For a long moment as they passed beneath the great stone arch, Cael and Aylin stood in the city's shadow, hands clasped as if they might vanish without each other's touch.
The city didn't care that they'd survived fire, hunger, and loss. It wasn't the sort of place that stopped to ask after old wounds. Yuanshan pulsed with its own energy: thousands of lives humming in the alleys and above the rooftops, a river of sound and scent and color that threatened to sweep them away.
Aylin shrank closer to Cael as they stepped forward, the crowd a living current flowing around them. She clutched her doll and their water skin, her eyes wide, trying to drink in everything at once. The air was thick with roasting sesame, fried dumplings, the bite of ginger and the sweet promise of sticky buns. Laughter and shouts tangled with the music of distant bells and the rhythmic thud of hammers from the market lane.
Street vendors called out, their words bright and sharp—"Lotus buns! Still hot!" "Lucky talismans, two for a coin!" "Healer's tea, for a clear mind and strong heart!"
Aylin's gaze caught on everything: a dancer spinning ribbons in a circle of children, a street magician floating colored stones through the air, a boy tugging a paper dragon kite that careened and swooped overhead. Her wonder drew a few smiles, but most people rushed past, heads down, eyes quick to slide away from two tired children with nothing to spend.
Cael tried to keep his head low, but at nearly a head taller than most, he drew glances wherever he went. His broad shoulders and battered shield set him apart in a city of swords and silks. He heard the whispers behind him—the words didn't matter, but the tone lingered.
"Who brings a pot lid to the city?" a boy joked to his friends. "Probably thinks it'll keep the rain off."
Aylin tugged Cael's sleeve. "Do you think Mama ever saw a place like this?" she asked, her voice soft.
He forced a smile, even as hunger gnawed at his belly. "I think she would've known where to find us a meal." But it was the worry in Aylin's eyes, not his own empty stomach, that hurt most.
They tried to buy food, every step careful, clutching their thin purse of coins. But every stall was too dear—one look at their clothes and the price doubled, or the vendor simply turned to someone richer. Aylin lingered at a basket of jewel-like fruit, her empty hand hovering. Cael's stomach rumbled at the sight of sticky rice cakes, but he pulled her away, whispering, "We'll find something soon."
As the afternoon wore on, their hope faded. Each offer was refused, each handout denied. They ended up on the edge of a busy square, lost in the crowd and feeling smaller than ever.
Just as the day began to tilt toward dusk, a woman appeared—a tall figure in blue and silver robes, her steps measured, her presence both commanding and gentle. She moved through the crowd without hurry, her eyes warm but sharp as she searched the faces around her.
Her gaze landed on Cael's shield, lingered for a moment, and then settled on Aylin. For a heartbeat, something in her expression softened—a flicker of recognition, a glint of old sadness. Then it was gone.
"You look like you need a meal," she said, stepping close but not too close. "Would you care to join me? There's a place nearby, and the cook owes me a favor."
Cael stiffened, pulling Aylin behind him. "Thank you, but… why us?"
The woman's smile was kind, but there was something mysterious in it, too. "Because sometimes the smallest seeds make the mightiest trees. And I think you both have stories I'd like to hear."
Aylin studied her closely, then nodded to Cael. "She's safe," she whispered, trust shining in her wide eyes.
They followed her—Lady Seraphine, she introduced herself—down a twisting alley to a teahouse hidden behind a curtain of willow branches. The cook, a heavyset man with burn scars on his arms, bowed and led them to a quiet table. Soon, baskets of dumplings, sweet buns, and bowls of hot soup steamed in front of them. The food tasted like heaven.
Aylin's eyes sparkled as she tasted everything, savoring each bite. Cael forced himself to eat slowly, always watching Seraphine from the corner of his eye—even as warmth filled his aching belly.
He remembered his mother's warnings: in a world of cultivators, nothing is free. But Seraphine never asked for payment, only shared stories of city festivals and the history of the ancient gate as Aylin peppered her with questions.
During the meal, a cart floated down the street outside—no horse, just a glowing talisman at the front. A merchant napped in the back, oblivious as the world bustled around him. Magic was everywhere, Cael realized. But so was fatigue, and loneliness, and the small details of human life he'd always known.
After they finished, Cael set his cup down and gathered his courage. "My mother talked about cultivators, but she never explained how it really works. People talk about power here. Could you tell us what it means to cultivate?"
Seraphine's eyes seemed to see more than she let on. Cael thought, for a moment, that she was comparing their faces to someone she'd lost. Her voice was gentle as she spoke.
