The Spirit Spring no longer sang.
Mist hung low over the hollow where the water once glowed, its light now dim and uncertain — like a breath the world hadn't yet released. Broken talismans floated near the stones, pale symbols fading under thin morning sun.
Yin Lian knelt by the edge, her sleeves damp from the dew. The seal they'd rebuilt still pulsed faintly with golden veins, but the rhythm was wrong — uneven, like a heartbeat out of tune.
Whenever she drew near, her Void Qi stirred. The stillness in her body reached toward the hum beneath the spring, as if the seal recognized her… or warned her.
Her master's hut sat a short walk away, half hidden under hanging vines. Smoke from the cooking fire trailed lazily into the mist.
Inside, Master Hui Yuan lay resting. His breath was steady but shallow. Since the quake, he had rarely opened his eyes, speaking only to murmur half-thought prayers between dreams.
She wiped his brow with a cloth, listening to the faint crackle of the brazier.
"You should rest too, child," he whispered once, not even opening his eyes.
"I am," she replied softly. "Only… the forest doesn't."
He smiled faintly at that — a soundless curve of lips — then drifted back into sleep.
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Outside, the forest had changed.
It was quieter than before, not from fear but listening — as though every leaf waited for something. Even the smallest spirits, the ones that once followed her like curious children, hid behind tree roots, whispering restlessly.
Their voices brushed against her mind when she meditated:
"The seal hums too loud…"
"Something breathes beneath the ground…"
"Humans walk the outer path again…"
Humans.
That word made her pause. No one had entered the Ridge since before her birth — not even the woodcutters.
She went to the boundary line, where the roots of Heaven's Ridge met the mortal road. There, the soil was disturbed — faint footprints, half-erased by moss. She knelt to touch them. The Qi that lingered was weak, muddied, and metallic.
"Imperial…" she murmured.
Her master had warned her of that aura — the way talismans woven by court Taoists carried the scent of burnt gold and order.
She straightened, looking toward the horizon. The morning mist shimmered faintly. Somewhere beyond those hills lay the Central Plains — the Emperor's domain.
Was it possible they'd felt the light from the spring?
A small hand tugged her sleeve. She turned. One of the forest sprites — a round, moss-haired spirit that had once nested in her garden — looked up at her with trembling eyes.
"Lady Lian," it squeaked, voice like wet leaves. "There are drums. Far away, but coming."
"Drums?"
The sprite nodded, shrinking back into the shadows. "Red fire drums. The ones from the south."
Her pulse quickened. Red… fire…
For a moment, she thought of him.
But the thought faded quickly when the wind shifted. The forest air grew colder, the hum of the seal deepening to a throbbing vibration under her feet.
She returned to the spring. Its surface was glass-smooth, reflecting her pale outline. When she leaned closer, the reflection rippled — not from her movement, but from within.
A voice whispered through the water.
"...Lian..."
Her heart froze.
The sound was faint — like wind caught in a jar — but it was there. Familiar. Burning, yet gentle.
She reached out instinctively. The surface trembled, light rising beneath her fingers. For an instant she saw a vision — not water, but red mist, and within it the silhouette of a man walking through fire.
Then it vanished.
She stumbled back, breathing hard. Her aura flared — colorless light spilling briefly from her hands before dimming again.
"Not… a dream," she whispered. "Something answered."
She stayed by the spring until dusk, trying to understand the rhythm of the seal. Each pulse seemed faster now, matching the beat of her heart.
By nightfall, clouds had gathered over Heaven's Ridge. Lightning blinked far to the south — thin, silent flashes like distant eyes.
Her master stirred again in his sleep, murmuring, "When Heaven looks twice, silence must answer once…"
The words made her shiver.
She looked toward the forest path, where faint red motes floated between the trees. The air smelled of smoke — and something else.
Footsteps.
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She saw him.
A tall figure, armor in tatters, cloak scorched at the edges — Huo Yun. His hair was damp with rain, his face pale but still alight with that impossible warmth.
Their eyes met through the mist.
"You—" she began.
He raised a hand, breath rough. "Later."