They left the ghost monastery at dawn, when the mist still clung low to the roots of the mountain and the trees whispered like they carried old secrets.
No one spoke as they descended.
Ziyan walked in silence, one hand resting on the scroll tucked against her chest. It no longer burned — not exactly — but it pulsed gently, like a second heartbeat. The mark on her palm was still there, faint but constant, shimmering when the light caught it just so.
Feiyan led the way, eyes sharp, one hand never far from her sword. Shuye brought up the rear, glancing behind them often. The path was steep and narrow, and each step downward felt heavier than it should.
They had all seen too much. Or perhaps… not enough.
At the base of the mountain, they found a quiet spot by the river to rest. Feiyan lit a small fire and crouched beside it, sharpening her blade with rhythmic focus. Shuye tended to their gear, his brows furrowed.
Ziyan sat slightly apart, the scroll unrolled before her, though its contents remained hidden. She traced the lotus mark on her skin, testing its response. A flicker of warmth answered. Then silence.
It was like trying to speak to a stranger in a dream — half-real, half-remembered.
Feiyan spoke first.
"That mark… it hasn't faded."
Ziyan didn't look up. "It won't."
Shuye watched her quietly. "And the power?"
"I don't understand it yet," Ziyan murmured. "But I can feel something shifting. I don't just see things. I sense them. Possibilities. Threads."
She picked up a small stone, turned it over in her palm — and for a moment, saw not the stone, but what it could become: sharpened, cracked, reshaped.
But she didn't smile.
She dropped the stone and wrapped the scroll again.
Feiyan was watching. "It's not just power, is it?"
Ziyan shook her head.
"It calls. I don't know to who. I only know that it doesn't care if they're good or bad. It brings those who are needed."
Feiyan looked grim. "Then that's not a gift. That's a weapon waiting to choose its wielder."
Ziyan gave a faint, bitter smile.
"Maybe. But it's one I have to carry. Because this world doesn't give power to girls like me unless it comes with chains."
Feiyan sheathed her blade.
"Then let's make sure you're the one holding the chain."
They continued East.
The woods grew thinner, the air warmer. At night, the scroll would hum softly beside her. She dared not open it again, but it remained present — not like a weapon, but like an echo of something older watching her from within.
Sometimes she woke at night and felt something seeing through her eyes.
Other times, she felt the tug of unknown eyes on her from the outside.
She wasn't wrong.
High in the trees, far above the forest floor, they watched.
Cloaked in robes the color of ash, masked in veils of silence, three shadows lingered. One bore a blade that never rusted. Another, a scroll wrapped in black cloth. The third said nothing — but her eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
"She carries the mark," one whispered. "The flame walks again."
"She should have died at the monastery," said another. "Like the others."
The third finally spoke, her voice like cracked stone.
"She was chosen by the scroll. That makes her ours to test."
And like smoke, they vanished into the trees.
The days passed, and Ziyan grew quieter — not colder, but more focused. Less hesitant.
In one village, she avoided contact with strangers. In another, she left coins at the shrine without offering a prayer. She was changing. Not into someone new, but someone clearer.
Feiyan noticed it first.
"You're not afraid anymore," she said one night. "Not even cautious."
"I don't have time to be," Ziyan answered. "Someone ordered my capture. Not my death. Which means they're waiting for me to be useful."
Shuye frowned. "Useful for what?"
Ziyan stared into the fire.
"Maybe for what I carry. Maybe for what I'll become."
Feiyan leaned forward. "So what's the plan?"
Ziyan didn't hesitate.
"We continue to go to the Eastern Capital. Duan Rulan. A merchant, a storm in silk. Master Zhao gave us an introduction letter to meet her before we ever left Huang Jin. He said she knows every sword that's ever been sold, and every coward who ever hid behind one."
Shuye looked uncertain. "And you think that we can trust her?"
"No," Ziyan said. "But I don't need trust. I need leverage. If I can prove I'm worth more as an ally than a pawn, she might show me the cracks in the system — the kind of secrets people like my father tried to bury."
Her voice darkened.
"And when I know who gave the order to disappear me… I'll decide what they deserve."
As they passed the Southern Watch, a quiet outpost of stone walls and crooked towers, Ziyan stopped briefly on the ridge and looked back at the mountains they'd left behind.
She wasn't the girl who had climbed them.
She was something else now. Still unfinished. But harder. Sharper. Tempered.
The scroll hummed faintly.
And in the trees above, a figure knelt in silence, eyes fixed on her back. The others had gone. But he remained.
He whispered only one word.
"Awakened."
Then disappeared into shadow.