Alright, let's begin 🌌 — here's Chapter 2: The Misty Valley, Part 1 (Departure & Journey) in Lailac's perspective. This section eases us into theart 1 – Departure
When Father finally decided to take me away from the main estate, the air in the manor felt heavier than usual. I remember standing on the polished stone steps, clutching the hem of my plain robe, while the wives and their children lingered in the courtyard. Their eyes said what their lips did not: good riddance.
I should have felt relief, perhaps even joy at escaping their whispers, but my chest was tangled with a knot of dread and guilt. Was leaving with Father proof that I truly was the weakness they accused me of being? Or was it proof that I mattered to him more than any of them could bear?
Father—Lord Haines Von Kaizah—didn't look back at them. His presence was like an immovable wall against the sea of hostility. The sunlight gleamed against his dark cloak, and for a moment I almost believed he could shield me from the world forever. Almost.
"Lailac," he said, his tone carrying both command and warmth, "stay close to me."
I nodded, clutching the strap of the small satchel Linn had prepared for me. Inside were only necessities: a few changes of clothes, medicine bowls sealed with wax, and the jade comb Mother had left me before her death. My throat tightened as I touched it. That comb was the only fragment of her I had—smooth, delicate, yet unyielding.
We mounted the carriage together. The horses at its front were no ordinary steeds—they were hybrids, bred for endurance, their silvery hooves sparking faint ripples of qi against the cobbled road as they pulled us forward.
As the estate gates creaked open, I felt a pang in my chest. My eyes wandered to the high walls I had known all my life. Behind them lay the endless lessons I had failed, the resources wasted on my cultivation, the bitter stares of siblings who would never call me sister. I should have been glad to see those walls shrink into the distance, but my heart whispered otherwise: this is exile dressed as privilege.
The road ahead stretched endlessly, framed by rolling hills and scattered villages. The late afternoon sun dipped low, tinting the skies with streaks of orange and gold. I pressed my forehead against the window, watching peasants carry bundles of firewood, children chasing each other with wild laughter, merchants bargaining with dusty travelers. Their lives seemed simple, unburdened by legacies or bloodlines. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what it would be like to live without expectation—to just be Lailac, not Von Kaizah.
Father must have noticed my silence, because his voice rumbled softly beside me. "You're thinking too much again."
I forced a smile. "Am I?"
His eyes met mine—steel tempered by years of command, but gentled by a father's concern. "You doubt yourself too easily. That is your weakness, not your bloodline."
I wanted to believe him. Yet the memory of failed cultivation, of beast cores dissolving like water in my veins, rose like smoke in my mind. I lowered my gaze, gripping the hem of my robe tighter.
Outside, the scenery began to shift. The hills grew taller, greener, their peaks veiled in faint white mist. The air itself felt cooler, cleaner, and carried a sharpness that prickled against my skin. I sat straighter, curiosity sparking in me.
"Is this… the Misty Valley?" I asked.
Father's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Not yet. But soon. You'll know when we arrive. The valley has a way of announcing itself."
His words puzzled me, but I kept them close.
As the sun sank lower, the road narrowed into winding paths, and the mist thickened around us. Carriage wheels crunched over gravel while the sound of flowing water echoed faintly in the distance. Fireflies emerged, glimmering like floating stars.
For the first time in years, I felt the edge of something strange in my chest. Not dread. Not weakness. But anticipation.
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