The click of the door echoed through the room as Anastasia stepped out, leaving Luke to grapple with the sheer impossibility of her words. She didn't linger to witness his reaction, finding it…unnecessary. Emotional displays were a distraction, a weakness she couldn't afford to indulge.
As she walked down the corridor, her footsteps silent on the polished stone floor, a wave of melancholy washed over her. The memory of the Amazon Jungle – the oppressive humidity, the cacophony of exotic sounds, the constant threat of danger – felt strangely vivid. It had been a brutal but formative experience, honing her instincts and forging her into the formidable being she was today.
She paused at a window overlooking the sect's training grounds, observing the younger disciples practicing their forms. They moved with clumsy grace, their faces etched with determination and youthful ambition.
The abrupt disappearance of the Azure Cloud Sect was seamless, a testament to the sect's advanced shielding technology. One moment, they were surrounded by towering peaks and lush greenery; the next, they were enveloped in a swirling vortex of energy before materializing in a completely different location.
Benny's exuberant announcement –
"Ah, I am so excited! We are going to France! Finally, you will see my home country!" – was met with Anastasia's customary nod. She found his enthusiasm…excessive. Still, there was a certain charm to his unbridled joy that she couldn't entirely dismiss.
She gazed at her hands, turning them over slowly as if examining a fascinating artifact. Her fingers were long and slender, the skin pale and flawless, like freshly fallen snow.
The transition was jarring, even for Anastasia. The sudden shift in environment – from the serene tranquility of the Azure Cloud Sect to the bustling energy of a Parisian street – was a sensory overload. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the exhaust fumes of passing cars, a chaotic blend that assaulted her senses.
Benny, true to form, was practically bouncing with excitement. He gestured wildly with his hands as he launched into a rapidfire explanation of Parisian landmarks and culinary delights. Anastasia listened with polite detachment, her violet eyes scanning the surroundings with a quiet intensity.
She continued to examine her hands, tracing the delicate lines etched into her palms – a roadmap of countless lifetimes lived and lessons learned. They were instruments of immense power, capable of weaving reality itself.
"Oh speaking of which since nine months ago you saved an old man from death 0% surgery. Anyway ever since as you know as a famous Miracle Surgeon people have tried to track you down," Benny said. Anastasia's gaze remained fixed on her hands, her expression betraying no sign of acknowledgement. Benny's words, while accurate, were hardly surprising. Her reputation as a "Miracle Surgeon" was a carefully cultivated facade, a means of accessing resources and information that would otherwise be unavailable to her.
The incident with the old man – a simple case of advanced cardiac failure that she'd rectified with a few precise manipulations of Qi – had only served to amplify her notoriety. The medical community was abuzz with speculation about the mysterious healer who could perform seemingly impossible feats.
"Their efforts are…inefficient," she said finally, her voice cool and detached. She raised her head, meeting Benny's gaze with an unwavering intensity.
"I am not easily found unless I choose to be."
Benny's grin widened, a flash of mischievousness in his eyes.
"That's what I love about you, Anastasia! You're like a ghost – always one step ahead." He paused, then leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"But there's been a slight…complication."
He pulled out a sleek, encrypted tablet and handed it to her. The screen displayed a series of complex algorithms and encrypted data streams. Anastasia took the tablet without a word, her fingers dancing across the surface as she effortlessly decrypted the information.
Her expression remained impassive, but a subtle shift occurred in her posture – a tightening of her shoulders, a narrowing of her eyes. The casual serenity that had characterized her demeanor vanished, replaced by a quiet alertness.
At the airport both Benny and Anastasia went to there B Gate 28 and they sat down. They will be flying to Lyon City in France. But they would have a lay away plane before arriving to France.
The encrypted data streamed across the tablet's screen, a complex tapestry of digital information that would have overwhelmed most individuals. But to Anastasia, it was as clear as a map – a series of interconnected nodes and pathways revealing a meticulously crafted network of surveillance.
Her fingers moved with astonishing speed, dissecting the code, tracing the origins of the intrusion. It was sophisticated, undeniably so – the work of a skilled operative. Someone was actively attempting to track her, and they were persistent.
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. She hadn't anticipated this level of scrutiny. It seemed someone had taken an interest in her activities beyond the medical community.
"They are resourceful," she stated flatly, handing the tablet back to Benny without comment.
"But ultimately… predictable."
After she finished upgrading her system in her hacking organization. Anastasia decided to take a nap. By the time it was time to get into the plane. Anastasia stepped forward she found her seat. Anastasia sat down, and she fall asleep right away.
The gentle rocking of the aircraft lulled Anastasia deeper into slumber. Her body, despite its immense power, was surprisingly fragile. The constant strain of maintaining multiple identities, the burden of her ancient memories, took a heavy toll. She required far more rest than a typical teenager – a consequence of her unique physiology and the sheer weight of her existence.
In her dreams, she wandered through fields of blooming lotus flowers, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. She dined on delicacies from across the cosmos – succulent roasted phoenix, shimmering moon cakes filled with stardust, and ambrosia nectar that flowed like liquid gold. And she savored the warmth of aged elven wine, its complex flavors dancing on her tongue.
When she awoke, it was to the gentle announcement that they were preparing for takeoff. Anastasia stretched languidly, feeling marginally refreshed.
She subtly adjusted the silk scarf draped around her neck, a habit born of a deepseated aversion to germs and unwanted contact. Anastasia possessed an almost obsessive need for cleanliness, a consequence of her long life and exposure to countless environments – some far less sanitary than others. The thought of strangers touching her sent a shiver of discomfort down her spine.
She glanced around the cabin, her violet eyes assessing the other passengers with a detached curiosity. Most were oblivious to her presence, absorbed in their own worlds – reading books, watching movies, or simply staring out the window. Anastasia found their mundane concerns…amusing.
A flight attendant approached, offering a tray with a selection of beverages. Anastasia politely declined the sugary sodas and lukewarm coffee, instead requesting a small glass of single malt scotch – a vintage from a remote Scottish distillery that she'd acquired centuries ago.
"Can I see your ID?" The flight attendant asked. Anastasia was annoyed how annoying she was not even seventeen years old yet but still here she is asking for liquor.