"Cultivation is both art and challenge. There are ten realms, each with ten layers. First is Rooting, when you wake up your spirit. Then Vein Opening, Essence Gathering, Core Forging, and so on, up to the Eternal Dao."
She paused, her gaze flicking again to Cael's shield. "Most pick the sword, or study talismans, or seek pills to change the body. Shields are almost forgotten. Long ago, there were shield cultivators—but the world moved on. People say defense is for the weak."
Aylin listened closely as Seraphine described the roots—earth, fire, water, metal, wood—and the rare ones: lightning, void, chaos.
"Some roots bring luck, others trouble," Seraphine finished softly. "What matters is what you do with what you have."
They thanked Seraphine for the meal. As they stepped out into the street, the world felt bigger—and more dangerous.
Suddenly, shouts broke out in the next square.
A crowd had formed. Two young men stood facing each other—barely older than Cael, sixteen at most, dressed in expensive robes, swords gleaming at their sides. Their faces were set in sneers. One wore red, the other pale blue.
Their power was obvious; the air buzzed with heat and cold. Even the breeze felt different near them.
Seraphine frowned. "Stay behind me," she said, but Cael could only nod. Aylin pressed close, nerves sparking in her eyes.
The red-robed youth laughed, throwing back his head. "You're no match for me, Wu Li! The Zheng family's flame is real power!"
The blue-robed boy—Wu Li—snorted. "You'd burn down the city for pride. Typical Zheng idiot."
They clashed, swords flashing. Fire rolled down the cobbles; ice shot up to meet it. Steam exploded, toppling a cart and scattering fruit everywhere.
People screamed, stumbling back. Cael wrapped his arm around Aylin, pulling her close.
Then, as the fire faded, the red-robed boy's eyes landed on Cael's shield.
"Look—someone's still using a shield?" he jeered. "What are you defending, peasant? Your lunch?"
Wu Li smirked. "Shields are for servants, not real cultivators."
Cael felt his fists clench. Aylin, standing at his side, narrowed her eyes at the boys but said nothing.
Then the red-robed boy flicked his hand and a whip of fire streaked wild—straight for the crowd, right for Cael and Aylin.
Cael moved on instinct. He pushed Aylin behind him and raised his battered shield.
The flame struck hard, burning his arm and making his ears ring, but the shield held. The sound echoed like a bell. The people around them gasped.
The duelists paused, both looking at Cael now—first in surprise, then with thin, mean smiles.
Wu Li laughed, waving his sword. "Not bad for a shield. Still, a sword always wins."
Zheng scoffed and turned away. "Try not to get in the way, peasant. Only a fool blocks a cultivator's attack."
Lady Seraphine stepped forward. Her voice was calm but cut through the noise.
"That's enough."
Both boys turned, giving her careless bows.
"Our apologies, Lady Seraphine," Wu Li said, tone mocking. "We forget how delicate the city can be."
Zheng shrugged, his eyes rolling. "Let us know if you want a real show."
They strode off, laughing.
Aylin, without thinking, stepped forward and began picking up the spilled fruit, giving one to a crying little girl in the crowd. "Here, you dropped this," she whispered. The girl's mother smiled at her, grateful. For a moment, the chaos faded.
Seraphine looked at Cael, her expression gentle but searching.
"You protected more than your sister today. Few would stand before a cultivator's fire with only a shield. You remind me of someone—a woman who thought protection was a calling, not a weakness."
Cael swallowed, his heart pounding.
"She always said standing your ground was what mattered most."
Seraphine nodded.
"The world has forgotten that lesson. Maybe… maybe you can remind them. In six months, the sect trials begin. If you're still here, find me. This city remembers the brave—and the ones who defend what matters."
Aylin looked up, hope flickering in her eyes.
"Do you think… I could learn too?"
Seraphine smiled, her eyes shining.
"I think you both might surprise everyone."
As Seraphine disappeared into the busy street, Cael crouched beside Aylin.
"We'll find our place, or make one. A place where a shield means something again."
Hand in hand, they stepped into the city's heart—noise, danger, and promise all around.
Behind them, Seraphine watched from the shadows, a secret hope kindling in her eyes.
Cael glanced down at his old shield. He still felt the heat from the fire and the words of the sword boys burned in his ears. But deep down, something else had started—a small feeling that maybe, just maybe, he could show everyone what real strength looked like.
And Aylin, clever and brave, squeezed his hand, already ready for whatever would come next.