergy. In that instant, Li Wei and Leng Yue vanished from their spot, and re‑formed beside the bird, just inside the barrier's boundary.
Leng Yue gasped, stumbling slightly as she found footing. Her heart pounded in her ears. Li Wei steadied her with a hand at the waist. Around them, the courtyard lay still, silent under the strange light.
The bird—bewildered—flapped upward, its wings slicing through the glowing barrier with ease, and darted forward. Li Wei brushed dust from his robes and vaulted after it. Leng Yue hesitated, glancing at the shimmering screen behind them, then followed, heart both leaping and pounding.
The three flew across the yard, the bird ever ahead, into corridors and courtyards half lost to ruin. The walls here were narrower; some places the ceiling had collapsed, sending beams of light from above. They passed broken statues, mossy altars, and floors strewn with rubble. The blue light draped overhead like an ethereal sea, imparting the scene with ghostly serenity.
Leng Yue tripped over a fallen column, fingers reaching to steady herself. A shard of tile embedded itself in her sleeve. She paused and pressed her palm to the wound—pain flared and she bit her lip to quiet the sound. Li Wei glanced back, concern in his eyes, but she shook her head. "I am fine," she murmured, voice tight but resolute.
They continued after the bird, which cut across a courtyard before vanishing through an archway into a hall lined with flickering niches. The sound of dripping water echoed in the gloom—drip… drip…
The walls here were carved with ancient reliefs showing scenes of celestial beasts, human figures, and towers. Many had crumbled, the teeth of time had worn the carvings into ghostly outlines.
Li Wei held up one hand, gesturing for silence. "Tread softly," he whispered. "This place is older than our maps. It may harbor more than faint traps." He stepped carefully along the edge of a sunken pool of stagnant water, avoiding broken tiles that might shift. Leng Yue followed his lead.
The bird's call—soft and resonant—echoed ahead, guiding them deeper. They crept into a vaulted chamber where shafts of blue light pierced the gloom. Pillars rose like silent watchers. The floor was tiled with interlocking patterns, many broken or missing. In the center stood a dais, upon which glowed a faint pulsating disc of energy—its edges shifting in rhythm with the barrier's canopy above.
Leng Yue's gaze was drawn to that disc. She took a careful step forward. Li Wei held out his hand, stopping her. "Observe first," he said in low tones. "Do not commit until we know its nature."
She nodded, breath shallow. She knelt, brushing a finger across the dais surface. The disc reacted—its glow intensifying for a moment—then subsided. The air vibrated faintly—hummm—and a ripple ran across the chamber. The blue light overhead dimmed in places, as though attuned to their test.
A flicker in the corner drew her eye: shadows shifting, as though something lurked beyond the pillars. She stiffened, heart pounding. Li Wei's hand drifted toward his sword. "Stay alert," he warned.
No creature emerged, but the tension lingered, like a held breath. Leng Yue swallowed and looked at Li Wei. "This sanctuary… it feels alive. As if the walls remember." She traced the reliefs with her fingertips. "Why would one erect a sanctuary so well‑protected? What danger would it conceal?"
Li Wei exhaled softly. "For sanctuary is protection—and often the strongest against what the world does not wish seen. We must proceed deeper, but with caution." He motioned toward a corridor shrouded in deeper blue than the rest. The bird's faint cry echoed from within. With careful steps, they walked forward into the unknown.