The summit as the name suggests, lay draped in clouds where winds were like blades but also like wandering spirits, hunting one's ears with a weight of its own.
Zhao Fan stood upon the stone platform, his robe fluttering faintly, eyes closed as though listening to wind... The faint crunch of footsteps disturbed the stillness and he opened his eyes.
A slender figure emerged from the mist, pale robes moving like water, a veil concealing her features yet unable to mute the weight she carried... She is graceful, and elegant like a swan.
Just one look; her pace was neither hurried nor hesitant; she walked as though each step had been weighed, accepted, resigned... Maybe, it's for the better. Sometimes it's better to face the unknown than to run away,
She stopped a few paces away, the wind tugging at her sleeves... The silence between them sharp as a blade.
"Holy Envoy..." At last she spoke, breaking the silence.
