Night air in the Ling estate was heavy and wet, filled with the light smell of mold from the broken tiles and decaying beams. The servants had long ago gone to bed, cursing and prophesying doom, while Ling Xue brooded in her quarters, spewing venom at Ling Yue's temerity.
But Ling Yue sat cross-legged in the stillness of her abandoned courtyard, a lone oil lamp burning beside her.
Her frame was delicate, her breathing shallow—but inside her chest, she sensed it: the soft resonance of her eternal cultivation. The celestial core that had topped her as Immortal Lord was no more, but lingering strands of spiritual energy held fast to her soul, like embers remaining after a powerful blaze.
She took a deep breath.
The flesh body fought, veins straining, heart faltering as if it couldn't keep up with the burden of her will. She hurt, sharply enough to blur her vision.
She never did.
Agony was old news. She'd bled on fields of war for centuries, suffered betrayal, and been judged by angels. Those seemed petty in comparison to this fragile mortal vessel's weakness.
Her breathing calmed. The flame of the oil lamp danced, then lengthened abnormally, tugged by the weak spiritual force that was condensing in her hand. The dry grass at her feet quivered, sighing against the broken stone.
Ling Yue's eyes opened. There was a soft luminance glowing in her pupils, such as the light of faraway stars.
She was not yet able to call down the thunder that had shaken the heavens, nor use swords of light that cleaved mountains. But she could heal, she could protect, and—if forced—she could strike.
A beginning.
Her fist clapped over the radiance, extinguishing it into her cuff.
A rustle broke out alongside the wall. Ling Yue's eyes narrowed, though her face was tranquil.
A small boy, thin as a reed, stumbled into her courtyard clutching his arm. His sleeve was torn, blood soaking the cloth. When his wide eyes met hers, he froze like a rabbit caught in the open.
"D-Don't tell anyone I'm here," he whispered hoarsely. "They'll… they'll beat me again."
Ling Yue studied him. A servant's child, bruised, unwanted—much like this body she now inhabited.
Her heart, long tempered in both war and divinity, stirred faintly.
"Come here," she said softly.
The boy hesitated, but pain drove him closer. He winced when she touched his arm. A bone out of place, skin torn.
Ling Yue's fingers glowed faintly as she pressed against the injury. The boy's eyes widened in awe when the pain ebbed and the wound closed, leaving only faint redness.
"Y-you're… a goddess?" he whispered.
Ling Yue smiled faintly. "No. Imagine just someone who won't let herself be helpless."
The boy fell to his knees, his eyes aglow with thankfulness. "Then… then don't let them take you from me. The Regent's soldiers… they're horrors."
The oil lamp flickered, making her shadow loom tall against the pitted wall.
Ling Yue glanced upward at the dark sky, where the pale shape of the city palace towered.
Monsters," she whispered, her gaze narrowing. "Then let us see who eats whom.