"Cultivation begins with chaos, but true enlightenment begins with sorrow. The heart that endures despair is the one that touches eternity." — Teachings of the Eternal Sage
The sun was bleeding into the horizon when Crystal stepped out of the last shop in the Black Market.
The red-orange light spilled through the narrow streets like a final goodbye, painting her cloak in shades of gold and crimson. Her maid, Mari, trailed close behind, her arms full of parcels wrapped in silk and parchment.
Inside them were herbs — some rare, some common, all precious.
They had spent the better part of the afternoon searching for ingredients: Spiritroot, Blood Vine, Moondew Grass, and Celestial Veinsprout. Most were meant to help her little sister recover strength, but a few were for another, far more dangerous purpose.
Crystal needed to unseal her meridians.
And for that, she would need more than luck — she would need materials that barely existed outside of legend.
Unfortunately, even the black market had its limits.
"Nothing," she muttered, scanning the final scroll of inventory from the apothecary. "They have the cores, but not the petals."
Mari huffed as she adjusted the weight of the herbs in her arms. "You've already bought half the city, my lady. Maybe rest a little before you—"
"Rest?" Crystal interrupted softly, glancing at the darkening sky. "I have three weeks before my soul collapses. She thought in her mind.
Rest is a luxury for people who aren't dying."
Mari bit her lip, saying nothing.
Crystal's words weren't cruel, just… honest. Too honest. But who was going to die
They passed through the market's winding corridors once more, the faint smell of incense and metal filling the air. Merchants were packing up their wares, shutting their stands as twilight crept in.
A few recognized Crystal from earlier and gave her respectful nods. Others averted their eyes — not out of fear, but habit. In the Black Market, it was safer not to see too much.
By the time they reached the upper district again, the first stars had begun to pierce the sky. The moon was rising — pale and beautiful, its reflection shimmering faintly in the canals running through Asterion's streets.
Crystal stopped for a moment to watch it.
The blood world she'd seen in death flashed across her mind — the red moon, the endless sea of blood, the collapsing sky.
The memory was still vivid.
But this moon was different. Gentle. Distant. Alive.
"Let's go home," she said softly.
Mari nodded in relief, clearly eager to leave the market behind. The carriage awaited near the entrance, its lacquered frame reflecting the soft glow of lanterns.
As they climbed inside, the sound of the city dimmed behind them. The driver snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled smoothly onto the cobblestone road.
Crystal leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment — but she didn't rest. Her senses were sharp. Too sharp.
Someone was following them.
She had noticed the presence hours ago — faint but persistent. Whoever it was, they were skilled enough to hide from ordinary cultivators.
But not from her.
Through the reflection on the carriage window, she saw a glimpse of silver hair glinting under moonlight.
Miralyn.
Crystal's lips curved slightly.
"So," she murmured under her breath, "you still enjoy watching from the shadows."
Miralyn was perched elegantly on the roof of a nearby building, her robes blending with the night sky. Her expression was calm, curious, calculating.
As the carriage began to move, Miralyn raised her hand and let out a soft whistle.
From the shadows of the alley, a small messenger bird — a spirit hawk with glowing feathers — landed gently on her wrist.
She tied a folded note to its leg, her movements graceful and deliberate.
"Deliver this to the palace," she whispered.
The bird screeched softly before taking off, disappearing into the night sky like a streak of silver.
Miralyn watched until it was gone.
The faint breeze played with her hair, brushing it across her cheek as she looked down toward the street — toward the moving carriage below.
Her violet eyes gleamed faintly. "Goodnight, crystal ," she murmured.
Then she turned and vanished into the shadows.
What she didn't know was that, just before the bird had flown, Crystal's gaze had shifted toward her.
For the briefest second, their eyes met across the distance — one calm, one sharp, both deadly in their own way.
And in that instant, something unspoken passed between them.
Recognition.
And a promise.
Crystal leaned back against the seat, her smile fading into something colder.
"So," she said softly, "history repeats itself."
Mari looked up, confused. "My lady?"
Crystal's tone was quiet, but her eyes were cold as ice. "In my past life, I never saw her betrayal coming. This time, I see it before it begins."
Mari blinked, unsure what to say.
Crystal closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. "The past taught me one thing — mercy is a kindness the unworthy never return."
The carriage wheels rattled softly against the stones as the moon rose higher, painting everything in silver light.
Meanwhile, on the third floor of the Enchanted Palace, Lyra Valen, daughter of the King's Hand, sat alone in the balcony garden.
The moonlight wrapped around her like a fragile shawl. The wind whispered through the spirit flowers, their petals glowing faintly under the night sky.
She had brushed the dust from her clothes earlier, though faint bruises still darkened her neck. Her elder sister's fury had left its mark, both visible and unseen.
In her hand was a cup of tea that had long gone cold.
Lyra stared at it for a long time, as though waiting for it to answer a question she couldn't bring herself to ask.
The palace below was alive with laughter, music, and light the sounds of nobles pretending to be divine.
But up here, it was quiet. Too quiet.
She rose slowly and walked toward the edge of the balcony. The marble railing was cold beneath her fingers. From this height, the garden below looked small, distant peaceful in a way the world never was.
She took a breath.
"If I jump now," she whispered, "it will be quick."
Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled.
She stepped closer, the tip of her slipper brushing the edge of the balcony.
The moonlight caught her face pale, beautiful, filled with quiet sorrow.
Her reflection shimmered faintly in the golden trim of her bracelet the one her father had given her years ago. A charm infused with artificial spirit energy, designed to protect her from harm.
She stared at it for a long time.
A bitter smile touched her lips.
"Even now," she murmured, "you protect me from what I want most."
The night wind tugged at her hair, cold and soft.
She closed her eyes and took another step forward — then stopped.
Her knees weakened.
A tear slipped down her cheek, catching the moonlight as it fell.
She lowered her hand and looked at her reflection in the polished marble.
"Pathetic," she whispered. "You can't even die properly."
Her voice cracked slightly, breaking the stillness of the night.
"Just how useless are you, Lyra?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
The spirit flowers swayed gently in the wind, glowing faintly as if trying to comfort her.
Lyra wiped her tears and turned away from the edge, her footsteps soft as she vanished into the shadows of the garden.
The moon watched silently above — cold, distant, eternal.
And somewhere far below, in a carriage bound for home, another woman stared at that same moon — and smiled like someone who had already died once and was no longer afraid of anything.
"The moon shines brightest on those who have already fallen once — for only they understand the darkness beneath its light." — The Lost Teachings of the Void Sect